Met with McTavish today. His office, like all my colleagues’ offices, was crammed with books and smelled dry and sweet. Reminded me of a martini I had in New York. When I rolled in I was instantly thirsty. Dexter, he said. There’s something we need to discuss. I sighed. So I am being suspended? I wasn’t sanitized enough in the classroom? No no no. It’s not about your teaching. I was speaking with a student in your British survey course. It’s another complaint, then? Not a complaint. I was surprised, too. McTavish’s lips, normally hidden beneath his whitish-red beard, curled a little at the corner. Not a complaint, but a concern. The student said you were drooling in class and having difficulty articulating yourself. I rolled my eyes. Just for a moment, I said. My mouth was a little looser than usual. McTavish nodded slightly. You’re not drinking again, are you? I’m not allowed to drink. That hasn’t stopped you in the past. I’m not drinking. Are you having problems with your condition? Not really. He pointed at my shoulders. You didn’t have those convulsions before, or at least not like that. Have you seen a doctor? Yes, I saw one just before the school year started. What did they say? My disease is on course. What does that mean? It’s degenerative, so it’ll continue to get worse. Is there any treatment you can get? I’m on meds for the pain and the tremors, but you can see how effective they are. There’s nothing else you can do? I’m too far along. There won’t be any improvement? I shook my head. Does that mean you’re going to…leave us soon? I hated his choice of words. Even though most English professors have a decent command of the language, they choose euphemisms over direct phrasing. I don’t think I’ll die anytime soon, I said. I’ll just get worse. You knew that when I disclosed my condition to the department. McTavish pursed his lips; it looked like his beard was folding inwards. Have you had any problems outside of work? Anything with your family? Not really. Anything at the Residence? No. He nodded. Stared at his desk for a moment. Dexter, as you probably know, during the last few weeks I’ve been faced with a difficult choice. Even though you are a prominent researcher in the department and you bring a strong amount of exposure to the school, you’re also something of a risk. A risk? And I’m not talking about your disability, or just your disability. It’s your attitude toward teaching. How you treat your students. I have a file of student complaints in my desk drawer. Out of thirty-two complaints in the last two years, twenty-nine of them belong to you. Really? Who has the other three? McTavish shook his head. I’ve overlooked many of your mistreatments before, he said, but because of your declining condition and your increasingly vehement diatribes toward your students, I just can’t look away anymore. I don’t know if your condition and your mistreatment are related, and frankly, at this point I don’t really care. So what I’m going to do is, I’m going to recommend to the faculty committee that you be placed on sabbatical beginning next term. Sabbatical? Just so we’re clear, this is not a suspension. You’ve long been due for a sabbatical anyways. I know how hard you’ve worked over the last five years and I think it’s time you took a break. We apply for sabbaticals. They’re not just handed to us. In this case we’re going to make an exception. Try to think of it as a vacation, a time to relax. Who are you to decide for me? I don’t want to relax. I want to keep working. He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. You don’t have to be ungrateful, Dexter. Most people in the department would kill for a surprise sabbatical. It doesn’t mean you have to stop working; you can keep working. You can’t do this. You’re superseding university regulations. This is a special circumstance. I slammed my fist on his desk. I don’t want a sabbatical. Don’t be childish, Dexter. I’m not be—don’t even. Don’t use words like childish around me. Then stop behaving like one. The committee’s meeting in a few days. We’ll give you the official notice when it’s over. Is all this a segue into dismissal? Am I gonna be fired after all this? No, you’re not going to be fired. Who’ll teach my classes? We’re going to ask one or two of the sessional instructors, and then a few grad students will take over the sessional courses. You’re asking a sessional to teach my courses? What’ve you been smoking? They couldn’t teach the way to the bathroom, for chrissakes. Dexter, calm down. It’s not that big a deal. It’s my work! What if you could pick the person to teach your course? I don’t want to pick someone. I want to teach the goddamn course! You’re not teaching the course. You’re going on sabbatical. I’m coming to that meeting. I’m going to fight your recommendation. It won’t do any good. What do you mean? McTavish raised his irritatingly bushy brows. You’ve already decided, I said. You assholing cretin. Dexter. My tremors flared. I felt like I was seizing from the waist up. I leaned forward and dropped my flexed fists on the desk. You Scottish prick. Dexter, stop. I’ve been manipulated in my time, but you…yeah, to be undermined by you, that’s something else. Are you going to embarrass yourself? How could I? You’ve already done it for me. My voice twanged unexpectedly. He lowered his eyes. I exhaled. It sounded like a hiss.
I thought about threatening the department with legal action, but my past behaviour would undoubtedly be taken into account, so I held off. After that meeting I didn’t want to come back to the Residence. It was belittling to go from one place I wasn’t wanted to another. Gertrude asked me how I was. I said nothing to her. I went to my room and closed the door and propped the spare chair in front of it. I glanced at my books. My piled clothes. My Edward Scissorhands poster, now rolled up and standing on its side in the corner. An immense load, metallic and sharp-edged, tumbled inside me. I hunched over, trying to flex against my supreme fear of being rendered useless. Beat my arms against my chair. Punched my legs. Hit myself in the head. Stomped on the floor. The pain came hot and hard and soothing.
My anger didn’t subside until later at night. The darkness softened the edges of the boxes of books and clothes so it felt like they weren’t as present as in the daytime. My tremors took a long time to calm down to a level where I could eat without spilling or missing too much. I missed dinner, so I had leftovers. Stefan warmed a plate for me.
I cried. For the first time since Mom’s death, I dread what lies ahead of me.