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Tess Catalano "Take Back the Night" and other academic essays, 1982

1982-12-10 Ms. Shephard Page 7

in your heart, so to speak. Make sure you can see and feel it with a "straight head", in the popular sense of the word. "There was a knock at my door. "Hey, Lillian Hellman, the phone's for you. It's the Shepard." That's how my friend Julie refers to Ms. Shepard. Julie didn't like Ms. Shepard, and often told me not to waste my time liking her. 
   I tried not to run to the phone. The thought that Ms. Shepard had to look up my number to call was almost more than I could bear. "Hello?" I tried to sound casual. "This is Ms. Shepard", she said. As if I didn't know. "Oh hi", I said, like she called me every day, "uh how are you?" "Fine." She sounded nervous, but went on , "I, ah, saw you walking home tonight ... you walked so...depressed, as it were... I thought you might like to come over tonight for a study break and a beer." I couldn't believe it. "Ah, let's see," I tried not to sound too eager, "I've got a lot of work to do .. but later.. yeah, that sounds nice. I'll ride my bike down about eight, if that's okay." It was seven now, that gave me an hour to get ready. There was a pause. I panicked, She said, "Well I thought I might pick you up in my car, then I could, ah, take you home." That took me by surprise. "Uh, sure, sure.. but could we make it eight-thirty? I might need more time." That sounded confident. I prayed it was alright."All right then, I'll pick you up at half past eight, so to speak" "Okay", I said, "I'll see you later." In the popular sense of the word, I thought. She said goodbye and I hung up. 
   I was ready and waiting at eight fifteen. At eight-thirty she pulled into the dormitory parking lot. By eight-thirty six, after some nervous small talk in the car, I was walking into her kitchen. The evening wasn't anything big. I tried to tune her guitar. She told me she wanted to learn how to play the banjo. We listened to some bluegrass records and then to Rita Collidge. I really wasn't very comfortable. I felt like I was imposing. It was hard to find things to talk about that didn't have anything to do with writing or school.

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in your heart, so to speak. Make sure you can see and feel it with a "straight head", in the popular sense of the word. "There was a knock at my door. "Hey, Lillian Hellman, the phone's for you. It's the Shepard." That's how my friend Julie refers to Ms. Shepard. Julie didn't like Ms. Shepard, and often told me not to waste my time liking her. I tried not to run to the phone. The thought that Ms. Shepard had to look up my number to call was almost more than I could bear. "Hello?" I tried to sound casual. "This is Ms. Shepard", she said. As if I didn't know. "Oh hi", I said, like she called me every day, "uh how are you?" "Fine." She sounded nervous, but went on , "I, ah, saw you walking home tonight ... you walked so...depressed, as it were... I thought you might like to come over tonight for a study break and a beer." I couldn't believe it. "Ah, let's see," I tried not to sound too eager, "I've got a lot of work to do .. but later.. yeah, that sounds nice. I'll ride my bike down about eight, if that's okay." It was seven now, that gave me an hour to get ready. There was a pause. I panicked, She said, "Well I thought I might pick you up in my car, then I could, ah, take you home." That took me by surprise. "Uh, sure, sure.. but could we make it eight-thirty? I might need more time." That sounded confident. I prayed it was alright."All right then, I'll pick you up at half past eight, so to speak" "Okay", I said, "I'll see you later." In the popular sense of the word, I thought. She said goodbye and I hung up. I was ready and waiting at eight fifteen. At eight-thirty she pulled into the dormitory parking lot. By eight-thirty six, after some nervous small talk in the car, I was walking into her kitchen. The evening wasn't anything big. I tried to tune her guitar. She told me she wanted to learn how to play the banjo. We listened to some bluegrass records and then to Rita Collidge. I really wasn't very comfortable. I felt like I was imposing. It was hard to find things to talk about that didn't have anything to do with writing or school.