A Momentous Decision Read online

ous Decision

  By

  Mario V. Farina

  Copyright 2016 Mario V. Farina

  All Rights Reserved

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  Mario V. Farina

  Email: [email protected]

  It began in October about three years ago. I had gone to Harland directly from work and was getting ready to teach my regular evening class which began at six. As I walked through the school's library on my way to room 314, I was stopped by a cheery "hello there!"

  The voice had come from a young woman who was seated at one of the tables. She was about five-seven, slim, and had long brown hair that came down to the middle of her back. Not being sure that the greeting was for me, I glanced inquisitively at the woman as she spoke again. "You're Victor Martini," she said. "You don't know me, but I know you. I'll be taking a computer course from you at International in about two weeks."

  "Oh," I said, "that's nice." I really wasn't interested.

  "My name is Susan Thompson," she said. "I'm looking forward to the class."

  That's how it started. At the time of the story, I worked at International Communications as a data processing instructor. In the evenings, I taught computer classes at Harland Junior College in the small village of Harland in northern Vermont.

  In the company, I had been teaching for over fifteen years. Only employees of International Communications were permitted to take courses that I taught there. At Harland, the people came from many walks of life -- full-time students, employees of various companies in the area, retired folks, etc. Susan was obviously an evening student at Harland and also an employee of International.

  The evening was uneventful and I promptly forgot the unexpected encounter.

  The class that I was conducting met once a week. The following week I arrived at the school at about the same time and headed for room 314 in the usual way. This route required that I walk through the library.

  "Hello there!" It was the same voice. And the same person. I noticed that her eyes were green. "Hello," I responded. "I'll be taking your course at international in a week," she said. "Yes, I remember," I responded. "I'm afraid I've forgotten your name."

  "It's Susan Thompson," she reminded me.

  During my lecture that evening, I thought about Susan often. She was an attractive woman, I told myself, not beautiful but close to it. Why had she gone out of her way to tell me that she was going to be attending my course at International in the week? Could it be that, in some way, she found me attractive? I'm only five-six tall and was about ten pounds overweight at the time. I had never thought of myself as good looking. "But one can never tell what goes on in a woman's mind," I thought to myself.

  Also, I was fifty-two years old. She couldn't be very far into her thirties. She was taller than I. Something didn't seem right. Besides, why was I thinking this way? I had been married almost twenty-eight years and had three grown children. One child, a daughter, had been married for several years.

  The following week, I looked for Susan as I walked through the library. "Hi", I called out as I spotted her. "This week I remember your name. You're Susan Thompson and you will be taking my computer course at International beginning this Tuesday."

  Susan smiled. "Yes," she said. "I'm looking forward to it."

  After class, Susan was waiting for me at the doorway of the school. I had not expected this. "Where are you parked?" I asked.

  "Down the street," she replied "I'll walk with you," I said.

  There was a nip in the Vermont air. As we walked to our cars Susan asked, "Are you going straight home?" I replied affirmatively, and we parted. Why had she asked me that? Did she want me to suggest that we stop somewhere and have a cup of coffee? Or a drink?

  I drove to my home in Fairfax, just a few miles from Harland. During the next several days, I thought about Susan frequently, and began looking forward to having her attend my computer class.

  Tuesday arrived. This was one course that I had been looking forward to. Walking into the classroom, I looked around to see whether Susan was in the room, and indeed she was. We smiled our greetings.

  As the first session progressed, I found myself addressing my remarks directly to her. When I looked at Susan, she would smile back prettily.

  It was somewhat puzzling to me that Susan did not appear to be very interested in the course material. Also, when I gave classroom exercises, she did not do them. I asked her why she wasn't doing the work and she gave a vague answer. Nevertheless, I excepted the reason she offered without the slightest irritation. With another student, I would have felt much differently.

  Susan was wearing a tight white, sweater and I found that my gaze would sometimes settle upon the small, but well shaped mounds that pressed outward from the material. Maybe I imagined them but I thought I could see the outline of the nipples on her breasts. Once or twice, I wondered whether our relationship would eventually mature to the point where I would touch what lay underneath the sweater.

  At the end of the first day's session, Susan lingered after the other students had left. She and I engaged in some idle chitchat. Then she left.

  On the following day, Susan listened attentively while I lectured, but, as with the previous day, she did not do any of the exercises.

  "You really should be working out the problems," I told her. Susan agreed and said she would try some of the exercises soon. This was good enough for me. I didn't really care, though, whether she did the work or not. There were no grades assigned at the end of the course, and I had always felt that a student would get as much, or as little, out of an International course as the efforts that he or she put into it.

  Besides, I was more interested in the thin, white blouse she was wearing that had the top two buttons unfastened.

  At the end of the second session, I asked Susan in what direction she was going, and she replied that it was back to her building which was about half a mile from the classroom. I said that I would be walking partway in that direction, and offered to walk with her. She accepted, and we did walk together part of the way back to her building.

  As we were walking, Susan gave me both her home and business phone numbers. Her home number was unpublished and I felt honored to have been entrusted with it. When we parted, I walked in the direction of my mother's house. I went to see her frequently after work. Her house was about two miles away. She was elderly, and I visited to see if she needed anything.

  The course lasted three more days, and those days went about the same as had the first two. Susan never did try to work out any of the problems. When I questioned her about this, she said that she was getting all she wanted out of the course by simply listening.

  I was getting plenty too. Every day, Susan would wear something intriguing like a low-cut blouse, or short tight skirt which displayed her slim well-formed legs to good advantage. From where I stood, the view in Susan's direction was always enthralling.

  "How did things go at work, Hon?" Kathleen asked. It was always the same question.

  "Fine," I responded. It was always the same answer. This was the end of this evening's conversation concerning work.

  It had been a little different today, I thought. I wondered what Kathleen might think if she knew there was a new interest in my life. Somehow, I should have felt guilty about it, but didn't. I felt uncomfortable more than anything else. I felt that Kathleen's presence in my life might be a hindrance. It kept me from taking actions that might help d
evelop my relationship with Susan.

  Kathleen prepared my meal as she always did. I sat in the recliner in front of the television set, as I always did, and ate with the plate in my lap in the same way as always. Tonight though, my thoughts weren't on the steak or on the television program. They were on Susan. Poetic thoughts occurred to me. I picked up a pad. Tonight, the computer notes that I usually jotted down while eating, gave way to romantic rhymes.

  Two of my three girls were still living at home. The three girls names were Diane, Dorothy, and Dolores -- all Ds (it had seemed like a good idea at the time). Diane was 23, Dorothy 20, and Dolores 18.

  The oldest girl had been married three years and lived in Milton. She didn't communicate with their mother and me very often.

  From time to time this evening, the girls wandered in and out of the family room. None said anything to me. On previous evenings, the absence of greetings would not have had much effect, but tonight, it bothered me a little. "Wasn't there more to life than working and watching television?" I thought.

  Feeling that Susan might help put some spark back in my life I decided to invite her to lunch. Monday I called her at the office. I didn't know how I was going to say it. It had been quite a while, after all, since I had asked a woman for a date.

  "Hello, Susan," I began. "I was sort of wondering whether you might want to go out to lunch with me