Eye to Eye Read Online Free PDF Page B

Yes.
    My office is newly painted, a periwinkle-blue that I hope will make me creative and productive. Half-unpacked boxes of books have all been shoved against the walls, cramping me into the middle of the room. I’ve been provided with a computer and a phone, three chairs and a minirefrigerator that looks as if it was thrown away from a dorm in the midsixties. I lean back in one of the chairs and prop my feet on the refrigerator, looking again at the “We are watching you. Watch yourself.” Not exactly words to warm one’s heart.
    What the neo-Nazis are about to find out, however, is that I, Doris Weatherall— Dr. Doris Weatherall—am nothing if not a contrarian. When all the world is wearing platform heels, I schlep around in ballet flats. When the “natural look” demands a clear and overglossed lip, I slather on the 1950s movie-star reds, vamping my pout to the absolute max. And when some bossy campus fascists tell me not to talk about politics in my classroom, I redesign my opening speech to address the topic directly.
    This semester I am teaching “Introduction to American Literature,” “Beginning Poetry Writing,” and the upper-level seminar on “World Literature.” But the first class of the day tomorrow is American lit—perfect venue for discussing the nature of politics in the classroom. I lock my door and open a copy of Ben Franklin’s autobiography, looking for a way to tie the week’s first reading with my rant about free speech and a liberal arts education. My computer chimes gently in the background, letting me know that Ronnie is awake and online. I open my IM screen.
    ME: Are you awake? The McCarthyists are alive and well and living in Atlanta. I got a letter in campus mail telling me not so nicely to keep my big liberal trap shut. I guess it’s back to poems about trees and birdies.
    RONNIE: There have got to be better ways to make a living. Are we too old to learn pole dancing?
    ME: I am pretty sure that I am. I’m not even sure I’m capable of learning basic yoga. How’s Earl?
    RONNIE: Asleep. We see each other two waking hours a day. How are you settling in? Meet any new neighbors?
    ME: I have an exotic bohemian living next door. I am going to try to make her be my friend and teach me to dress for the city. Hard to meet new people here. I think I’m going to get a dog. Both for a friend and protection from potential campus Nazis.
    RONNIE: You mean some rat dog?
    ME: I mean a small but fiercely protective dog. By the way. I strongly suspect that I am about to get dumped.
    RONNIE: Whaaaaattt?
    ME: Well, I got “let’s take some time off-ed,” which is the last stop before dumpsville. I am trying to repress this information completely, as it will only give me a mini-nervous breakdown for which I truly have no time.
    RONNIE: Why? What’s going on with Zach? Did anything lead up to it?
    ME: (now feeling sad) Everything led up to it. I’ll call you later. Must prep Ben Franklin for tomorrow.
    RONNIE: Sounds like a party.
    ME: Ha-ha.
    After signing off from IM, I put the Ben Franklin aside and unpack one of the boxes marked “OFFICE.” A mug swaddled in newswrap sits atop two piles of books. I unwrap it to find the gag gift that Zach bought me as a joke on our first-year anniversary. The words on the mug read, “OPPOSITES ATTRACT, THEN THEY DRIVE EACH OTHER CRAZY.” Funny, and unfortunately, prophetic. Zach and I “met cute” almost six years ago, if by cute you mean that I got really sloshed on pink wine and kissed him because he looked like Harvey Keitel, and he kissed me back because he and his girlfriend were “on a break.” Then we avoided each other for two years, followed by an intense month of summer teaching where we were thrown together by the forces that be, and our Hepburn/Tracy antics eventually gave way to love. Zach and I knew each other for a while before we