Searching for Mine (Searching For #4.5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

is that fair?”
    She tilted her head, seemingly considering her words. “Now that’s an argument. Too bad there’s not more of that in your papers. I have to go. I’m late for a meeting.”
    She strode out of the classroom, big skirt swishing, hair perfectly contained in the single, tight space of her bun. Connor took off after her, refusing to be swept aside. Not this time. “I did put that in my paper but you gave me an F.”
    She never broke stride, weaving in and out of the hallways amidst groups of students. “No, you didn’t. You said it was about a moth, written from the point of view of a woman frustrated with her life so she decided to spend her extra time watching an insect die. You insinuated she craved a man in her life and therefore, her lack of one made her unhappy. There was no depth. Did you even listen to my lecture in class about the meaning of the essay?”
    “Yes.” No. He kind of drifted off in a stupor when she began lecturing. He pushed aside the guilt. “You’re not being clear enough.”
    “You’re not trying hard enough, Mr. Dunkle. You treat my class like an annoyance and with little respect. I shall treat you the same.”
    “I need a C- in this class or I won’t graduate. I’m doing the best I can. Are you seriously going to flunk me and keep me from my degree over a moth?”
    She stopped and whirled around. Her saggy sweater caught air, flew up, then settled. Her index finger jabbed the air. “Have you ever wondered what death would feel like, Mr. Dunkle? Debated life versus death? Analyzed your life to see if it was empty or just or worthwhile?”
    His head spun. She was like some mad woman, fierce and way too intense over some...words. Yet, that passion connected within him for a few seconds and hit home. “Yes. Don’t we all wonder what we’re doing here?” he muttered.
    “Good. In the beginning of the essay, the moth was joyous, even trapped between the glass with a limited view of the world. Have you ever felt happy, even when you don’t know why?”
    “Yes.”
    “But the author pitied the moth at first. Pitied its existence. The moth is destined to die. What feeling did Woolf try to explain to the reader?”
    He tried to shake off his annoyance at getting into a lesson in the middle of a hallway. “The moth doesn’t want to die and neither does she.”
    “Wrong. Yes, no one wants to die but that’s not the true point of the essay. There’s one guarantee in this life: death. It’s part of the contract terms we get. We don’t even know how much time we’re going to get when we sign this contract. We’re here trying to make our mark, then we’re gone. Don’t you ever consider what the point is?”
    His gut lurched. Her slow pecking at his beliefs bothered him. Why think about all this shit when there was no real answer? Why not keep things easy? Look for happiness in the moment? Like the moth...
    “Sure.”
    “Enough with the one word answers. ‘Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was not as strange. ’ What do you think Woolf was feeling when that last paragraph was written? She watched the moth die in front of her, watched its struggle, watched its failure to win the ultimate battle. What do you think about that, Mr. Dunkle?”
    “What do you want me to think?”
    She shook her head. “We’re done here.”
    Frustration simmered and seeped out. “The moth fought death up to the last moment. Its struggle was strange and almost beautiful to the author because we all face the same obstacles, yet no matter how bad life sucks, we still have the ability to fight to our last dying breath. Kind of like Dylan said about raging against the dying light.”
    Surprise flickered across her face. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’m looking for in your papers. You insult both of us by not giving more.” Then she continued down the hallway.
    Son-of-a-bitch. No, he wasn’t in one of those lame movies where the teacher suddenly