I climbed out of the driver’s seat so that I stood near enough to touch her. I reached for her, wanting to rest my hand on her shoulder, but she backed away. “No. No. Not anymore,” she said. “I have to go.” She turned and walked away.

And here is what I remember: When I kissed her in the doorway of her apartment that night we were together, her hair fell over my hands like so much gossamer. She made a soft, slightly despairing moan as my mouth met hers. I could feel the edge of a bra strap cutting into her back, the silk smoothness of her dress, a little damp from sweat against her skin, and under it a vague smell of honey; the slightly chapped texture of her lips. “Man does not want to have desires … Whether we like it or not, we have them; whether we like it or not they tickle us, caress us, excite us … they press upon us until they are extinguished.” St. Augustine said that. Until they are extinguished. When does that happen? When?

And here is what I cannot remember: My hand arcing through the air toward that boy’s face. I remember the hateful words he used. I remember my immediate, overwhelming remorse in the moments afterward. I remember the way he looked at me, with such sorrow and, what’s worse, pity. But I cannot remember the moment I hit him. You would think I would. A blow like that. Something so shameful. But perhaps that is why I’ve forgotten.

Jon was beside us in a moment. He stood next to the boy solicitous, shocked, and speechless. “Jerome … I … You better come with us to Fox’s office.” He barked a few terse instructions to the rest of the team, who dispersed quickly. They too were stunned, of course. I couldn’t seem to stop the tears from running down my face. I kept thinking, I’ve got to get myself in hand here, but I couldn’t. We must have been quite a sight, going into Fox’s office. Fodder, I’m sure, for weeks of gossip.

It was all over rather quickly after that. Jon had no choice but to tell Fox what he had seen. And then the boy asked if Ms. Hansen could come in, and together they showed Fox his Latin midterm and we went over it point by point—Fox is an old Latin scholar himself—well, there wasn’t much to say after that. She never looked at me. She never once looked at me. At the end of these recitations, Fox’s face was flushed. He sent the boy, Jon, and Jana out of the room; sat back in his chair; looked at me wordlessly.

“I guess all I can do at this point is offer my resignation. And my deepest apologies,” I said. “I honestly don’t know what happened. Please believe me when I say that, Ted.”