I must admit, though, that I’ve become less absolute about some things as I’ve grown older. After Jennifer left me, I vowed never to become involved with a woman again. Well, that hasn’t proved possible or even practical. A man is but a man, after all. I’ve not been celibate from that day to this. There are those at Chelsea who think I have been. There are those at Chelsea who think that women aren’t my cup of tea at all—that my interest in Rome extends to that predilection as well. Neither belief is true. I don’t concern myself with petty whispering, but I have been discreet. I keep my encounters off campus and away from the school. When I was younger there were some women at teachers conferences I attended alone. There were even a couple of occasions where a deeper connection began to form—a woman I met at the library in town, a Negro like me, who was also interested in classical literature. But she was more interested in our marriage. And that I would not do. I remembered the look on my mother’s face when she spoke of my father. In the last few years, it has become easier simply to purchase sexual companionship when the need (or is it only a desire?) became too great. This is not as difficult to manage as you might think, even in a small town like this one. While I was initially uncomfortable with the idea, I came to prefer the simplicity of it—the illegality part of the excitement. There was no danger of entanglement. Just clean, clear, simple flesh upon flesh. And my own cool, empty bed in the morning. I honestly thought that I had put it all behind me, the noise and sorrow of desire, the wish to talk to a woman who might take a genuine interest in what I had to say. My life, my flesh, my blood, were in my boys. Nowhere else. It was simpler that way.

So I was quite surprised when I found myself replaying my encounter with Ms. Hansen over and over again in my mind. Her direct gaze. The shock of having someone come up to me and speak in the cafeteria. No one ever does that. I am left alone. But I wasn’t angry. Her hand was extended to me, her gray green eyes gazing at me directly. She smelled faintly of some grass-scented perfume, and her long dark hair was shot through with gray. She was probably about my age, perhaps a bit younger. As she extended her hand, I saw that she wore several silver-and-stone rings, which caught the light.

A few days after she introduced herself, she came up to me in the faculty lounge and said, “I noticed that you usually eat lunch alone. I wonder if I could join you sometime. Today, maybe?”