Читать книгу Over the Spiked Picket Fence - Angela Aloisio Sander & Denvil Buchanan - Страница 15

who was clearly a creation gem, must have always turned heads wherever she stepped out onto the street. Despite the nervousness that she must have felt being alone here at the bus-stop with a stranger, she was aware of her beauty. She was a woman who was quite aware of her good looks. Men on the streets passing by stared at her, both young and old, who were moved by the dazzling looks of this girl standing by the bus-stop.

Much later she had told me how she had felt when she had encountered me at the Scarborough bus-stop. She had trotted quickly onto the bus, glad that it had arrived to get away from me, a rather forward stranger. She had been more than a little uncomfortable, she said, and taken aback when she had seen me an hour later in the hallway of the city college. Walking down the hallway examining the lecture room numbers, she had already missed her first class of the semester and didn’t want to be late. She was in her first year towards qualifying as a social worker and was still uncertain if she had made the right career choice. Social work had been agreeable to the wishes of her parents, especially her father who was glad that she was going to university, and what difference would it make what the course of study was – after all college was only a place to meet someone who was pursuing a noble profession, like medicine or law. “These are good professions, with sure and good money,” her father had said, adding, “Who the hell is a social worker anyway?”

At the college, on this my first day I had watched her read the number on door 490 while glancing over her shoulders. She had then walked quickly into the room straight to a seat at the back of the class.

“Am I in the right room? Is this Social Psychology?” she had whispered to the person beside her as she seated.

“Yes, if you mean Social Psychology” I had offered from my seat across from her. I had snickered at my own brashness. And she had had a blank look on her face which implied that I had been presumptuous, responding to a question that I had not been asked.

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