Acceptance
Through the thin sound of Esther’s laptop speakers, Gilda’s stern voice grumbles, “Allan, help me understand why all of your Bioethics students failed the midterm.”
Esther relaxes her shoulders a bit, thankful Gilda’s ire is directed anywhere but her.
Based entirely on the exasperation in Gilda’s voice, Esther could easily imagine that Gilda’s forehead lines would be deep, and her eyes narrowed, more from exhaustion than frustration.
The pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle, and the glug glug glug of wine splashing into a glass drowns out Allan’s rambling excuses.
Their cameras are thankfully off for this Friday morning meeting, because Esther’s eyebrows shoot up faster than she can think to mask her surprise.
The background noise falls into silence when Gilda remembers to mute herself again.
If she was Gilda, Esther would also pour herself a glass of wine at nine in the morning. For as small as Gilda could make her feel, Esther never wants to be in her shoes. Herding a dozen out of touch old men to do their jobs sounds miserable.
Despite his defensive explanation blaming the students, the real reason Allan’s Bioethics students all failed the midterm is because he gave up teaching long ago.
In a course that actually has concrete deliverables and objectives set by the premed program, his usual teaching style—pacing around with his hands in his pockets, rambling on about whatever popped into his head—is incredibly inadequate.
Not that his teaching style is ever particularly effective, but it becomes much more obvious when faced with objective metrics for his students to hit.
But Allan is tenured, so he gets to talk about sandhill cranes and yellow warblers as much as he wants until his retirement.
Meanwhile, his students take on crushing amounts of debt to listen to a dinosaur phone it in.
Not all of her colleagues are as bad as Allan, but he isn’t much worse than the average professor in the old boys club.
“…students these days don’t understand that they have to read the course material.
” Allan drones on. Esther zones out, distracted by the plant in Lucy’s window across the alley.
The long stems and fluttery leaves are desiccated beyond recognition, clinging to the sides of the terra-cotta.
“In my day, we were expected to teach ourselves, and lectures were an opportunity to learn from an expert! I refuse to hold their hand and walk them through every assigned reading. That’s infantilizing to the students. ”
Esther checks she’s muted before she scoffs.
In Allan’s day, informed consent for medical procedures was seen as optional.
When Allan was a student, racialized communities were still subjected to experimental sterilization as a front for eugenics.
Just last week, he questioned why human studies needed an internal ethics review, if there was no chance of physical harm.
Allan should not be teaching ethics to future medical professionals.
Not that he ever teaches anyone anything, beyond how to spot wood duck nests.
Though Esther isn’t exactly volunteering to take over Bioethics; she’s still pissed that she has to teach six—six!—intro classes and two seminars. On top of that, she somehow got roped into being an academic advisor, which is so far outside her responsibilities as an adjunct.
But it’s fine. She gets paid by the class.
The extra money will put a dent in her own student loans.
And she’s hopeful that by being a good academic advisor, she can swing the open tenure-track position once Gilda finally accepts that Lucy isn’t coming back.
Once the rest of the world figures out that Lucy is dead.
“Dr. Voigt? Are you on mute?” Gilda’s voice cuts in.
Esther jumps, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Sorry, my headset went out. Can you repeat the question?”
With a sigh, Gilda takes an audible slurp of her beverage, probably in an attempt to make the department believe it’s coffee, not wine.
“Why was the due date for the midterm for the Philosophy of Death class postponed until after Thanksgiving break? Having the midterm and final essays so close together is outside of our recommended practices.”
It doesn’t take much for Esther to be irritated by Gilda, but as always, she does her best to swallow it.
She ran the decision by Gilda last week, who said she didn’t care and to stop bothering her when she was perfectly capable of running her own classes.
Why is Gilda on her ass about it in the department meeting all of a sudden?
Would she care to explain why Esther is doing the work of two people?
Moments like this make her miss Cash, who had a way of talking Gilda down.
Smooth as always, Cash somehow made Gilda believe that all of his suggestions were her idea.
Her work bestie would never have let their boss get away with giving Esther double the workload.
Swallowing her anger, Esther puts on her sweetest voice to say, “I thought it’d be best to give the students a chance to thoroughly review the reading materials, due to the late start of the class.
I left the decision up to the students, and they unanimously agreed they’d rather have more time to work on their essays over break. ”
“See Gilda? This is what I mean,” Allan whines. “The quality of education is going downhill with each generation. Leaving it up to the students? They’re going to milk any leeway they can get.”
“That’s Dr. Frederick to you, Allan.” Gilda snaps. “Though he has a point, Dr. Voigt. You’re the professor. They’re the students. You decide when their essays are due.”
Esther forces a smile into her voice. “Yes, and I proposed the extension because we’re on an accelerated timeline due to—”
“Dr. Voigt, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just don’t let it happen again.”
Esther barely resists the urge to snap at her in return, stewing in the unfairness of it all that she’s getting chewed out, when she’s doing Gilda a favor.
When she’s trying her best. When she’s just trying to be helpful.
When she was told to teach the class her way, and now that’s not good enough because, what, her way is too considerate of the student’s stress levels?
But nothing in life is fair, is it? Esther learned that lesson long ago.
The most she could do was accept reality and move on.
Talking back would never do any good. Any retort would just leave her even more ostracized within the department.
Perhaps even leave her looking for a new job after this semester.
As an adjunct, Esther is easily replaceable.
“Understood, Dr. Frederick. Sorry, I’ll do better going forward.”
By the time the meeting ends, Esther is tempted to pull a Gilda and open a bottle of wine.
“Ten in the morning would probably be too early for a splash of rose, isn’t it?
” She pauses. “But it is Friday, which is basically the weekend.” Esther shakes her head.
“No, I still have three classes to teach and about a hundred essays to grade before the weekend starts.”
Do you really need to be sober for that?
She scoffs at the thought: little miss rule follower herself, teaching drunk.
Besides, it’s ten in the morning on Friday.
A time Esther used to look forward to every week, because it was when Lucy would water her plant.
Since Lucy disappeared, Friday mornings are now the short window of time that Esther allows herself to wallow and relish in her self-pity.
Give into the grief that Lucy is gone, and that no one seems to care. Except Esther.
Even knowing Lucy would not be there, Esther stands for a better view out the window.
As it is, she already feels deranged, staring at a dried husk of a plant that’s so dead she can’t begin to identify what it was anymore.
But when it was alive, it was purple and lovely, and Lucy always looked happy when she watered it.
“That poor plant.” Esther sighs. “I wish I could save it before it’s too late.”
Just as Esther can’t shake the feeling that Lucy is dead—even though she certainly hoped that isn’t the case—she can’t shake the feeling that Lucy would want her to keep watering the plant. Even now, with its leaves desiccated and brown, something inside Esther tells her it just needs water.
Esther has kept up the habit of looking at it from across the alley, even though Lucy hasn’t been home or at work since midsummer.
Every Friday at ten, Esther keeps vigil in memory of the shy half smile that Lucy would get when she’d water it after their department meetings.
Part of her dreams that Lucy will simply appear out of the blue one day, watering the plant again as if she hasn’t been gone for months.
“I was such a creep.” Esther doubts that Lucy ever watched her through the window—if she even knew, or would care, that Esther lives across the alley from her.
In fact, Esther hopes Lucy hadn’t watched her; she never wears pants at home.
They barely even spoke and therefore, were not on pantsless terms. Esther would love it if they had been, though.
“I hope you’re okay. I mean, I know you’re not, but I don’t know why I’m so sure that you’re…
gone. I wish I knew what happened to you.
” She pauses, wondering why she worries so much about the coworker she had no relationship with.
Why she speaks to her sometimes, as if Lucy can hear her.
“I’m just frustrated that no one seems to care.
I’m frustrated that I can’t talk about it with anyone.
How can Gilda just lie—to the students, the other professors, the whole college—for this long?
I hate lying like this. I hate that I’m such a people pleaser, I’m just going along with it, instead of doing anything. ”
A confusing sympathetic sensation lurches in her chest. It aches in the same spot that tells Esther that Lucy is dead. The same spot that tells her the plant is still alive, just dormant.
Esther scolds herself that the lurch is just wishful thinking, even if it keeps growing bigger from regret.
But it’d be nice if that intuitive, gut feeling she gets sometimes is a sign of what Lucy wants.
Like a message from beyond the veil of death, telling Esther that she’s on the right track.
“I wish I could contact your family, process all of this with the people who loved you most. But why would they talk to me? I barely knew you.”
A ping from her laptop makes her jump and laugh in surprise.
Esther whirls around to check the message, catching a draft in her otherwise stuffy apartment as she hurries away from the window.
“I’m talking to a dead plant, across the alley.
I have no right to be upset about this.” Lucy is dead, and Esther missed her chance to ever get to know her.
There’s nothing else she can do but accept it.