The Snub

I was walking down the long, darkened hallway when I saw my former professor, backlit by the doorway at the opposite end.  I knew he’d been sick, but I didn’t know what to say.  I pitied him.  His disfiguration bothered me so much I was afraid to look at him.  I pretended not to notice when he called out to me.  Burning with shame, I ducked into the nearest classroom. The shorthand instructor and his female students gazed at me, startled.  “Your late,” he said.  “Take your seat in the back and get out your steno pad.”