A Tale

How did he love her? He could count the ways, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

He fell for her during a period of time. He was a bachelor professor; she, a student in his classes.

Unlike some of his colleagues, he was not one to date his students. But with her, well, with her, he had been smitten. From the first day she answered roll call, her beauty caught his eye. Yet, it was her charm, her intelligence, her smile, which slowly eroded his tenet of not pursuing a student, which captured his heart, which slowly turned a once well-developed mind into a mind of one thought: her.

He was a man of his students. Had always been a professor who felt a great warmth and compassion for his students. Perhaps, this connection came from his lack of a Ph.D.. He was a Mister, not a Doctor. He’d sit with them at lunch. He’d have a beer with them in the local pub.

In addition to his teaching duties, he was also charged with the supervision of the men’s dorm. He felt like a surrogate father to the boys in his dorm. They thought of him as a wise uncle: One with whom they could share a joke or tell whom they were dating, or just talk about anything.

He believed this relationship with “his boys” was a sacred trust, but then came her.

He had sat with her group a few times during lunch. He’d shared the occasional beer with her group at a local pub. He had hoped these encounters would reveal some flaw in her: A tendency to be snide, or a prude, or lascivious, or cursed with a mule’s laugh, or be flatulent, anything that might dissuade his feelings for her. Instead of anything that might turn him away, he discovered only new delights. She was everything he’d ever imagined finding in a girl, everything he’d ever hoped to find in a possible wife.

One night, he sat with her group and the conversation flowed, soon it flowed only between the two of them. As the night passed, everyone else left the pub. Only he and she sat at the table still talking until the place closed. And they parted ways for the evening.

He bubbled like a fine bottle of champagne throughout the walk home, until he realized that the encounter actually left him more miserable. The evening convinced the bachelor professor that he had fallen in love, but why would such a young girl want anything to do with an old, approaching middle-aged man like himself?

Yet, that one evening’s conversation led to other conversations between them. She spoke to him very much as a friend. He maintained a friend’s closeness but kept his love for her at a friendly distance whenever he visited with her.

Though anything but a shy man, he could not bring himself to ask her for a date. He had several reasons. One, he couldn’t bring himself to so immediately break his tenet of not seeing a student. Two, he was certain she would still speak to him if he asked her out.

A conversation with the boys at the dorm convinced him that he must act. Asking a few of his dorm residents their weekend plans, one boy said he had a date with a girl — the girl whom the professor quietly loved. It was not unusual for the professor to ask the young men questions, so he asked the details of the boy’s date plans with the girl.

Knowing the time and day, the professor visited a flower shop. He ordered a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to the girl, specifically 15 minutes before the time of her date with the boy. He wrote a quick note, signed his name, paused, then gave her name and address to the flower store clerk.

Later that night, he asked the boy about the date. The student said, it hadn’t gone well. She seemed to have something or someone else on her mind. Did she say what or who, the professor asked. The student answered no, she just seemed distracted.

The professor realized that she had mentioned neither the flowers nor him to the boy.

The next day, she made a point not to speak to the professor as she entered class. He watched her pass but remained silent. He caught her watching him a few times during class, watching him in a distracted way, he felt, which had nothing to do with his lecture. Realizing he caught her, she quickly looked away.

Promising, maybe, I don’t know, the professor thought. But feeling committed to this strategy, he forged ahead.

He kept his ears open at the dorm. He kept track of any young man who had asked her out. Every time one of the young men asked her on a date, the professor sent her a bouquet of flowers with a small note signed with his name, always delivered a short time before her date arrived.

Every evening, the professor waited around to ask the boy about the date. Each time, each boy said she seemed distracted, like she had something on her mind.

Yet, she never mentioned the flowers or the professor to the boy ...



Finally, the professor says years later, word got around and no one else asked her out.

That’s not how it happened, she says to their children and grandchildren all these years later.

You see, the old professor says, recalling it after all these years of marriage, every time I sent the flowers, she couldn’t help but think of me throughout the whole date. She virtually ignored all those boys.

Sad, but true, she says. Then, you were just mean.

Well, he says, you still hadn’t said anything to me, so ...

So, I had this one date and he didn’t send any flowers. I spent that entire date wondering why he hadn’t sent me flowers. I was afraid he’d changed his mind ...

I hadn’t changed my mind, he says, but when that date ended she marched right over to the dorm, knocked on my door ... very forward back then, and we’ve been together ever since.

Yes, she says with a sigh, looking at the older man who has now been her husband for many, many years, and he hasn’t sent me a flower since.



Dean Poling is The Valdosta Daily Times assistant managing editor.