Anti-Climax

by Beverly Tjerngren

This wasn't how she wanted it to end. She wasn't sure even now, actually, that she wanted it to end at all, but she'd never been one to change course midstream so there was nothing to do but ride it out, even if it turned out much different from anything she had imagined. She had imagined he might beg and plead with her not to leave him (maybe even pull a ring from his pocket, farfetched as she knew that was). He might be angry and rant and accuse and berate, perhaps even raising a hand to her in his rage. He might turn and walk away without a word, shaking his head in disgust. All of the possible outcomes she had toyed with in her mind these last few days were so far from what was happening at this moment that she almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, and laughter was most certainly not what was called for just now.

Not that she was entirely sure what was called for, having no previous experience with situations such as this one. This was emphatically not on the syllabus for the Romance Literature course that lay behind her current predicament--she would stake her life on it. At the thought of the word "romance" and the phrase "stake her life on it" in the same sentence, given the present circumstances, she was finally unable to control the wild laugh that had been threatening almost since this whole mess had started.

"Oh, this is funny to you?" he wanted to know. "Just how, exactly, is it funny?"

"No, no, it's not funny," she said, her tongue tripping a bit on the words in its hurry to get them out. "I laugh when I'm nervous, that's all. It's a, well, a nervous habit, I guess." She giggled again, although to her credit, it was a nervous giggle this time.

"Nervous," he scoffed. There was the disgusted head-shake she had been half-expecting when she'd told him that their relationship was over and she wouldn't be seeing him again. Wouldn't be coming to his class anymore, wouldn't, as a matter of fact, even be attending the university anymore. She had already turned in her withdrawal notice and would be heading out of town as soon as this little tête-à-tête came to an end. Or not, actually, depending on just what sort of end it came to.

She was astounded at what a shockingly bad judge of character she had turned out to be. Who'da thunk it? she mused to herself. Honestly, she'd known that getting involved with a professor was a bad idea, guaranteed not to have a happy ending, but this was so far outside the realm of what was reasonable and normal that she had a hard time believing it was actually happening to her.

"Who'da thunk what, precisely?" The snide question broke into her thoughts.

Oh god, did I say that out loud? "I don't know," she said hastily. "I'm not thinking clearly right now."

"That's abundantly clear, my dear, and quite the understatement as well. Although I'd remove the qualifier "right now" from that sentence. No need to limit ourselves to the moment at hand, surely."

To think that she'd once found his use of the language sophisticated and seductive. She had been thrilled that such an esteemed, learned man as he could be interested in her, and his elegant mannerisms had left her weak in the knees. As time wore on, however, his speech and behavior had begun to strike her as boorish and contrived and ultimately she had grown weary of it, just as she was growing weary now of being his captive audience in this slowly, slowly unfolding drama. If it hadn't been for the pistol he held loosely in his right hand, she would have issued a biting retort, turned on her heel, and left the room. As it was, she was sorely tempted to do just that. At the very least, his shooting her would bring an end to this tedium.

They jumped like a pair of scalded cats at the light knock on the door, and exchanged wide-eyed looks as the door began to open. "Dr. Boone?" It was a young man's voice, another one of the doctor's adoring students, no doubt. "Do you have a minute?" When he stepped into the room and saw her standing there, he blushed and stammered, "uh, oh, sorry ... I didn't mean to interrupt."

Dr. Boone waved off the apology with one hand, while deftly sliding shut his desk drawer--the drawer he had slipped the gun into, unnoticed--with the other. "No, don't be sorry." He nodded in her direction, meeting her eyes for the briefest of instants before continuing smoothly. "We're quite finished here, aren't we?"