CHAPTER TWO
Monday rolled around in the way it only can when you're a student, suddenly a rudely after a long weekend spend drinking and clowning around with your friends. Even though I had had a fairly busy weekend, my professors comments were still on my mind. I had been excited to see him in class, despite his already obviously dating someone. I could have a crush still, I reasoned. There was nothing wrong with that.
I sat through the whole lecture, one on creative writing, although I couldn't tell you exactly what we were learning that day as I was pretty focused on our professor. I waited patiently after class for the room to empty out a bit before approaching my professor.
Even though I had waited for the room to empty a little, I still had to wait for a few of the other students – all female of course – to leave after asking him questions and flipping their hair a lot. It was frustrating having to wait my turn before I could approach him with my own question, but I tried to not let that show on my face.
"You said I should change my major." I managed before realizing I hadn't said hello first, oh well, too late, "Why did you say that?" I asked, pushing on.
The professor smiled and told me, "Because, you are an artist. You should invest in that."
I raised my eyebrows at him, "How am I an artist? I am not like you, with your best sellers and famous name." I told him, feeling a little frustrated. What did he know about me anyway? Aside from how to make himself look sexy to young women like me.
"No." He told me, "Because you have not committed to it yet. You have not invested in yourself yet. You think this is a hobby, not the calling that it obviously is for you."
I let out a sound of derision and he simply shook his head, "I didn't get best selling novels by working on my law degree." He told me before picking up his things, "But it's up to you. It is your life." He told me.
I felt frustrated, "Yes, yes it is." I told him.
"Good." He told me, turning to leave, "I am glad you realize that."
Standing there, I felt frustrated. I wanted to fight with him. I wanted to tell him how stupid he was being. He didn't know me. He didn't know anything about me or even understand why I was studying what I was studying. What an idiot!
I shook my head and walked out of the lecture theater, determined to forget about the conversation and get on with my studies. My studies and drinking (of course), but I would only allow myself to think about the studies I was getting on with.
Because I was studying law in the US I couldn't study any of my subjects here, because the laws were different and I wouldn't have those subjects count towards my degree. Instead, I was studying a range of 'fun' subjects, which made plenty of space for the student life I wanted to lead. They were subjects that in the US would be considered cake classes.
It was good I had chosen a range of creative subjects because Ireland is known as it isle of saints and scholars (something I only found out when I got here) and there are plenty of incredibly talented writers, poets and artists here leading the lives of artists, something I hadn't known much about before I got here, that is, what the life of an artist is actually like.
I was taking creative writing with that lecturer, a best selling author. His name was David, and he was a gorgeous writer type who all the girls were in love with. If this were a movie, he would be played by a devastatingly good looking middle-aged actor, his character dripping with charm and confidence.
There was also a poetry class I was taking, a literature class where we studied the classics and a class on Irish history that I was taking because it sounded interesting.
Because of my choices (I could have chosen anything I wanted) I had started to ask myself the question about what major I should take long before David showed up in the pub. I had wondered to myself even before I got to Ireland if I was doing the right thing studying law in the first place.
As I walked to my next class, I reflected on my family situation: The only reason I was here was because I came from a long line of lawyers and my family could afford to send me on a semester abroad. Even with scholarships, these programs were not cheap.
My family would be devastated if I threw away all that schooling (I was a second year student) to do something as frivolous as become an artist, especially if I only did so because some hot Irish professor told me to.
I tried to shake the thought from my head as I entered the room for my Irish history class and sat beside Sammy.
It was cool having a local friend, especially when I had a class like this that was full of deep-rooted history topics and that I really shouldn't have taken without a background in Irish, or at least European, history.
Irish children seem to learn Irish history from birth and as such, it's assumed that everyone in the room knows important dates off by heart, as well as important events, important players in Irish history and even the names of every single Irish politician who ever lived.
Our professor for this class was a stern Irish woman from the west coast who spoke English and Irish (Gaelic) as first languages. Sometimes she would ask Irish students questions in Irish when she realized they weren't paying attention. Most of the students were not very good at Irish even though they learned it in school and had to know it in order to pass their exams to graduate high school. I wouldn't be able to answer her in Irish, or even at all if they didn't understand the question which was often the case.
When a student made this mistake, they would regret it.
Our professor was good to me though, because she recognized I wasn't local and obviously couldn't speak Irish. Sammy said this helped me get out of trouble more than it got me into trouble, but in Ireland, I doubted her words were true.
Often in the pubs when you'd meet new people, they'd want to tell you about Irish history which for most young drunks consists of 'how the English raped Ireland'. It's dark, but taking this class, even though I didn't know much already did give me something to talk about when these drunken ramblings took place.
Mostly though, they were best avoided.
Today the professor was talking about the 1916 Easter uprising and most of the Irish kids in the class were sitting there with glazed eyes. Mine were wide-open though as our professor painted stories, making history a little less dull with her wonderful accent (I love Irish accents more since moving here!) and her passion for the subject.
While she talked, Sammy who was next to me passed me a note, "You had professor sexy-pants?" It read.
I shook my head, rolling my eyes a little but unable to stop the smile from appearing on my face. I Then checked to see if this professor had noticed the note being passed. When my eyes met hers she was smiling at me, naming names that I thought I should be writing down. Perfect. I took those notes and quickly wrote, "Yes." On the paper before handing it back to Sammy.
Her answer was swift. She didn't mind if the professor knew she was passing notes. This gossip was evidently more important than having your poor language skills shown off apparently.
That was, until the professor saw her pass me this note and yelled at her, "Just what do you think you're doing?"
The whole class stopped scribbling and turned to see what the professor was looking at. Sammy and I sat stock-still not even breathing.
"Do you care to read that out to the whole class?" the professor asked, her voice fierce.
Sammy was shaking her head vigorously. There was no way she wanted to read anything to anyone.
"Good. Then you wouldn't mind saving your private conversations until after class then?" The professor asked, even as it wasn't a real question.
Sammy's eyes were wide as she told the professor, "No, it's okay. I will."
The professor nodded then turned back to her own notes. She hardly used notes, they were more like a prop, something to turn back to when she had yelled at a student, to turn back to in instances like this.
Her prop took her attention for a few moments before she bounded off onto another part of this topic.
Sammy sunk a little lower in the chair beside me. She would drop the sexy professor questions after that.