Re Jane by Patricia Park

Author:Patricia Park
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-04-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Don’t Throw Me Away and Leave Me

Teaching can be a pretty thankless job. You never think to give credit to your teachers until you’ve had to stand in front of a classroom and do it yourself. On my first day, my legs shook, my fingers were unsteady as I wrote my name across the dry-erase board, and the simplest of facts slipped my mind under the spotlight of a dozen blinking sets of eyes. In those first few weeks I’d continually scan the room, afraid to land on any one pupil’s face. No matter how many hours you spend doing lesson planning, you can never predict on the spot what direction the class will take. My energy would be shot after only a two-hour class. I’d run downstairs to Rice Dynasty and order two rolls of kimbap, which I’d swallow without chewing, the disks of rice-stuffed seaweed bulging in my throat on their way down. Then it was back upstairs to do it all over again.

The experience gave me a newfound respect for Ed. (I was less impressed with Beth, because she only taught seminars of two to five students, which she often held in her office.)

Public speaking did not come naturally to me—it’s a skill that requires confidence and approachability. Ed possessed both, and I think this is where his Brooklyn accent worked in his favor. It lent him an air of authority, yet it also spoke of his humble roots (as opposed to the better-than-thou polished tones that Beth—and Sam Surati, for that matter—could not shake from her speech). I always imagined Ed as the kind of teacher whose good opinion you wanted to earn, with the implicit understanding that he was also someone you did not want to piss off.

Nina had it, too. She could command a room—or at least a tableful of her friends—and keep them engaged with what would otherwise have been a mundane anecdote. She was a natural saleswoman; she’d hit all her marks, had the crowd laughing along in all the right places.

There were always two friendly faces I searched for during each lesson. One belonged to Monica, another staff member at Zenith. She was taking my class at the behest of Principal Yoo, who told her she needed to work on her conversational English. Monica was a sweet, agreeable girl who sat ramrod straight at her desk—eyes alert, pink pencil scribbling furiously as I spoke. Her English was not strong, but she knew the most arcane rules of English grammar and had a memory that captured everything, like the strips of packing tape, weighed down by batteries, that dangled from the ceiling at the back of Food.

Unfortunately, Monica came as a pair with a haughty girl named Rachel. They were best friends from Ewha Womans University, where they’d both majored in business management. Rachel, who had the full checklist of prized beauty features, carried herself like she knew it; the sense of entitlement that came with that checklist made me ache with irritation.

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