Twenty-Fifth

It started on a Tuesday.

Years later, I can still remember the day of the week, if only because my class was held on Tuesdays, from 5:30 to 11.

"You're crazy," Jack Porter had declared, twirling his fingerprinting brush against a doorknob. "Just because CE credits are required doesn't mean you have to take a class on bugs for five and a half hours."

I'd just swiped my bangs out of my eyes (too long, had to trim them soon) and continued searching for fibers. If I didn't make CSI Two by December, I'd owe Jorge Alvarez fifty bucks, and that wasn't going to happen.

"How can bugs help you on the job, anyway?" Jack pressed.

"They can provide a timeline," I murmured. "Different insects show up to feed on a corpse at different stages of decomposition."

"Tasty."

"There's still open spots in the seminar," I told him. "Take it with me."

"No fucking way," he laughed. "I'm taking Fiber Analysis with Johnson. Two hours a week. Not everyone can go without sleep like you do, Sidle."

His words proved prophetic, as the Insects in Forensics seminar turned out to have six students enrolled. Five middle-aged men, and me - a 24 year old with long bangs and long legs. I guess the teacher had no choice but to notice me.

"Hello, class," he'd said, staring at my thighs. "Welcome to Insects in Forensics. This will be a ten-week seminar, and we'll be learning a lot about insects. And how they affect forensics. Now, I'm what's called an entomologist. That's a fancy word for bug doctor."

He was creeping me out, leering at me and licking his lips. By 7:30 I was seriously considering switching to Jack's fiber class. And wondering if I should start carrying a can of Mace.

"So, Sara Sidle," he murmured during a break, slinking up to my desk.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Let's get coffee." He rubbed the back of his index finger against my bare shoulder. "See what happens."

Oh, I could tell him what would happen. Simple equation, really - my foot plus his crotch, equals a high-pitched falsetto.

"Thanks, but I'd rather not," I said politely, and he frowned.

"Suit yourself."

Two days later, I received a phone call from the CE seminar coordinator, saying that my instructor had to drop the course due to a personal emergency of some sort. Later, I'd learn that his wife had left him after emptying their joint bank account. So it was with a sense of relief that I entered the classroom the next Tuesday, and found a new teacher standing by the front desk.

He spoke softly, this Grissom guy. We all had to move to the front row of desks in order to hear him. But it was worth it, as he took us through a recent case of his. Eschewing the normal slide-show, he handed out large photographs and charts. He spoke of the life cycle of a blowfly, and when he asked if anyone knew what the larval stage of a fly is more commonly known as, my hand shot up.

"Ah, yes?" Grissom asked, looking amused.

"A maggot?"

"Looks like we've got ourselves a star pupil, class," he said with a kind grin. The other men looked bored.

Over the weeks, I grew more and more fond of the quiet bug teacher with the pretty eyes. He didn't try to hit on me, and he didn't try to hit me. And that made him unlike any man I'd ever known.

"Have you always liked bugs?" I asked him one night after class, as we were walking to our cars.

"Yes," he replied.

I waited for more, but he just nodded and unlocked his car door.

"Do you drink coffee?" I called, feeling foolish.

"Yes," he replied again, then got in his car and drove away.

This guy's social skills were a new low.

The next Tuesday, I spent the day lying low. Immersed myself in paperwork during the day, and debated skipping the seminar that night. Once a year, I was reminded of what loneliness felt like, and this had been a particularly bad example. But after eating a TV dinner, watching a rerun of Cheers, and staring at an arrangement of flowers sent by my old college roommate, the silence became overwhelming.

"Welcome," Grissom said when I entered the classroom an hour late. I slipped into an empty seat and listened blankly to his descriptions of carpet beetles.

After class, he came up behind me as I was walking out.

"You lost your title," he called, and I half-turned.

"Excuse me?"

"Star pupil. Ralph was the one who was making me earn my teaching fee tonight, with all his questions."

I just nodded.

"If you ever..." he hesitated. "Here's my card. My phone number's on the back."

I took it wordlessly, offering just a tight-lipped smile before getting into my car. He wasn't the only one lacking in social skills.

I could lie and say I really thought it was a black widow spider. And that I really felt like my life was in danger. But the truth is, I just wanted someone else in my apartment that night. He arrived at my door quickly, and when I pointed out the arachnid in question, he picked it up with two fingers.

"Araneomorphae," he murmured, smiling at the little spider. "He's harmless."

"Oh," I said awkwardly. "Okay."

"I'll just set him outside for you."

Part of me wanted to seduce him. To take off my shirt and see if his baser instincts took over, see what color his eyes turned when he came. The other part of me wanted to preserve the memory of his sweetness, and that part won out.

"Safe and sound," he said, coming back in.

"Me or the spider?"

He shrugged, smiling.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Are you always this shy?"

"Are you always this inquisitive?"

After a pause, I answered, "Yes."

"No," he replied, looking around my apartment. His eyes alit on the small floral arrangement. "Special occasion?"

"Not really."

"Boyfriend?"

"Former roommate. She sends one every year."

He turned back, his eyes lighting up. "It's your birthday."

"Yeah."

For some reason, he didn't seem to find it odd that I was alone on my birthday, nor that I'd chosen him as company.

"Thirty?" he asked. "Thirty-one?"

"Twenty-five."

"Ah." No mistaking the note of disappointment in that syllable.

"Thirty-five?" I guessed.

"Forty."

There was something familiar about him, something that made him seem at home in my space. So when he leaned forward and kissed my cheek shyly, I almost expected it.

"Happy birthday, Sara." He smiled at me, then turned and opened the front door. "Make sure you're my star pupil again next week."

"Yes, sir."

When he left, my apartment was quiet again. But I was learning to like the quiet.