Page 48 of Nobody's Fool

My father didn’t elaborate any further. I think that was intentional on his part because it is still something that provides endless curiosity. I still do it every time I look at someone. I think my father wanted to teach me about empathy. You pass a man on the street. Maybe he’s angry and seems mean and he’s lashing out. Or someone is ugly or stupid or whatever. Somewhere, my father wanted me to remember, underneath all that excess, there is a human being with hopes and dreams. It’s a simple thought. Hopes and dreams. And maybe this person with the unremarkable exterior has had their hopes and dreams crushed along the way. Doesn’t matter. Hopes and dreams never fully die. They remain somewhere, dormant perhaps, but never totally gone.

Honor that.

“Gary?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s your deal?” I ask.

“Deal?”

Everyone has hopes and dreams, I thought, which also means that everyone has a backstory. Every human you meet is a novel different from every other.

“Where do you live?” I ask. “What do you do? What led you to take my class?”

“Do you always take a personal interest in your students?”

“Sure,” I say. “Especially the ones driving me in a high-end Range Rover and wearing golf shirts from fancy golf courses.”

He smiles, steering now with his wrists. “Do you play golf?”

“Never.”

“So how do you know the logos on my shirts are from fancy courses?”

“Google.”

He nods.

“I assume you play, Gary?”

His grip on the wheel tightens. “Used to.”

“Not anymore?”

“Not anymore,” he repeats.

“Look,” I say, “if you don’t want to say anything—”

“No, I get it,” he says. “It’s weird—me taking your class. I don’t fit the profile, though judging by some of your other students, there isn’t much of a profile for this class, is there?”

“It’s an eclectic bunch,” I agree.

“Can I ask you something?”

I spread my hands. “I’m an open book.”

“Are you married?”

“I am.”

“Kids?”

“A son. He’s a year old.”

“Nice,” Gary says.

“Yeah.”

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