The faculty offices are little more than cubicles there are pictures thumb-tacked up to the soft walls of her office pictures her students her childhood her graduation from Sarah Lawrence pictures of her sitting on the lawn with her father he is dead now has been dead for a long time but in the picture taken so many years ago he seems vital and full of life like he will live forever in another picture taken years later she is wearing cut-off shorts and has her hair pulled back and she doesn't look anything like her at the time fifty-odd years she wonders if she looks much older now DC isn't in any of the pictures he usually took them himself he insisted on being the one to hold the camera to craft the image and as a result he isn't in any of the pictures well that's how it goes now isn't it she touches the photos with the tips of her fingers against the glossy surfaces. In her mailbox across the hall there are assignments which her students have turned in late essays and portfolios full of fumbling poetry and eager short stories some of them also left little gifts for her well-wishes or letters of sympathy she pushes them all into her desk drawer without reading any of them she can't bear it why would they give her those? are they mocking her or could it be that maybe they love her? she doesn't see how that is possible.