barbara genshin

Mrs. B laughed. “Your ass is perfect, Jim. I ought to know.”“Uh, thanks. So is yours?” I tried to give a compliment. “Anyway, I gotta go shower and change or I’ll miss the activity bus.”

“But I CAN’T make up for what I’ve done, don’t you understand? I can’t bring back the people I’ve killed. I can’t heal the people I’ve hurt. I can’t undo the damage I’ve wrought. One lifetime is not enough to properly repent for my sins, so why bother living? Maybe N-N-N-N… he… should have just killed me. I don’t deserve to live for what I’ve done. He said he would take everything from me, every sensation I can enjoy, every thought and feeling that makes me who I am, my hopes and dreams. He was right, it took it all, but he let me keep me life. I wish he hadn’t. I don’t deserve it.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.