It was boredom, mostly, that sent me back to College at 54. The kids were grown, Bob was on his third wife, and I had too much time on my hands.
I enrolled in a Creative Writing course for lack of interest in much else. I figured the assignments would keep me occupied, rather than watching old episodes of Golden Girls. Classes were Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and I actually felt nervous to be on campus again.
I had never graduated, leaving to find work so Bob could become a lawyer. It worked out well, financially, as I was able to get a nice settlement at the divorce ten years ago. I dated, but found it was usually just a way to have sex, for both of us.
I was pleased to find a wide range of ages at the first class, from late teens into seventies, about a dozen in all. I sat in the rear, a habit from high school to see how other students reacted.
The professor was late, and arrived in a flourish, introducing himself as a Hippie in a Time Warp, and made us each stand, introduce ourselves, and say what we expected from the class.
I BS'd that I hoped to enhance my letter writing skills, and others had similar desires. Then a lanky kid about 23, on my left, stood, said, "I'm Mickey, and I expect an A+" and sat down. The professor roared in delight and we all chuckled.
He gave us an assignment and as class broke up, I said to Mickey, "Good answer, you got his attention."
He smiled and looked me over, and said softly, "After all, I don't have your looks to catch his eye," and he winked at me, and was gone.
I paused, and thought, did he mean me? I looked around and there was no one behind me. Why, that little flirt! I have two kids older than him! And I realized I was blushing, my cheeks rosy red.
As I said, I'm fifty four, with all my original parts. Friends have had tummy tucks and lifts to their chins and butts, but I prefer to age naturally. That's not to say I'm Christy Brinkley. I look 54, my body is curvy, not slender, my breasts are ample, 36C, and I stand 5'5. And I never, NEVER, get compliments from twenty-somethings.
The next class, Mickey was already seated. Being a creature of habit, I took my same seat, as he said, "How is the Lovely Mary this evening?"
I smiled, and felt myself blushing again. "Fine, thanks. Mickey, right?"
"You remembered me! My night's already made!"
He was laying it on too thick, so I smirked and said, "Glad I could help."
They broke us into groups of four, with Mickey, me, a cute brunette about 20 and another middle -aged woman. We each took turns reading our pieces aloud for the others to critique while the Prof listened in. He was very emphatic about being honest, but I didn't feel right judging someone else's work. Neither did anyone else, so the professor would throw little digs at the author.
I read my piece, which I thought was humorous, and Mickey watched intently, a smile on his face the whole time. When I concluded, the Prof said, "Comments? No? Well, Mary, I do." He went on about it being amateurish, and bland, and I thought I would cry, when Mickey's hand shot up.
"Professor, I disagree. I think it showed wit and creativity. I especially liked..." and he went on, raving as if I was Ernest Hemingway. The prof nodded and said, "Good, if you like something, say it. Just get involved, Damn it!"
I looked over at Mickey and he smiled and nodded, as if saying, it'll be okay. Class ended, and I gathered up my things, and I felt Mickey watching me. We walked out together, making small talk.
"So, how are you enjoying campus life?" he asked.