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    Crash Course

     

    A distant rumble builds, growing louder until the train barrels into the station with a rush of wind and noise. The doors slide open, and Bette steps inside, finding a seat by the window. The train lurches forward, and she settles back, crossing one leg over the other as the city begins to move around her. Her favorite part of the morning is riding the El, watching the city blur past and studying how her fellow Philadelphians start their day. She reaches into her bag, pulling out her notes for the day’s lecture, but she doesn’t look at them right away. Instead, her gaze drifts to the window.

     

    This city, its grit, its history, its refusal to soften itself for anyone, has shaped her in ways no classroom ever could. It’s why she teaches the way she does. Why does she refuse to let her students settle.

     

    The train slows as it approaches her stop, the brakes screeching softly as it pulls into the station. Bette gathers her things, rising smoothly to her feet as the doors slide open. She steps off and finishes the last sip of her coffee, then tosses the cup into a trash can in one fluid motion as she steps onto the campus of the University of Northern Philadelphia.

     

    She gives her watch a quick glance, then picks up her pace, her heels clicking with purpose as she moves toward the Art building.

     

    Inside, the hallway buzzes with low conversation and the shuffle of students. Bette slips past them effortlessly, pushing open the classroom door. Her students are already talking, laptops half-open, notebooks scattered.

     

    Bette smiles. She moves down the steps toward the front, placing her briefcase on the desk as the room gradually quiets. “Alright…” she begins, her voice calm but commanding. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”

     

    Laptops snap open, pens hover over notebooks.

     

    Bette glances at the projected image behind her, a bold, chaotic abstract painting. “This,” she says, gesturing behind her, “is what happens when an artist stops asking for permission.”

     

    A few students exchange looks.

     

    Bette paces slowly. “Art history isn’t just about dates and movements. It’s about disruption. Every major shift in art, every single one, comes from someone deciding the rules no longer apply.”

    Comments

    1. Thank you so much for this new story. I love your writing. You’re very good at pacing and giving the right weight to an incident. The scene with Bette and Melvin is wonderful. Effortless to picture them at the table, to hear them say those words. You’ve humanised Melvin too, given us a reason why Bette loves him, despite everything. She wouldn’t be who she is without him. I also LOVE your descriptions of Bette in Philly. We don’t see that very often, but it’s important I think to how she carries herself in LA. Just a great opening – please write and post more when you can. I know it’s quiet around here, but you are helping! Big thanks from me.

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