By the time we were finishing the calzones and my third glass of iced tea, my head was spinning. The final question was "What is the telephone number ...or additional pilot training?" It was on the last page of the book and I had seen it, but what was it.I closed my eyes and thought really hard, picturing the page with the number in a small box. I recited the telephone number. One of the pilots said, "That's incorrect. That isn't the number."I was thinking, well shoot, is this the only incorrect. ’ ‘I know I don’t always seem like I’m paying attention,’ she said gently, ‘but if it wasn’t for your class I wouldn’t have kept up with writing. This class has meant so much to me.’ And my heart swelled, although the rational fragments of my brain were trying to tamp out the fire by telling me that she was wrong, that my teaching had been passionless and prefabricated, but although they were right, nothing could beat meaning anything to Dawn Guptil. I felt as stupid as a schoolboy. I felt. More

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