The One Who Got Away

One fall several years ago, a group of six upper-intermediate high school students was passed on to me from another teacher. Of the six, only three had attempted the B2-level English test that was their immediate goal, and of the three, only one—a girl named Carla—had passed, squeaking through by half a hair. Half a hair is not much margin, but it was enough to provide her with a certificate and, along with it, a sense of her own importance, even though her English was not the best among the group. She made many mistakes, but did not seem to mind. She had long, wavy auburn hair that shimmered when she gave her head a quick shake, as she did when I corrected her English. She was a frisky yearling, champing at the bit, but she wasn’t ready for the races. Like the other students in the class, Carla would benefit from moving sideways, I thought, continuing at the same level but using a different lesson book. I found a wonderful option—a well-organized text that came with lots of audio material. Crucially, the book was not billed as preparation for the B2-level test. The small print on the back cover did mention that the text was at the B2-level, but I didn’t worry about it. Why worry when you can be happy? I anticipated a good time with the new students and new book.

But Carla’s parents must have shared their daughter’s notion that she was special. After reading the book’s back cover, and realizing that Carla would be continuing at the same level, they pulled her from the class. “What! You’re far beyond that!” Or perhaps the scenario was slightly different: maybe Carla convinced her parents to let her withdraw, or heckled them until they threw up their hands and gave in. However it happened, she quit. I did not miss her. She had attended for a month, and in that time, it was her friend Estela’s unassuming demeanor and subtle humor that earned my lasting approval, not Carla’s showy prancing. That friend was the person who reported to me that Carla was gone—not just for a single class but for good—and suggested the reason, blaming neither me nor Carla. Sixteen years old and already so astute, so accomplished! What a treasure.

She was in the class for two years, until she started at the university this past fall. Meanwhile other students have moved on, new students have joined. Estela, Alex, David, Marcos, Luis, Elisa, Claudia. Another Carla. Lovely names, lovely people, in a slowly shifting, expanding, contracting mosaic. One of the girls was feisty and provocative, trying to shock the class with how outrageous she was. She often skipped. Another arrived late because she had to accompany her little brother to his sports practice before class. She laughed in a low rumble like a purr, smiled often, and impressed me with her knowing smile. Both these girls left the class. New students joined. David, one of the original six and always the best in the group, is still with me. When he finally took the B2 test last spring, his score was excellent. He is very regular in attendance, and several times he has appeared for class on the eve of a holiday or during an exam period when his classmates have skipped. On those occasions, we push aside the book and spend the hour tête-à-tête, in conversation. I do not alter my tone or lexicon to accommodate him but speak as naturally as to a friend. He is very good company. Even that first year with me, he could have easily skipped a level to study for the advanced exam, which he would have passed, and then gone on to prepare for the proficiency test to earn the highest Cambridge certification. But he and his parents understand that he is soaking up English all the time and becoming ever more at ease in all manner of exchanges, no matter what level the book says. He knows, let’s say, not to judge a book by its cover. What has he gained by reining in? A wider perspective, a view not just of the next test but also of lands with lush meadows all around that would have been a blur had he cantered on, unchecked. The view over your shoulder of open meadows is not the same, and the grass to be nibbled there you cannot go back for.

Did Carla continue her English studies elsewhere? Did she keep her prize-horse attitude, or was she later tamed or even broken? Did she ever miss our class or think about her classmates? How indulgently I remember those who left, how gladly I welcomed those who joined, how fondly I regard those who have stayed. Dear Plutarch, writing about the ancient paradox of the ship of Theseus, whose boards are replaced one by one. When all the boards are new, is it the same ship? Lose Estela, as we did, and the class was sapped. Lose David, and the class would be a shadow of what it was. Change without loss—that’s unlikely. Fortunately, change without opportunity is also unlikely. All the while, how interesting to speculate about the one who jumped the fence and got away.

The post The One Who Got Away appeared first on The American Scholar.