Professor's Wife Ch. 01

Most of the places and institutions featured in this story are real and the events related actually happened. However, the reader who tries to discover the identities of the persons in this story will be frustrated by my having changed all names and places.

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Dinnertimes with my husband, Bert, are not just about food and a glass of wine. Dinnertimes are when we go over the day's events, both good and bad. His reply to my my relating how well the hydrangeas that I planted the previous year were doing was pretty typical.

"Sara that's great. Let's go out and have a look after dinner. Hey, you remember Jerome Schuechterlich? Graduated 3 or 4 years back. I had him in about all my power generation and transmission classes."

Jerome was one of those students whom I would be unlikely to ever forget. Giving Bert a knowing smile, I answered. "Jerome Schuechterlich is the one former student I won't ever forget."

Bert laughed and continued. "Well he stopped by today. On his way to a conference in Milwaukee. Works for Berkshire Hathaway Energy in Des Moines. Good job, probably makes more than I do."

"Well Bert, just like you say so often, success, or lack of it, in college isn't always a good predictor of achievement in real life. Remember him as a sophomore? Nobody would've pictured Jerome as much more than a low level bureaucrat with some state utility commission. Actually, at the time I wondered if he had what it took to even graduate. How's he doing otherwise?"

"Sara, if 'otherwise' means married and having kids, he's doing great. Married, 2 kids -- both boys."

"Makes you feel good, don't it? Student of yours making good like that."

"If I remember right, you made your contribution too, Sara. Especially the wife and 2 kids part." Bert flashed a big knowing smile before acknowledging that, yes, he did feel good about Jerome's success.

My contribution to Jerome's success began one afternoon sometime in a fall semester around five years earlier. Working only 40% at the time, I was home 3 days a week and that afternoon was on one of my days off. Going to the door, I looked through the peep hole and saw a young red-headed man whom I recognised as a student in one of Bert's undergraduate classes and who had been at our house the day before for some tutoring.

"Sorry to bother you Missus Bornwell. Uh, umm, you may not remember me but I was here yesterday afternoon late. I think, I, uh, maybe left my Power Generation notes here."

I did remember him and not only from the day before. A shy lad, he'd been at our house for tutoring more than a few times. As Bert had described him to me, he was one of those wannabe geeks -- hard working but hardly one of the brilliant ones who end up with job offers from Google, Apple, Microsoft, etc. Bert said that considering his lack of academic prowess, Jerome's future was, at best, going to be as a low-level engineer with some government agency. Unless he got really lucky and had some high-level connections, he'd never get hired by a energy company.

I asked him in and led him to the den/home office where Bert held those tutoring sessions and wrote lots of his technical papers. "Jerome, look around for your notes but try not to disturb anything. It looks messy in here but Bert has his system and it seems to work."

He found the notes in short order and thanked me profusely; so long and profusely that I thought maybe he expected a refreshment. However, my offer was met with protests that he didn't want to be any trouble. The other times he'd been at our house for my husband's tutoring, I hadn't really had the opportunity to pay much attention to him. Today he was there alone and I slowly became aware of how shy he was; so shy that he mostly looked down when he talked to me. I became really curious.

At my insistence he finally agreed to join me for a cup of tea and some oatmeal cookies. I showed him to our sun room/porch and went to get the tea and cookies.

Sitting across from me, he hardly looked up as I poured tea. Twice I had to encourage him to help himself to the cookies before he finally took one. Where do you start with a guy like that? I started with easy, non-intrusive questions. Where was his home town? Did he have siblings? How did he like it here in university? Did he still have contact with high school friends? And so on.

What I found out was that Jerome came from a small town in southern Minnesota where his dad worked in the grain elevator and his mom worked part time in the local nursing home. He had one sibling - a sister who was a senior in high school and therefore around 2 years his junior. University was 'okay', whatever that meant. The tone of his voice told me he wasn't really comfortable as a student and lacked confidence. However, the odd thing about that was that he wasn't a bad looking guy -- far from it, curly red hair, twinkling green eyes, around 5' -- 11'', lanky build. From his looks, the guy ought to have a date every Saturday night. I knew I was being too nosy but I just had to know so I asked him if he had a girl back home.

The way he hesitated before answering predicted his answer. "No."

Seeing my initial surprise and questioning look, he stuttered out an obvious lie. "We broke up when I left for university. Too far to get home often."

I came back with the cheerful consoling remark. "Well Jerome, here at Madison, half the 30'000 undergrads are female so you'll have plenty of opportunities to find a good match."

The tone of his reply, "Sure", didn't convince me that he was convinced. The therapist in me had to know more. But how?

I nearly made the mistake of asking him if he'd had any dates, period. Instead I just said it looked like something was bothering him.

His "no" reply wasn't convincing either so I accepted defeat and changed the subject to movies and music. His increased comfort level was obvious but his shyness didn't disappear altogether. In fact Jerome was one of those people who are not only too shy to open up and express themselves, their shyness also makes it hard for them to end a visit. I had some garden work to do before making dinner so I just came out and said so in a way that told Jerome that I wanted him to excuse himself.

His reply surprised me. "Missus Bornwell, I wish I could say things like you say them. I knew I needed to leave, but I just couldn't figure out a way to say it. I sure wish I'd had teachers like you."

That was the first crack in his introvertism and without intending to, I stuck my foot in that crack. "Jerome, thanks for the compliment, but you know, I'm a speech therapist; saying the right thing the right way has to come naturally."

"Well, you'll probably see me here again the next time I need extra help with a course. Anyway, it sure was nice talking to you."

"Nice talking with you as well, Jerome." Then out came my words that set things in motion. "Look, if you ever want to talk again, just stop by. I work 40% and I'm home Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

The next days and through the weekend, I kept asking myself two things: one was why I'd essentially offered Jerome free therapy and the other was whether he'd actually show up for us to talk. In a way it didn't matter; I'm a speech therapist, not a therapeutic psychologist and therefore hardly qualified to help a very introverted young man.

Over dinner on Saturday night, I decided to mention Jerome's shyness to Bert. His answer surprised me completely. "Jerome? Hard worker, just not one of the brightest. Shy? Never noticed. Works well in lab groups. Seems to enjoy the company of the other guys. Far as I know, Jerome never misses a Friday happy hour. Him shy? Not as far as I know."

I let the subject drop. I had my answer. Jerome had a problem being around women. I also knew right then that I would be calling my friend, Carolyn Hirnflicker who is a psychological therapist.

In my job, I treat kids with speech deficiencies. Around half of the deficiencies I treat are rooted in physical impairments like adenoids, cleft lip or palate and hearing loss. These cases get referred to the appropriate medical specialist for the medical care neede. Then there's a whole bunch that are founded in things like neurological or psychological disorders or vocal abuse. When I suspect vocal abuse or some other psychological disorder and can't get to the bottom of it, I contact a therapist -- typically Carolyn. But Jerome wasn't one of my clients and calling Carolyn would have to be unofficial. I debated with myself the ethics of talking to her about one of my husband's students.

Late Sunday afternoon, I finally rang Carolyn. After the appropriate amount of small talk, I asked if she ever came across guys who have trouble talking to women.

"Men who are nervous around women? OMG yes! It's certainly not uncommon. Why?"

Mentioning only his given name, I told her about Jerome. She listened and then explained that when men are nervous around females, there's always a cause. "Like something that happened to him, maybe as a small child, maybe as an adolescent, or even as a teenager. Some female made fun of him. Belittled him. In other words, it's an acquired problem. In their DNA? Forget it!

Thinking back on the conversation I'd had with him, I remembered that it had occurred to me that Jerome had a strained relationship with members of his family -- his younger sister included. "Carolyn, you don't suppose he was abused?"

"You said he gets along well with his male colleagues? If that's so, then I wouldn't think he was abused in the immoral and illegal sense. My guess would be some kind of verbal abuse."

We chatted a little longer about other stuff and then said good night.

The following Monday morning, I was in the garden clearing away the pole bean growth and putting away the poles when I heard the door bell. I went to the door thinking it was the postman with a registered letter. (Bert gets his share of them from companies and organisations who feel wronged by some article or opinion he's written.) It turned out to be a nervous Jerome at the door.

I barely got the door open and he was already apologising profusely for interrupting whatever I was doing. Once I stopped the flood of his apologies, I asked him in and showed him to the breakfast nook in our kitchen. Over a cup of tea, we first made some small talk and then I led him into talking a little about his studies. It was clear to me that he was fascinated with electrical engineering and equally clear that he wished he were a better student. When I led him into talking about his social life, it also became clear to me that if he had any dates, they were few and far between. Jerome was also smart enough to realise that I realised that he had a pretty thin − actually it was empty − dating calendar.

Then something occurred to me! Could Jerome be gay? I wished I'd brought that up with Carolyn. I wanted to know without asking directly and she could have told me how. My best effort was: "Jerome, Bert says you get along well with your colleagues."

He was sharp enough to see that for what it was -- asking if he was gay without asking if he were gay. Looking up slightly, he replied, "Missus Bornwell I'm not gay if that's what you're thinking."

"Okay, sorry for snooping. It's just that you seem so uncomfortable around women. I mean you hardly look at me, even when you're talking to me. Feel like talking about it? I'm a good listener."

He replied without looking up. "I lied to you. My girl and I didn't break up when I left for university."

I was pretty sure what the truth was, but I knew that therapy would have the best chance if Jerome came out with it of his own free will. I flashed a look of innocent surprise with my reply. "Oh, really?"

Still looking at the floor, he gave it up. "You see, Missus Bornwell, I didn't have a steady girl. Actually, I didn't have any dates at all when I was in high school."

I was about to do another 'oh really' and thought better. Maybe it was time to be more direct. "Jerome, you never look at me. Is that somehow connected with your not having dates?"

"I just don't feel comfortable around girls, er, ladies, women."

"You mean like nervous? Were you were afraid girls would turn you down if you asked them to dance or for a date?"

"Umm, well, I guess, maybe. Truth is, somehow I never got to the point of thinking about asking a girl to dance or go out with me."

Then it occurred to me that he may have lied about being gay and my question just popped out. "Jerome, if you're gay, it's okay. People who hold gayness against a person aren't worth being concerned with."

He came back pretty quick and pretty sharp. "I'm not gay! Some of the guys thought so at first too. Now I think they see that I don't have dates because of what you noticed. Like being uncomfortable around girls. Sort of like a fear that I have."

"Okay, so you have this fear, nervousness, discomfort, whatever. You always had this? Like before high school? Or longer?

"Missus Bornwell, this goes way back. I know I had it already when I started grade school. Couldn't tie my shoes then. One day, I tripped and one got untied. This cute little girl comes up, real sweet like and offers to tie it for me. I ran away. Further back then that, I just can't remember any incidents."

"Jerome I think you don't enjoy being this way. Have you tried breaking out?"

"If only I knew how."

"Well a good friend of mine who does therapy says a condition like you have is hard to cure unless you find out what caused it. Mostly we've worked on speech problems, but she's told me that lots of cases go back to an insult, a belittlement, somebody making fun of you, an embarrassment -- that sort of thing. Something that bothered you a lot."

Jerome shrugged his shoulders. Then looking at the ceiling, eyes closed, he was obviously searching his memory. My hopes went up. Then he shook his head in the negative. "I just can't think of anything. Sorry."

I told him not to be sorry. "Maybe you'll have a flashback, when you least expect it. You know something like maybe your fly was open and some giggling girl told you; maybe she even teased you about it."

He looked back at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Looking for a tell-tale emotion, I watched him intently. I almost missed it. A jerk of his neck, wrinkling around his lips and a faint reddening of his face.

The explanation I expected didn't come. Instead Jerome got up and said, "I think I better go."

It was pretty clear he'd remembered something significant and if I couldn't get him to tell me right then, maybe I'd never find out. "You remembered something, didn't you, Jerome?"

His face got even redder. "It's pretty embarrassing."

"That means it might be the problem and that makes it important. Why don't you sit down Jerome. If you want, close you eyes; but just tell me whatever you remember."

"Like I said, it's pretty embarrassing. Missus Bornwell, well you see ........" It seemed to me I could see his face getting redder. "You see, I'm, I'm circumcised."

"Like around 75% of all American men, including my husband. That shouldn't be embarrassing."

"Thing is, my parents didn't have me circumcised right after I was born. Only later. I was almost four. One time when it was almost healed, one of my aunts and her two girls stopped by for coffee. My mom had me show it to my aunt and of course the girls saw me too."

"Did your aunt or your girl cousins tease you, make fun of you, anything like that?"

"Don't think so. They just looked and then I got to pull my pants up and go out and play. Thing was though, I remember that afterwards, I always felt naked when I was around my aunt or these two girl cousins. Like as if my fly was open and my penis hanging out."

"Jerome, you were what, four at the time. Four year olds don't normally have this shame about nudity."

"I bet you don't come from a small town with an active puritanical Christian ministry. We got taught very early that we had to keep our privates hidden."

"Sounds kinda hypocritical to me. You were supposed to be modest, but you get told to show off your newly cut penis."

"I guess it was kinda hypocritical. But those people, my parents included, they're all hypocrites. Hell, by the time I was ten, I saw through all their bullshit. Always talking about brotherly love outta one side of their mouths and out the other saying what kinda mean shit they'd do if a black family moved into the county. And then there's the way they shun divorced women -- white or black."

Well that was another side to Jerome; his sense of right and wrong was very well developed. But I wanted to get to the bottom of his shyness towards girls. "These two cousins, they ever tease you? About being circumcised?"

"Can't remember that they did. But they didn't get much of a chance. I tried to have nothing to do with them. In school though, whenever I'd see one or both of them with other girls giggling, I wondered if they were giggling about my circumcised penis."

"And then Jerome, you avoided the other girls too?"

"Well, yes, I guess so." To my raised eyebrows, he went on. "Yeah, I avoided other girls too."

So I had my answer. The question now was 'now what?' Having no training or experience with psychological therapy, I didn't have a clue where to take it from then on. I knew I'd be calling Carolyn sometime soon.

Just like on his earlier visit, I told Jerome I had some work to do and he excused himself. Before he left, I made sure he understood that I'd give his situation lots of thought and that we could talk again.

I didn't wait long to call Carolyn and she didn't take long to agree to see him. To my alerting her to his probable finances -- or lack thereof -- she quickly volunteered to work on a pro bono basis.

Convincing Jerome to take the offer of therapy wasn't nearly as easy as getting Carolyn's offer of pro bono therapy. It took me several meetings before he finally agreed. Finally, the three of us settled on a Saturday afternoon appointment because that didn't interfere with Carolyn's scheduled appointments nor with Jerome's studies. We met in Carolyn's practice where we'd have space, privacy and therapeutic props like mannequins, furniture, etc.

The first thing she did was see Jerome alone in her therapy room to confirm what I thought was the problem and the source of that problem. After something like 45 minutes, they came back out into waiting room. Carolyn's beaming look of satisfaction told me she'd learned what she wanted to learn and Jerome's subdued look told me it hadn't been easy for him, but that he was glad he'd coughed up the secret. Over coffee Carolyn explained the therapy.

What she proposed was to re-enact the event that caused the problem and have it end on a positive note. That didn't surprise me greatly because I knew she employed this method on a regular basis, albeit mostly when dealing with family conflicts. Thinking I was no longer needed, I got up and started to take leave.

Carolyn's reaction surprised me and pleased me. "Sara, I was counting on you to play a role in this re-enactment."

I made a little show of thinking it over and not looking to eager before I assented. (Actually I was more than eager. partly out of plain curiosity and partly because re-enactment therapy had interested me for some time.)

"Sara, I knew you would agree. Now why don't you and Jerome wait out here while I set up the props. Jerome's manner was still subdued and we barely conversed while waiting. It wasn't long and Carolyn came out and announced all was ready. "Sara please come with me. Jerome, could you please wait here for a few minutes?"

In the therapy room, Carolyn had set up a mock living room with couch and facing armchair. On the couch were two stuffed mannequins. She wasted no time starting. "Okay Sara, you are Jerome's Aunt Mildred and these mannequins are your daughters. I need you to sit between them on the couch." As she sat down on the armchair, she said, "I guess you know whose part I'm playing."