Dreams for Stones Read Free Page B

accomplishment in
your five years here.” She sat back, ceding the floor to him.
    He’d expected the question or something
similar, but took a moment to gather his thoughts anyway before
speaking briefly about the techniques he’d developed to teach
grammar, after reading about the positive effects of music on
learning.
    When he stopped speaking, she waited a beat,
perhaps to give him a chance to add more. When he didn’t, she spoke
briskly, saying the approach sounded interesting , her
favorite word it seemed.
    “I see you’ll be coming up for tenure this
fall. That means we need to discuss your publication record.” She
glanced at the file. “It appears you’ve been writing primarily for
education journals.” She peered at him over the top of her glasses.
“What I want to know is whether you have any plans to write
fiction.”
    “Is that an issue?” He’d heard the rumors
about Hilstrom’s plan to turn Denver State into a fiction-writing
Mecca to rival Iowa; he just hadn’t completely believed it. Had
chosen to label it an interesting but unlikely approach.
    She pulled off her glasses and looked him in
the eye. “Fiction is our future, Alan, and I don’t intend to
support anyone for appointment, reappointment, tenure, or promotion
who isn’t writing it.”
    The shock froze him, until a welcome spurt
of annoyance thawed the sudden cold. Good lord, the woman ought to
be writing ad copy somewhere, not directing a large, complex
department at a major university. What had the search committee and
the dean been thinking? He sat back, adding distance between
them.
    “There’s entirely too much deadwood writing
non-fiction in our tenured ranks already,” she added.
    So, what was deadwood using to write its
non-fiction with these days? Pen? Typewriter? Computer? He pictured
a row of bare tree branches holding pens and leaning over sheets of
paper and almost smiled.
    She paused, apparently to allow him an
opportunity to respond, but he had nothing to say.
    “You’re not much of a talker.” She cocked
her head and twirled her glasses examining him.
    “Better to be thought a fool. . . ” He kept
his tone calm and neutral, something he’d discovered was useful
whether he was dealing with an agitated student, a frightened
animal, or an academic administrator.
    “Than to open your mouth and remove all
doubt,” Hilstrom finished when he didn’t. “Yes, I do realize I’m
changing the rules on you late in the game, but you have six months
to make adjustments before you turn in your dossier.” She tapped
the glasses on her teeth. “I know you’ll need time to think about
all this. Then if you have questions or concerns, simply ask to see
me.” She set his file and her peripatetic glasses on the table.
“After all, that’s what I’m here for.”
    Then, with a professional smile and a brief,
hard handclasp, she dismissed him.
     
~ ~ ~
    Juggling beers and hot dogs, Alan and Charles Larimore settled into
their seats at Coors Field. Charles, who hated to miss even a
single hamstring stretch or warm-up pitch, focused immediately on
the players who were scattered around the field.
    Alan took a gulp of beer. “How goes the
fight against the forces of evil?”
    Charles, who was a deputy district attorney,
spoke without turning his head. “Another week, another fifteen drug
dealers, two robbers, and a rapist back on the street.”
    “You could always give up the frustration
and go for the big corporate bucks.”
    Charles grimaced at Alan over the rim of his
beer. “Somebody’s got to be stemming the tide. Besides, most
corporate law’s as dull as a machete used to chop rocks.”
    “Ever think maybe there’s a good reason
‘stemming’ rhymes with ‘lemming’?”
    “You’re no better. Stemming the tide of
illiterate lemmings at DSU.”
    They stood to let a group into the row, then
sat back down.
    “I met with the new chair last week.” Alan’s
gut tightened as he recalled the meeting. Hilstrom was