May We Be Forgiven

asks.
    “Tricky,” I say.
    “Are you ever going to write that novel?”
    “I’m taking notes, it’s really more a nonfiction.”
    “You’ve been taking notes since he left office.”
    “I’m not done,” I say. “The story is still unfolding; it’s an ongoing situation, more is slowly being revealed.”
    “I’ll keep it short, then—you’ve got a lot to deal with,” he says.
    The waitress hasn’t even poured the water yet.
    “You have been with us for a long time, but times are changing. …”
    “Is there another course you’re thinking I might teach? Contrasting Presidencies, George Bush Jr. vs. Richard Nixon, Who’s the Sneakier Worm?”
    “Actually, we’re going to go with something else. We’ve got this fellow who has a new way of teaching history, it’s future-forward.”
    “What does that mean, future-forward?” I ask, sounding more indignant than intended.
    “Instead of studying the past, the students will be exploring the future—a world of possibility. We think it will be less depressing than watching reruns of the Zapruder films.”
    “Oh,” I say. “Oh.” And nothing else.
    “You’ll finish out the semester, of course.”
    I nod—of course.
    The food arrives.
    “I hope you won’t fight us. Nixon’s dead; your students weren’t even born when Nixon was in office.”
    “Are you suggesting we no longer teach history?”
    “I’m saying your class has no relevance.”
    “I beg to differ,” I say.
    “Don’t,” he says. “You have no idea. We filled your class with overflow kids who had to take one history to fulfill the requirement and the Internet and Americana class was full. Trust me, they don’t care about Nixon.”
    “But some of their papers were pretty good.”
    “They buy them on the Internet. They get papers about other people and change the names—because, honestly, at this point they’re not even selling papers about Nixon, so they buy a Clinton paper and tweak it accordingly.”
    “No,” I say, genuinely surprised.
    “Yes. In fact, we did a test case in your class, retitling ‘The Morals of Monica Lewinsky’ as ‘Breaking Faith at the Watergate.’ You gave a paper that wasn’t about a break-in, but about a blow job, a B+.”
    “Was I grading on a curve?”
    “You’re out of touch,” he says.
    “I’m a professor. We’re supposed to be out of touch. Remember elbow patches and pipes?”
    “Not in this century.”
    “How about I teach a class in murder, in memoir, in my murderous brother, in the American downfall,” I suggest; given the timing, I can’t help but think this has something to do with what happened with George.
    Schwartz is unmoved. “I can’t save you now anyway—we have no money. Write your book, write a couple of books, and then we’ll talk.” He raises his hand and signals to the waitress for the check. “You know,” he says, “there are all these schools that now run programs on the Internet; maybe you could pick up an Internet class or two and keep your hand in.”
    “That’s it?” I say. “After all these years? I get half a lunch and a goodbye?”
    “I don’t meant to rush you,” Schwartz says, “but there’s nothing more to say.”

    S eeking counsel. In a local church there are late-afternoon meetings. I drive by, see cars parked outside, lights on in the old building. A feeling of warmth and welcome emanates. I park and enter, wandering through the upstairs chapel.
    “Meeting’s downstairs,” the janitor tells me.
    The meeting is already under way when I slip into the room and take a seat in the back. The men and women gathered have the posture of familiarity; I sense that not only do they all know each other, they’ve known each other for a long time. I am the odd man out. I feel them gently shifting in their seats so they can get a look at me. Finally, my moment comes.
    “Hi, my name is Nit.”
    “Hi, Nit,” they say in unison. The echo of their voices causes me to draw a deep breath; it is the echo of acceptance and welcome.
    “What brings you here today?” someone asks.
    “I got fired,” I say. I pause and then begin again, “I fucked my brother’s wife, and then my brother came home and killed her. My wife is filing for divorce. And now, today, after having taught at the same college for many years, they said this semester is my last. I am living in my brother’s house while he’s in the bin. I’m taking care of the dog and the cat, and recently I started using his