Constructive Criticism

He sat in her desk chair, his hands beneath his thighs to keep him from chewing his nails, as she read his thesis. His thesis that had taken him five years to write. His thesis whose completion had been marked by an insatiable hunger, so that he felt part of his body (probably a chunk of esophagus) was now inside it, unretrievable. As her eyes moved with steady swiftness across the lines, she crossed and recrossed her legs stretched out in front of her on the bed. Finally, she set the paper on her lap.

“So?” he asked in a tone something above a whisper.

“I like it,” she said, and less helpful words had never before been spoken.

“And,” he said, his arms making a circling motion in front of him.

“But,” she continued, and he held his breath, “Why, when you write he or she, does the he always come first?” Her wide eyes looked at him waiting for an answer, her hands folded teacher-like on her lap. Her countenance remained frozen as his mind fumbled, then jump started.

“Because it’s shorter,” he answered.

She stuck her chin a little in the air and nodded.

“I get that.”