After Failing to Pretend to be His Brother

The teacher was a gentle old man named Bob Carter. He quickly took notice of me and enjoyed posing questions that I could readily answer.

After each class, I diligently previewed and reviewed the material.

Therefore, it was effortless for me to respond to his questions. With a smile, Bob remarked, "It's rare to find boys with such delicate thoughts these days."

I harbored the illusion that I was truly his student.

I attended his class as usual on a Friday. Today, Bob delved into a poem, "Ode to the West Wind," by Percy Bysshe Shelley. I had memorized this poem in elementary school.

Bob was lecturing to the class. "This remarkable poem by Shelley was written in 1819 near Florence, Italy. It's crucial to understand the historical context. Europe was in a state of turmoil following the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars. Shelley, a radical thinker, was living in self-imposed exile from England due to personal scandals and political persecution.

"The poem itself was inspired by a strong wind Shelley encountered while walking along the Arno River. Interestingly, he composed the entire work in a single day. It was later published in 1820 as part of his collection 'Prometheus Unbound.'

"It's important to place this work in its literary context. 'Ode to the West Wind' is a prime example of Romantic poetry, emphasizing the power of nature, the importance of emotion and imagination, and the role of the individual. It reflects the revolutionary spirit of the age and Shelley's own political ideals.

"The poem's influence has been far-reaching. Its final line, 'If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?' has entered common usage as an expression of hope in difficult times. The themes of change, the power of nature, and the role of the poet continue to resonate with readers and have influenced subsequent generations of writers and thinkers."

This poem, which I had only recited fluently in my youth, concealed such a profound tale. I couldn't help but applaud Bob's eloquent exposition inwardly.

At the end of the class, Bob smiled enigmatically, "I will take attendance twice this semester, once at the beginning and once at the end."

He proceeded with the roll call.

"Jack Cooper?"

"Present!"

"Jaden White?"

"Present!"

"Present!"

Two voices rang out simultaneously.

The individual who responded from the back row strode directly towards me. Fearfully, I turned to glance. My heart was seized by the realization that it might be my younger brother, who had skipped the elective course for the entire semester.

Jaden spoke coldly, "Who are you? Why are you impersonating me? I heard from a friend, but I didn't believe it until now. I've caught you in the act."

Bob descended from the podium and inquired, "Which one of you is Jaden White from Computer Department?"

Jaden retorted indignantly, "It's obviously me! Mr. Carter, look at him; he's clearly a vagrant. I don't know what his intent is by impersonating me. Is he trying to deceive the female classmates?"

Bob demanded sternly, "Which department are you in?"

I couldn't answer about my department. I could pretend to be Jaden, perhaps because I was jealous and wanted to experience his life.

Yet, I couldn't simply claim to be a genuine student of the university.

I glanced down at my best shoe, noticing the side was cracked.

A buzz of discussion erupted around me.

"Oh my god. It won't be the same as last time, will it?"

"Why are there so many perverts?"

"So disgusting. He always sits in the first row in class. I thought he was a top student, but it turns out he's just a sneak-in."

Other female students around me unconsciously leaned back on the benches, distancing themselves from me, the "pervert."

Bob scrutinized me with a piercing gaze, beginning to interrogate me.

I knew there had been instances where outsiders had sneaked into the campus, harassing female students.

The school forbade non-students from auditing classes, so under a strange confluence of circumstances, I had impersonated Jaden to attend.

I dug my nails hard into my palms, grappling with what to say.