A Thousand Words

8.

"Mrs. Gould, I don't understand. What did I do wrong? Is there any way for me to make this up? I can't afford this–"

The professor held up her hand, requesting for me to stop talking. I had been flailing around my six-paged creative writing assignment in the air this whole time. I felt ashamed at the big red numbers that had marked the front page. It wasn't that a 67% was a bad score, not in college terms, but I loved writing. I spent so much time on this assignment for it to only receive a 67%. I always took pride in my ability to write. This score only discouraged my abilities. I needed to know what was wrong with the assignment. I needed to know where I went wrong. 

"Ella, please," she spoke calmly. "You are a terrific writer. You know this. I've said this to you before. This assignment was well written, don't get me wrong, but it's lacking something."  I felt my shoulders slack. If it was well written, why did I receive such a low grade? 

"Wh–what is it?" I stuttered. 

"Substance. Emotion. Meaning. What you wrote...I expected this from my other students, but Ella, this assignment  didn't teach me anything about you, your thoughts. You always knew how to evoke some type of emotion in your past papers. This assignment, not so much. At face value, yes, the flow of the sentences and the paragraphs go well together and there aren't any grammar mistakes. But...," her voice trailed off. 

"But what?"

"But I was expecting more," she stated bluntly. "What you wrote was basic. It's a great start, but I need more. This assignment is about a memory that made you feel some type of way. You had fantastic imagery, but nothing more. I don't want to just see your memory, Ella. I want to feel it."

I was stunned. In that exact moment, I wanted to rip up those few pages and throw it in her face. I knew it was unreasonable, but that's what I felt. There were many emotions that flowed through me at that moment. How dare she say that my writing lacked substance, emotion, and meaning. That was a reader's opinion. It was her fault for not being able to understand it. 

"Look, Ella, how about this," she smiled. "I'll give you a week to work on it. One week, and one week only," she reiterated. 

Three days. It's been three days since I last spoke to my professor one on one. Three days have passed and I've come up with nothing. 

"Hello? Earth to Ella?" A hand waved in front of my face. I shook my head, realizing that I had let myself wander off in space, rather than wiping down the empty tables. 

"Hi. Yes. Sorry," I mumbled under my breath, tossing the cold wet rag on top of the flat surface. 

"You okay?" The tall boy asked as he grabbed the rag from its surface, beginning to wipe it down for me. 

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking."

It's been a week since our little photoshoot on that secluded beach. Within those seven days, Tyler has slowly opened up to me. He was more willing to make small talk with me. Some days, I would be lucky to even spot a small, but brief, smile on his lips, or even hear a low chuckle emit from his chest. These gestures weren't common, but they happened and I would say that's progress. 

"Okay...," he mustered out, sounding more like a question. "Anyways, I finished editing the photos. Do you wanna come by after work to see them?"

I looked up at Tyler. I could see the sense his excitement. I don't know what he could possibly be excited about. Maybe, I thought, it's because this is the first project he's managed to finish since Jenna. That was probably it.