The English Teacher

Uh! Hi.

Linda Sinclair had reached her 45th year,

an unwed high school English teacher,

with no prospect of marriage.

Hers appeared to be a rather ordinary life,

one of discipline...

I have these.

Frugality...

Small indignities...

Whoa! Whoa! Oh.

Modest hopes...

Oh, I'm all right.

Daddy! Over here!

And disappointments. Oh, dear.

She lived alone in Kingston, Pennsylvania,

not far from where she was born.

She enjoyed no great luxuries.

Preferring instead the simple pleasures.

And though her life may sound cold and dull,

let me assure you that Ms. Linda Sinclair was neither.

She was a passionate woman.

A romantic.

That was why she was alone,

for she had always been alone.

As a sensitive child,

Linda found her sanctuary in literature.

The great works stirred in her an excitement,

an irrepressible thrill

that made the mundane world seem all the more bleak.

- All right, come on. Hustle! - Hustle!

She saw no reason to take part in childish pursuits.

And her little interest in the banal activities of youth,

her high-minded sensibility

guided Linda to her life's purpose.

I thought you said she was going to the library.

No. No, she sucks...

She would devote herself to igniting the flames...

Hi, Joanna.

...of literary passion in young minds.

She nurtured their ideals...

How do communities approach change

when promoted by the individual?

...valued their opinions.

Melissa.

They adored her.

But her uncompromising spirit,

so beloved in the classroom

doomed her to a spinster's life.

Linda?

Hi. Hello.

I'm Don. It's so nice to meet you.

You too. Sorry.

Oh, it's okay.

Oh, I... Well, you ordered without me...

Oh, I'm... I'm sorry.

No, I wasn't really offended. I was just making a joke.

For how could she be a model to her students,

if she settled forjust any man?

...now I'm unemployed.

And that's actually... It's kinda great.

I have a lot of time, I stopped drinking ice.

I grew a mustache. And, uh...

When I was divorced this whole patch just fell right into place.

And I feel like I'm me now.

And, uh... I might have some ice, actually. Could I...

She longed for a sensitive, thoughtful man.

Do you really need to make 35-40,000 dollars a year

with no chance of being fired,

just to teach some kids how to clap their hands and run around in a circle?

I mean, physical education, that ought to be up to the parents, right?

So what do you teach again? French?

Someone mature, and soft-spoken.

Your system doesn't work, Linda.

It's gasping for air.

And you know what...

Let it die. This is common sense... Hi.

Thanks.

Do you mind getting this one?

'Cause I'm a little short on cash.

Thank you, Linda. I mean...

In the end, Linda gave up on men altogether.

Why can't we get back to, like, the Indian days...

You know, "You give me a piece of corn..."

"All right, I'll help you..."

She loved her work, she earned her keep.

Debate! Debate! Debate!

That was enough.

What a country...

And if there was a tragic air

about our stoic Ms. Sinclair,

so be it.

If literature had taught her anything,

it was that the true romantic is always alone.

And must ever be on guard

against a dangerous world.

Hey.

Ow! Fuck! Ow!

Oh! Fuck!

It's me! Jason Sherwood! I was in your class in 2006...

Ah! Jason Sherwood?

Yeah. What are you doing here?

I thought you lived in New York.

No, I don't anymore...

Oh. Oh, my gosh... lam so sorry. Oh...

Let me take you to the hospital.

No. I'm fine... Jason, I insist.

We have to take you to the emergency room...

It's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry...

Ah! My dad, he works at the hospital

and I'd really rather not see him. Okay, okay.

Then let's get you home, all right.

God, that burns like a fuck!

It burned my face! I know. I'm so sorry...

I'm so sorry... Come on, my car is right over here.

Oh, Jesus... Who uses pepper spray in Kingston?

You know, I have a clean towel in the trunk,

I could get that for you. No that's okay.

This is working fine.

I am so, so sorry.

Oh, don't be sorry.

It's my fault, I shouldn't have startled you like that.

No, no, you were just being friendly,

I should have recognized you right away.

Jason Sherwood. What are you doing back here in Kingston, Pennsylvania?

I thought you'd be tearing up Broadway by now!

Yeah. Not quite.

Well, you know, it's only a matter of time.

You were one of the best writers I've ever had in my class.

Aw, that's nice.

So what's going on, really?

The last I heard you were in the playwriting program in NYU.

Is that right?

Dramatic Writing.

Yeah, I got my degree a couple of years ago.

And? Don't keep me in suspense.

And nothing.

That's it. I'm done with writing.

What? What do you mean?

I mean, I'm finished.

I wrote my thesis play. But that took me forever...

But I don't know, I really believed in it.

Well, of course you did. What happened?

I tried to get it produced.

And used every resource I had just to get it read.

Right.

Here, you can just keep going straight. I'm staying with my dad.

For now. Well, what does he think of all of this?

Uh, well. You don't really know my dad...

Oh, I do, a little. He goes to my gym.

Oh, that's funny. Urn...

Well, he said I should go to law school.

Oh, no... Yeah.

So I'm probably gonna do that.

Oh, Jason...

I can't write.

Honestly, it makes me physically ill.

And besides, I have to do something, and law school's something.

You can make a left at the next block.

Right here.

Home sweet home. Thank you. Mmm-hmm.

I am so sorry.

Oh, it's fine. Don't worry about it.

Jason, if I can do anything to help, you know...

I'd love to read your play at least.

Yeah, sure.

Uh, I could drop it by school.

All right. Yeah?

Okay. Bye, Ms. Sinclair. Thank you.

Bye.

Thanks.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

It was time to hand in your quizzes.

So now that I know that you've all finished A Tale of Two Cities,

let's talk about Sydney Carton's death.

Now why would he switch places

with a man condemned to the guillotine?

Why does he sacrifice himself?

Fallon.

I think it's really cool, you know.

'Cause he does it for Lucie.

Even though she married another guy, he still loves her so much

that he'll die to save her husband.

It's... It's totally unselfish.

Very nice. Yes?

Ms. Sinclair? Have you ever written anything?

Like a novel or a play or something?

No. No, I'm not a writer.

I'm a reader. And we need plenty of those.

I think it is only a true artist

who can give voice to the human experience.

Yes, Will.

I'm sorry, but if Dickens was such an artist,

couldn't he come up with an ending

where this guy doesn't have to kill himself?

I think you're missing the point.

Sydney Carton's death is, as Fallon said, a selfless act.

The only satisfaction he receives is knowing

that he dies for a noble cause.

Now this is something that people understood in Dickens' time.

Today we've lost touch with classical virtues,