For his birthday party, Jenő invited only a few members of the faculty and his childhood friend. One of his colleagues mentioned she would bring her friend along if Jenő didn’t mind. The math teacher had set her sights on a girl for the long-single birthday boy. The group, all in their early thirties, was unmarried. The longest relationship belonged to the history teacher Péter and his partner Melinda, the music teacher. They had been together for three years.
Jenő never quite felt comfortable in the world; he was still searching for himself. He tried to force himself into the role of an old-fashioned, elegant, slightly eccentric character. He believed that this persona would be more liked and respected by his students than the sensitive, insecure person he was inside. Accordingly, he prepared a board game party for his guests.
Péter smiled at the games laid out on the table, pleased that they would likely have a good time laughing throughout the afternoon. Melinda, for simplicity’s sake, thought whatever Péter thought. She didn’t care much about what they did. Péter always exuded confidence and knew what was right and good. If his girlfriend said or did something silly, he would gently but firmly correct her. Melinda quickly learned to look at her partner before speaking or acting. Deep down, Jenő envied Péter for not having to play a role. Many people thought Péter was arrogant, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all.
The colleague and the girl she had brought for Jenő arrived late. By the time the two women got there, the group was already deep into their games. Péter’s superior manner immediately caught the attention of the newcomer, though the others had long gotten used to it. Like Jenő, they envied his confidence. The games went on until dark, and they all leaned back, exhausted from laughter. Péter, curious, turned to the potential match.
“Are you a teacher too?”
“Not at all,” the guest blurted out. “That’s not the job for me!”
All eyes turned to her.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s too stressful. I couldn’t handle it.”
“What?” Péter snorted.
“There’s a lot of pressure. You have to earn the respect of both the kids and the parents, and you can’t make mistakes, or they’ll label you as stupid.”
Péter shook his head, irritated.
“Honestly… do we seem stressed? Do we seem tense to you?”
“No, of course not, but…”
“Then I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cut in angrily. “Anyway,” he switched to a condescending tone, “with a few little tricks, anyone can relieve stress if they want. I, for example, carry an eraser in my pocket, and when things get tense, I just crumble it. It’s the perfect stress reliever, and no one even notices what you’re doing. All they see is you confidently walking around with your hands in your pockets.”
“How many erasers do you crumble in a week?” the potential match asked quietly.
“I don’t know… five or six.”
“So, at least one every day?”
“Yeah, roughly.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
In an instant, Péter went from being envied to being pitied. He didn’t realize the weight of his words.
“You much prefer writing articles about your research than teaching,” Melinda noted cautiously.
“Of course I do. Only then no one would know who I am. I’d be a name that nobody cared about.”