"Their discussion left an energetic silence in the room, a feeling of wet paint being laid on canvas. Sitting there, I thought of similarly fragile, unexpected moments that together helped define my college education. Once, during a bout of warm midwinter weather, a teacher of Baroque chorale harmony pranced into the room and spent half of class analyzing a song lingering in his mind; the song was “June in January,” and today it puts me in mind of open windows and warm Fridays. I can still see the faculty office—small, dimly lighted, chilly—where I sat as a freshman, having come with a question, as the professor, a charcoal-gray scarf looped around her neck, mentioned a document trove that became the basis for my senior thesis. I recall being in a survey-course lecture so slick and wrong-headed that, at one point, the woman sitting next to me reached over and wrote ugh-get-me-out-of-here comments in the margin of my notebook. And that she used a blue-ink Uni-ball Vision. And that the seconds while she wrote each note were bliss. I remember those moments, and I remember more. I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe."