Loving Paris

⚠Disclaimer⚠

This story is not set in Paris.

I scanned the room aimlessly, enjoying the crunching sound of my Doritos, along with the cheesy taste it left on my tongue.

The lecture hall currently housed an easy 50 to 100 students, some of which had their own mini conversations going on despite Professor Praskoviya’s voice echoing the spacious area.

My Human Geography course was the longest class I had for the day, lasting a good hour and a half which I didn’t mind at all. It covered small topics on things that I’ve always thought but never voiced. I was promised, most of those small topics would come up in discussions. It’s nice to know they’re real aspects of life and not something I say, only for people to play it off as me “trying to be woke”.

I took the small bag of chips from atop my notebook, reached into the bottom as noiselessly as I could to get a chip that was hidden from me. I was more than aware of my surroundings, so I heard a guy ask a question from a couple seats down. I only caught a couple words of it though, but I got the gist of it.

“Paris.”

I froze, my heart lurching as I looked up quickly, “Huh?” It wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear, but I’m sure they did hear the loud crunch of the cheesy snack in my mouth when I tried chewing subtly to clear my mouth.

The lecture hall had gotten completely silent after my name was called, and multiple heads had turned in my direction. People seemed to always have that reaction at the sound of my name. And as per usual, it caused my ever-present anxiety to flare up. My anxiousness speaking in front of a too-large group of people had dimmed down throughout my years in college, but I still get that jolt of panic whenever I’m caught off-guard.

I gave the woman, waiting on me patiently, a look to say I had no clue what he asked. My professor was perched on the edge of her desk, hands folded in front of her and an almost smug smile on her face.

She gestured to someone sitting in the middle of the theater-like seats, “Would you like to explain to Mr...” she trailed off, making a face, “So sorry, what was your name again?”

Reaching up, I placed my hand over my mouth as I finished chewing.

“Anton.”

My eyes went to the voice because it was a very deep, attractive sound. I looked away quickly, so no one noticed me checking him out for too long. I didn’t even see his face, but I could tell he was fine.

“Anton,” Praskoviya repeated his name as if it was a prize, then she muttered it once more under her breath—trying to commit it to memory. I didn’t hear it since I was pretty high up and close to the back, but I could tell by the way her lips moved and her nod. Along with the fact that this was probably my fourth time taking a course with her as my professor. You get use to their mannerisms by then.

“Paris,” She began again, “Anton would like to know what it means for something to be a social construct.”

I couldn’t stop myself from muttering, “You’re kidding.” The guy sitting next to me lets out a breath that sounded more amused than anything else.

I busied myself with cleaning all traces of Doritos from my mouth as she explained all that. When I was clear, I adjusted myself, sighing under my breath, “Self-explanatory, but fine.”

“Nah,” The guy said. Heads turned back to him. “I know what it is. I just feel like y’all just- well not you-” he gestured to our professor, “-but they give everything a name with some... scientific meaning and I feel like they do that so gay and transgender people get celebrated.”

“Ah, so you’re speaking about sexual orientation and gender?” She said, but it wasn’t really a question- more of a confirmation. She waved for him to continue.

Hushed murmurs fell around the huge room and he added, “I’m not homophobic or trans phobic or nothin’, but they try to change everything. These days you can’t be straight. You got women actin’ like men and the other way around. Making up shit li- my bad- things like something being a social construct,” he put air quotes around the term, “kinda takes away from people being who they are. You kinda get pressured into... not being straight and people can see it as their gateway to breaking the rules.”

Praskoviya loved this as she nodded and wore an impressed smile. Her eyes turned back to me and I took in a breath, giving her a look.

She didn’t budge, because she knew I have strong views and opinions on the topic at hand. I’m starting to think it was brought up on purpose.

“Paris.” She acknowledged me once again, giving me the go ahead, that I don’t want.

I groaned lowly, “You don’t really need a term to know that everything’s made up. Without even taking any of these classes, it was something I always thought about.” I looked at the guy and he was looking at me. He’s definitely fine as hell. I didn’t let that distract me though. “Everything comes down to humanity needing control over everything,” I started again, all the words and explanations going around in circles in my mind, but I tried to make it all make sense. “Just like they made up numbers and letters; engraved it in society that the human with a penis is to be called male and should do all these things that are considered masculine, then separated those humans from the others who don’t have the same genitals. They call those females; All the rules that they make up about how you should behave and what you should say at the appropriate time—it’s for control and order.

“That’s why there are labels for everything—so they can feel like they’re in control of something or that others aren’t confused by it. Gay, bisexual, transgender- they’re all labels that don’t need to be there but are put there for that reason.

“Basically, from before you were even born, you were being taught masculine,” I put air quotes around it just like he did, “traits, because you’re given the label- boy. It’s not something that has to be done, your parents just do it because that’s what’s constructed into society. Knowing that it’s just a construct doesn’t necessarily mean you should go out and do anything illegal, because there are repercussions for that. And it doesn’t mean you should suddenly decide you want to be gay. It’s an eye opener, because a lot of people are so brainwashed into how they’re supposed to live that they’re not really living. Understanding that can be beneficial to a lot of people.”

“And why’s that?”

I turned my gaze back to my professor. Somewhere in my speech, my gaze had averted to the back of a girl’s head in the front row.

“Socially?” I asked.

She shrugged, a satisfied smile on her lips, “Sure.”

“Well going back to his point,” I gestured blindly to the guy, not looking at him, “of it mostly being about gender identity, or... sexual orientation,” I spoke with my hands to try and keep up with all the things blurting out of my mouth, “Society can understand that there is no fixed gender. It’s fluid. It moves around and it’s going to keep changing, which is why putting a label on it seems ridiculous. And the sooner people in society understand that, the freer everyone is to do whatever and whoever they want-” there were laughs and suggestive sounds, making me grin at my professors face. She quieted them down with a hand and gestured to me again.

Come on, I’m done!

My gaze went back to the young man, “You have a valid point,” I said, surprised he was still looking at me. I wouldn’t even had turned around in the first place. “It’s just that understanding it is better than not knowing at all. Because a lot of people don’t think about stuff like this and they’re stuck in a hole, thinking they can’t do anything about their situation because of what’s instilled into society and how they’re supposed to live. When really you can do anything. All these rules and norms are just put there so you’re doing what everyone else is. Just don’t kill anyone-” They started laughing again and he cracked the most beautiful grin, before he turned around in his seat. I looked away, shrugging when I met Mrs. Praskoviya’s gaze again, “If we’re going to that extreme.”

For some reason, people started clapping after that and I gave a sheepish smile. I let out a breathless laugh when someone cheered loudly from the other side of the room.

Praskoviya waited until the room was down to a soft buzz, then she spoke, “That,” she started, leaning away from her desk. The way her voice rose, got rid of the last of the small chatter. She looked around the room, her eyes skimming every face in a fraction of a second, “is what I expect from everyone in this room. Respectful reasoning. Educate each other with profession,” she spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, “We’ll be having more of these off-topic discussions throughout the course, and though I don’t expect every answer to be as well rounded as dear Paris,” she said and I forced a fake smile when everyone turned to me again. She smiled widely, looking away from me and onto another poor student, “I do expect you to try.”

“Page 365 in your readers please.” She called, turning her back to us as the room dimmed.

I pulled the hard surface that’s considered a desk, connected to my seat, closer to my torso and flipped my book open. I popped another chip into my mouth the same time I caught movement down below. I caught his eye immediately—not being able to help it—but he turned back around right after, and I couldn’t stop the small twitch of my lips.