grabbed the knob and opened it. Before he exited, he turned once more to the class.
"And you all just failed." As his foot set out on its journey away from the school, it found nothing to set itself down on. Branson wasn't even given a chance to look down before he felt himself once again plummeted toward hard land. And as he hit ground, Branson sat up with a start.
The room had suddenly filled with bodies; but unlike the others, these bodies were very much alive. Some new to Branson and his observational eye, others were some he had seen in the halls that morning. They were not really paying attention to him as he stood. He slowly moved in front of his desk and slid onto the top so he could sit.
Branson cleared his throat gently, amazed as the students turned their attentive faces toward him, giving him the respect they knew he deserved. "Good morning, everyone." The class murmured a positive-sounding response.
"My name is Donald Branson. A graduate of Maryland U. I majored in history, to be a teacher." He looked down at his pants, sighing, then returning his gaze to the students.
"I'm going to give you a good piece of advice, and I hope it serves you well." He stopped, forming the words on his tongue carefully. "Do what you are called to. Do not go ahead with things because others tell you you'd do well."
Branson stood, walking between the rows, looking over the heads of the people in the seats, but still aiming his thoughts to them. "I have been teaching for longer than you here have been alive. It has been a rewarding job, but...well, I'd be lying if I said it thrilled me, or even made me remotely happy." Branson turned back to the front of the room and worked his way over bookbags and binders to the chalkboard. Carefully he took the chalk on the ledge and wrote something on the board.
When he was done, he pointed to it over his right shoulder. "Always follow your heart," he said, reading the phrase out loud. "I didn't." He stepped forward a pace, dusted off his hands and looked out at the class. They all had puzzled looks on their faces. He nodded, and began to walk toward the door. Just as he grabbed the knob, Branson stopped with a laugh, and turned. He walked toward the large windows across the room, the whole of the students watching him with their eyes, wide and curious. And as he stepped over the window ledge out onto the grass, he gave them one last look.
"Your homework assignment is on the board." With that, he was gone. The students watched him walk over the green and into his car, a beat up old clunker, and drive out of the parking lot.
Branson was never completely sure, even as he road down that highway,  that his life wasn't just a dream, that he had really fallen asleep in the midst of the half-dead students. All he knew is that he had finally achieved the happiness he left to find. He promptly retired and moved out to a remote spot in the mountains where he spent his last few years doing the things he loved most in life: sleeping in, gardening, and anything else that kept him happily occupied. He took time to write, and a book of his musing were being set to print on the twenty year anniversary of his retirement.
Each student present those many years ago received a copy. The dedication was to them. "To the 17 people I was lucky enough to share my epiphany with: I hope you did your homework, because someday, the finals will arrive, and I hear the essay's a killer."