by Kelly Myers
I laugh at that, and Bea picks up steam with the Logan jokes. She compares him to every humdrum thing she can think of to loose leaf paper to mozzarella cheese to green tea.
I remind her that I’m a teacher and therefore consider loose leaf paper to be a staple of the education system. And, I actually enjoy mozzarella cheese and green tea.
Bea rolls her eyes at that, but she’s smiling.
After another hour of chatting, Bea heads for the door. She reminds me to get some sleep tonight, and I promise her that I will do my best.
She pauses on my doormat and turns to give me a hug. “Elena, you’ll be ok, I promise.”
“I know.” I give my friend a final squeeze. “I was just really starting to fall for him.”
“See, that’s what makes you special,” Bea says. “You’re so willing to admit how you truly feel when others would deny it. You have a big heart, and that’s how I know you’ll find someone. You have too much love to give, there’s no way it’ll go to waste.”
She waves goodbye, and I shut the door behind her.
I don’t say what I’m really thinking. Yes, I am a loving person. I fall in love, and I fall into the deep end.
But lately, I’ve begun to worry that even I have my limits. Maybe I had a lot of love to give, but it wasn’t an infinite amount.
And maybe I wasted too much on Logan.
It’s a bitter and negative way of thinking, but I’m just so tired. I’m tired of swinging for the fences and then striking out every single time. I’m tired of having my love thrown back in my face by twists of fate.
As I get ready for an early bedtime, I pray for a dreamless slumber. I want to drown in an endless sleep that is undisturbed by nightmares or any tossing and turning. I wanted to have a third cup of coffee in the afternoon, but I forced myself to hold back since I didn’t want the caffeine to keep me up late.
I wonder what David’s doing. Is he tucking Amy in or reading Kate a bedtime story? Is he cleaning up after dinner, or is he pulling a late shift at the hospital? Is it possible he’s thinking of me?
No good can come of thinking like that. Even if David is longing for me, he won’t reach out.
I put on my favorite pair of pajamas. It's purple shorts with a matching shirt. They’re light and airy and perfect for warm summer nights.
I know a good pair of pajamas won’t fix all my problems or soothe all my woes, but I figure I can use all the help I can get.
Chapter Twenty-One
Amy returns to school on Tuesday. I catch a glimpse of her in the cafeteria as I’m grabbing my own lunch.
That’s good. It’s good she’s not transferring. My heart starts racing at the sight of her blonde ponytail, but that’s my own problem. I have an hour before her English class, so I can get my emotions under control in that time.
I spend that hour wolfing down my lunch and then texting my friends an update to let them know that I have not driven a young girl into an endless marathon of therapy sessions. At least, not yet.
Even though I’ve already taught a few periods that day, and I mostly do the same lesson for each section, I go over my lesson notes. I keep forgetting the main bullet points of my plan, almost as if I’ve blacked out all the time I put into drafting the plan as well as the other classes I just taught.
For a brief moment, I put my head down on my desk and groan in frustration. I’m losing my mind. I really am.
I’ve been distracted by boys and men. Which girl hasn’t? In the sixth grade, I spent most of my algebra classes with my chin propped in my hand, daydreaming about how to get Jimmy Franklin to hold my hand on the playground. In high school, I once came to school with awful blonde highlights in my hair because I was convinced that if I was a blonde, Toby Mason might like me. Even in college, I pushed off doing schoolwork now and then to go on dates.
I’m a romantic. I get caught up in the idea of love, I always have. It’s why I fall in love so easily. Part of me loves the person, but the other part of me just loves being in love.
I honestly thought I had outgrown all that. Or at least that I was at a point where I could control it. I learned the difference between a crush and true love. I learned that real life wasn’t like the fairy tales I adored growing up. I believed I was too mature to let a man distract me from my career. Not even Logan could pull my mind away from my teaching. Even when we broke up, and I was so devastated, I was still able to focus on my school stuff. In fact, teaching was my solace. I would throw my heart and soul into lesson plans. I would come up with elaborate new assignments. When I was focused on teaching, I wasn’t crying my eyes out over Logan.
The trouble is, school is no longer an escape. Because every part of my school day reminds me of Amy. Which of course reminds me of David. Even when Amy isn’t present in the room, I’m living in dread of the moment she walks in. I walk down the hallways with my back hunched. I expect an onslaught of gossip about my scandalous affair with a parent to come rushing through my door at any moment.
I feel those tears pricking at my eyes, and I jerk my head up.
“Elena Ramirez,” I mutter to myself. “It’s entirely possible that you have been crying a little too much.”
I swipe away the teardrops, grit my teeth and return my gaze to the lesson plan.
By the time the class rolls around, I’ve drilled the whole lesson into my head that I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to chant my key discussion points aloud fifty years from now.
Once the kids are in the class, and Amy is in her seat, my instincts take over. I am a teacher. I am in control. In this small classroom, I might as well be the queen.
So, I go into autopilot and launch into the lesson. If I sound a little more robotic than usual, the students don’t seem to notice.
During class, Amy is quiet, but not in a distressing way. When she used to go into her sulks, the sadness would radiate off her. Now, she doesn’t seem sad, she just seems thoughtful. I catch her staring at me with a furrowed brow more than once. As if I’m a puzzle she can’t figure out.
I focus on the class, and I don’t call on Amy. She doesn’t raise her hand, and I’m not about to put her on the spot.
When the class ends, and all the students start to pack up, I have the strangest urge to hold Amy back. I want to apologize to her. I want to tell her that I still think she is a great student, and I won’t let anything that happened with her dad affect our student-teacher relationship.
I can’t say that though. I just need to be removed from the situation. It’s up to her dad to handle all the nuances, and I respect David enough to let him do that. I can’t talk to Amy as if she’s more to me than any other student.
So I just let her walk out with her head down, and her brow still furrowed in that quizzical expression. Whatever puzzle she’s sorting out, I hope she finds a satisfying answer.
As soon as the students have filed out, I shut the door, and my whole body inflates. It wasn’t so bad. It was pretty awful to see Amy, but I survived. And surely this will be the worst of it. Each day, it will get easier and easier. Or maybe it won’t get easier, per se, but I will get more used to teaching while I’m reminded of all the mistakes I’ve made.
After the afternoon class, I keep my ear to the ground. I even drift to the teacher’s lounge to see if any hot new gossip is lighting up the switchboards.
The math teachers are discussing adjustments to the standardized tests. That for sure means it’s been a slow news day if they’re resorting to a topic that is actually relevant to their job. Usually, we teachers like to distract ourselves now and again with little scandals or sumptuous pieces of news. Standardized tests are about as dry as it gets.
I grab a bag of chips from the vending machine and linger near a bevy of the younger teachers, sitting in a few armchairs. They’re discussing an older teacher’s divorce. Of course, the subject of this chat is not present.
It’s slightly more juicy than the standardized testing, but still it’s old news. The divorce
has been going on forever. If anyone had heard a group of middle school girls chatting about the hot doctor David Russo inviting me over to his house, I would be getting a lot of sheepish looks right now. No one would dare to gossip right in front of me, but none of these women would be talking away without sparing me a glance.
I’m still as boring to them as before. I’m still just little Elena Ramirez, the one who never does anything remotely interesting. In this context, it’s a huge relief.
I drift through the hallways, keeping my ears peeled and seeing if any other teacher comes up with me to give me a head’s up about a story circulating on the playground.
There’s nothing. For whatever reason, Amy is not talking.
She’s probably just too embarrassed to tell anyone that her dad was dating her English teacher, but even so, I’m grateful. Amy is a miniature class act.
Of course, it’s possible that she will talk later, but something tells me she won’t. If Amy has decided to keep this whole affair quiet, then that’s what she’ll do.
She’s not vindictive either. Amy would tell her friends as a way to process the shocking event, but she wouldn’t spread the rumour of some sort of desire for revenge. I’ve watched her with the other girls; she’s never been petty.
Overall, I’m getting off scot-free. No one is gossipping about me at my place of work, I only have to see Amy for a few more weeks, and I’ll have no reason to see David ever again.
The only consequences of my actions are my own pain and loneliness. And, that’s not David’s fault. The loneliness was there before he ever arrived on the scene. He just alleviated it for a few brief shining moments.
As I walk home, I think about how mature and kindhearted Amy is being. She’s a good kid. David raised her well.
That line of thinking doesn’t comfort me. It just reminds me how amazing David is. Being with a guy who already has children might be complicated, but haven’t I always wanted kids? I’ve wanted to be with a man who could be a good father.
I didn’t recognize it at first, but David checked off all my boxes. He just did it in an unexpected way.
It doesn’t matter. I still can’t have him.
Anyway, who knows if we would have even worked out? We hadn’t actually begun anything. We agreed to give it a try, but nothing had been official.
Maybe we would have dated for a few months and then realized we were incompatible. I would have discovered that David works too much, or he would have decided I’m boring. Or maybe his friends would have mocked him for dating a younger woman. Maybe my family would have questioned me dating an older man.
Or maybe, no matter how careful we were or how gently we introduced the topic, Amy would still have been upset by the idea of David dating me. We could have broken the news to her in all the right ways with the help of her therapist, and she still might have been heartbroken. So David would have made the same exact choice he made last weekend in that dark kitchen.
I hate thinking of what if’s and hypotheticals. Even so, it’s in my nature to overanalyze and go through every possible scenario.
Once I reach my apartment, I decide to give my mind a break. I go onto my computer and find the silliest reality TV show I can, and I watch hours and hours.
Usually, I use reading to escape reality. I have a solid line-up of comforting books. Either my favorite romance novels, or books I loved when I was young.
Every now and then, some heartaches are too much for even a book. The act of reading is an emotional one, and if I tried to read a childhood favorite, I would start crying out of sadness and nostalgia. And I know better than to attempt even the most lighthearted of romances.
Tonight, I just need to shut my brain off with hours of silly television.
It’s a temporary escape, but it’s what I need.
By the time I’m ready for bed, I feel dull and just a bit numb.
I have a feeling that for the next few weeks, I’m going to be just as restless as my students. I’m going to be just as desperate for summer vacation as they are.
Kids think that everything will be better in the summer. They tell themselves that all their problems will disappear once school is out. When that final bell rings, they get to go into a magical period of time, where days last forever, and life is pure joy.
It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of summer in that way, but for the next few weeks, I might need to give it a try. I’ll need to tell myself over and over that everything will be better in the summer. All my problems will fade away, just as soon as it’s summer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I don’t keep alcohol in my office, although I know some teachers do. I guess they need to take the edge off the stress of teaching every now and then.
I’m wishing I had something strong to sip on by the time Friday rolls around, if just to toast myself for making it through the week.
My reasoning is, if I survived this week, I can survive the next one and the next. It won’t be pleasant, and it won’t be pretty, but I can do it.
Even though it’s Friday, and the school day is over, I sit down at my desk and pull a bunch of papers towards me. I’ve been struggling so much that I’ve put off a lot of my extra work, which just means I have more to catch up on this weekend.
These papers were due on Tuesday, and I usually try to get papers graded and returned within three or four days. I’m already over my limit, so I know it’s best to get a head start now, while I can still focus, before heading home and collapsing into bed.
I sigh as I start to read the first paper. I’m not a good procrastinator. I know some people, like Marianne, who can put things off to the very last minute, and then when she needs to do a ridiculous amount of work, she just buckles down and finishes it. I’m not like that. I crumble under pressure, and if I put off work until it’s a big pile, it all becomes too daunting.
I can manage grading a few papers on a Friday afternoon though. It’s not like I have a hot date to get to or anything like that. The girls wanted to take me out, but I dissuaded them. I promised them brunch on Sunday. It’s the maximum amount of socializing I’m feeling up for.
I’m jotting down my preliminary notes on the first paper when there’s a light knock on my door. I call out for whoever it is to come in. I assume it’s another teacher or maybe a student with a question before they meet their parents for pick-up.
When I look up and see David standing tall in my doorway, I think I’m hallucinating. I think the emotional stress of the week plus my lack of sleep over the last few nights has caused me to start seeing things.
I must look as shocked as I feel because David furrows his brow in a classic concerned Medical Doctor manner. “Are you feeling alright?”
I snap my mouth shut. He’s real. I can smell his distinct peppermint scent. As far as I know, hallucinations definitely don’t have odors.
“Sorry.” I wave my hand to beckon him in. “Come in, I’m just surprised.”
David shuts the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief. My tiny office is cramped, and he looks huge and out of place, but at least its smallness means it doesn’t have a window. We have complete privacy inside my room.
David steps forward, and I take a moment to observe his overall appearance. The bags under his eyes could rival mine, and his shirt is wrinkled. But it’s the expression on his face that hits me in the gut. He looks as if he’s been in as much pain as me.
“Elena, I can’t stop thinking about you.” David hovers over the chair, but he doesn’t sit down.
I push my chair away from my desk, and I stand up. I don’t know why, I just feel stupid remaining seated while he is standing so tall above me.
“I’ve been worried about you and Amy,” I say. “She seems ok, but she’s so quiet.”
“I’ve been worried about you.”
I blink. He’s got to have had a lot on his mind. Has he really had the time to fret over me?
“It was all my fault,” David says. “I had you, and
it was amazing, and then I messed it up. I shouldn’t have taken the risk of bringing you back to my place, we should have been more careful, like we agreed.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. If he keeps talking in such a raw fashion, I’m going to break down. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. What’s done is done. I would never ask you to compromise Amy’s happiness.”
“Elena, I had to see you.” David runs his hand through his hair and moves as if he wants to start pacing, only there’s no room in my office. “I don’t want to hurt Amy, but I don’t want to give up on you either.”
I look away from him and stare at the ground instead. It’s an impossible situation. A Catch-22. I don’t need him here to tell me that. I can only muster the lowest tone of voice, something just above a whisper. “It’s just not going to work.”
David steps towards me with such speed that my eyes fly up to his face. And, I see such burning intensity in his green eyes that I’m frozen in place.
He grabs my shoulders and kisses me with heat and passion. I don’t even try to pull away. Instead my lips meet his with just as much ferocity.
If he were a hallucination, this is exactly what I would want from that kind of madness. One last chance to kiss him. One last chance to hold him. One last chance to feel his arms around me.
With a messiness borne of desire, David drags his mouth across my cheek and onto my neck. I gasp as he pushes me back against the desk.
A small part of me can’t believe this is happening. David crushing his chest to mine as I slide my bottom across the desk – it’s like something out of a cheesy movie.
Then David hikes up my skirt and slides his hand up my thigh, and all powers of rational thought evaporates. All I want is more of what he’s doing. All I can think about is the way his fingers are digging into the flesh of my thighs.
I spread my legs and my skirt slides higher until it’s bunched around my waist. I hear the papers slide off the desk and hit the ground, but the noise is a minor distraction, as if it’s coming from somewhere far away.