Perfect Match: A Lesbian Romance

by Violette Grey

  “I got that for being voted favorite ring girl by the boxers last year. They are so funny because they know I’m unavailable so they are more open with me than the other girls. I’m much more comfortable around them. The other girls get all giggly. We have one girl, Tiffany, who is the quintessential blond. She has to be the ditsiest person I have ever met. Wait until you meet her.”

  My body trembled slightly as I thought about what she said. So, she had high expectations for our relationship. That made me very happy because I did too.

  Her bedroom was gorgeous with a canopy bed and a bench at the end of the bed, and the on-suite was out of a movie. A huge tub with jets big enough for two people, separate shower, and a small room where the toilet was located.

  “A water closet,” she explained. “I’d never heard of anything like it before, but I love it. Not that it matters when I live alone, but I can see it being very useful if I ever share with someone.” Her face turned apple red and I turned quickly to hide my own face that was probably close to the same color.

  How exciting it would be to live with this woman, I thought. Then I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Are you OK?” she asked, concern on her face.

  I nodded absently and forced a smile when her expression did not change. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I just remembered something I have to take care of for school next week.”

  She laughed and shook her head but said nothing.

  What was I thinking? This was only our second date and I was already fantasizing about us living together? I reined in my thoughts as we moved out of the bedroom and back to the hallway past a typical guest bathroom. We made our way back out to the living room and she opened a sliding glass door onto a large enclosed patio area. The walls were brick with small window openings to look out into the atrium area. A covered hot tub sat in a far corner on one side and empty trellises were attached to the walls on the other.

  “I have some great vines that used to grow there,” she said pointing at the trellises, “but I couldn’t keep up with them. I finally gave up and cleaned them all out. Maybe one day I’ll try again, but I’m not very good with plants.”

  “I love plants. I even have them in my classroom. The students help me take care of them, although I’ve lost more than one to uncoordinated kiddos at one time or another.”

  Alice laughed, a sound I enjoyed hearing. It was not a demure sound like some women had, but more of a boisterous laugh that came from the gut, and was purely real. It just made me feel good all over when I heard it.

  “So, do you want to sit at the table or do your spread on the ground?”

  “To be honest, I don’t do well with sitting on the floor.” I laughed when Alice gave me a questioning look. “I know, a teacher who can’t sit on the floor? But I don’t. I actually sit on a chair and make the kids sit on the floor. I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”

  “Oh, but you make the children sit on the floor, huh?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied as I started taking food out of the basket. “It’s much easier for them than it is for me. Plus, my first year I tried to have them bring their chairs over to the circle and it was a nightmare. We spent so much time untangling chair legs and setting up so everyone could see, I finally gave it up after the fifth try. Now it’s just push in chairs and bring bodies. It’s so much easier.”

  Alice shook her head. “I still don’t know how you do it.”

  I snorted. “Sometimes I’m not sure how I do it.”

  Everything was set up and Alice snapped her fingers. She went back into the apartment and came out with an electric candle and placed it in the middle of the table. The sun was almost down and when she turned off the porch light, the candle left everything in a nice halo of light.

  “Mmm, very romantic,” I murmured.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh…um…are you ready to eat?”

  “I’m famished,” she replied as she pulled out a chair, the metal scraping the concrete. We both shivered and then laughed.

  “You too, huh?” she said.

  “Yeah, some sounds…”

  “Oh, I’m the same way. I can listen to a boxer slam his fist into his opponent’s face without a second thought for it, but scrape something metal against something else and I will want to tear my teeth out of my mouth.”

  “You should hear a third-grader whining sometime.”

  We ate with light conversation, each of us sharing something small about our childhood, then moving to our current jobs.

  “So, what made you want to go into teaching?”

  “I had the most amazing fourth-grade teacher. She was so caring and helpful. I struggled with reading until I joined her class and then I just took off. There was just something about her that I wanted to be just like her. I had teachers who weren’t as good as her and thought ‘I can do so much better’ so I decided I would. I wanted to make as much of a difference as that teacher did for me.”

  “Very commendable. I’m sure it’s pretty stressful.”

  “Oh, very. If I only had to deal with students and their learning, I’d be fine. But there are the parents, the administration, and the state breathing down our necks. All students can learn, but they want students to learn the exact same thing at the exact same time and at the exact same rate. It’s illogical. I didn’t start really reading until fourth grade. I had great teachers before that, but for whatever reason, it just didn’t click until then.”

  “Yeah, I was that way with math. Well, I’m still that way with math.” She laughed and I smiled.

  “Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. It’s why some people go into certain professions when others don’t. Take you for example. I don’t think I could do your job. I can stand in front of an entire classroom full of kids, even in front of the entire school, but if I had to be in front of a room full of adults, I’d collapse!”

  She laughed. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have to do anything but walk around holding a sign with a big number on it. But, I get what you mean. I wanted to be an author, but I couldn’t get myself to just sit down and write. I was working at a convenience store in California when Sean came in and gave me his card. At first it was hard because I refused to give up my clerk job. I needed the money and I knew it would take a while to build up a portfolio. Every other woman wanted pretty much the same thing so there’s a lot of competition. I shared an apartment with four other women wanting to get into acting or modeling. I was the only one who got the chance, even though it’s still just a small chance. Last I heard, they are still trying to get their first break. Not that I’m famous, but at least I’m loving my job.”

  “So, how often are you on the job? I mean with your ring girl job.”

  She shrugged. “It depends. Right now I’m between gigs, but I start up a tour with an MMA group in a few weeks.”

  “Oh, you’re leaving for a while?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be gone for a month.” She looked down at the table, her eyes sad. “And just when I met someone I liked…”

  “It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” I said. I paused and reached deep down inside myself. “And I’m pretty happy I met you too.”

  She looked up at me and smiled.

  The phone rang inside and Alice sighed. “Sorry, let me grab that.”

  She went inside and I started packing the leftovers back into the basket. We spent more time talking than eating, so there was a lot left, but I was OK with that.

  “Sorry about that,” Alice said when she came back outside. “That was my manager. I have a modeling gig next week.”

  “How exciting for you!”

  “Yeah, I am so glad. I love the ring girl job, but modeling is really where I want to be.”

  Things went quiet, and after several minutes, I looked at my watch. “Well, I should probably get going. The students will eat me alive if I go in tired.”

  She laughed. “I bet. Let me grab my keys.”

  I felt a mix of relief and regr
et that she was taking me home instead of taking me into her bedroom, but it was only our second date. Relief outweighed regret…this time.

  We were quiet as Alice drove me back to my apartment. I felt talked-out, and apparently she did too.

  I picked up the basket and followed her to the door where I stood awkwardly. I wasn’t sure if I should kiss her yet or not. Not having a real date for so long had put me out of practice. However, she made the decision for me by leaning and planting a quick kiss on my cheek. I felt my face burn and I looked up at her through my eyelashes. Damn, she was beautiful. It was hard for me not to ask her in.

  “Well, thank you for having me over. Give me a call when you have a chance.”

  “I will,” she said. Still she did not leave. For a moment, awkward silence surrounded us.

  I felt like a teenager standing there wanting to pull her in and just kiss her and run my hands over her curves. But instead I said, “OK, well, talk to you later.” I waved as I walked away, my breathing heavy as I thought about the time that we could spend together and what we could be doing instead of waving goodbye.

  Chapter Five

  Chris Bakersfield sat across from me at the cluster of desks picking at his food. I could not blame him a bit, it looked disgusting. How could cheese sticks be considered a main entree?

  “So, Chris, do you have any pets?” I asked before taking a bit of my salad.

  “Yeah, I have a dog,” he said with the first sign of excitement I had seen since he had made Blake Flemming cry by hitting him on the head with a book last week. That incident was what had pushed me into peace-building mode. I had to do something, and I had to do something soon. Parents were not going to be any help, so it was up to me to build a relationship with this little guy.

  “Oh? I love dogs. What’s his name?”

  Chris rambled on about his dog, Joker, and his antics, which made me laugh. It was great to see him so positively animated about something that did not include disrupting class or hurting another student. It was amazing, this transformation I saw right before my eyes. This was a completely different child from the one who sat in my class day after day.

  “And one time, he jumped up and grabbed a steak off the counter when mom was making dinner,” he said, laughing. “She was so mad.”

  “Oh, no! He sounds a little mischievous.”

  He cocked his head at me. “What’s that mean?”

  I had to stop, surprised, at this question. He was in third grade and he did not know what mischievous meant? Most eight-year-olds knew that word by this time in their lives.

  “It means he does things to get into trouble a lot.”

  “Oh, like me,” he said with a frown.

  “Are you mischievous?”

  He shrugged. “Mom says I am.”

  This surprised me since the woman acted like her son should never be held accountable for his actions. “Is that so?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “Yeah, she says I’m a troublemaker.”

  “And what do you think?”

  He shrugged again and pushed a pea around with his plastic fork. “I guess I am.”

  “Where are you mischievous, Chris?”

  He looked up at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Everywhere.” Then he looked back down at his tray.

  “Well, Chris, it’s up to you whether you’re mischievous or not, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So, decide to be or not to be.” When he said nothing more, my heart broke for this little guy who did not think much of himself. I needed to change the subject.

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked.

  His eyes lit up once again. “I want to be a painter.”

  This surprised me. “You do? What is it about painting that you like?”

  “I like putting my feelings in the colors or taking things I’ve seen and drawing them to remember them.”

  I had finally found this boy’s passion, and it was something completely different from what I had expected.

  “Do you have any favorite painters?”

  “Oh, yeah! I love Van Gogh the most. He painted a picture called ‘Starry night’ that’s really cool. I love how it has all the swirls in it, kind of making the sky move.”

  My mouth was hanging open and I quickly put food in it to cover the fact I was surprised. This boy knew about painters.

  “Have you seen any of his paintings in real life?”

  “No. I’ve only seen them on TV shows and online.” He looked crestfallen.

  “Are there any other painters you like?”

  “Sure. You know that Michaelangelo painted the roof of a church? How crazy is that? And those paintings are amazing.”

  “What do you like about those ceiling paintings?”

  He thought for a moment. “I think that they look so real and that’s weird because they are on a ceiling.” He noticed my use of ceiling instead of roof. I was learning a lot at this lunch meeting.

  “Have you read any books about famous painters?” I asked as if in passing before I took a sip of my water.

  He shook his head.

  “Would you like to?”

  His head hung low. “Miss Johnson…” he stopped and looked up at me with tears rimming his eyes.

  I put my fork down and crossed my arms in front of me. “Yes?”

  “Reading is hard.”

  “I know it is, Chris. Everyone has strengths, you see. But, everyone has the ability to learn new things, even if they are hard at first.” I set my palms on the desk. “How about this? I will find a book about famous painters that we can read together in our reading group. Would you like that?”

  His face lit up once again. “Yeah!”

  I gave a single nod. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I might take me a couple of days to find just the right books, will that be OK?”

  “Sure,” he said, the excitement still shining in his eyes.

  I smiled at him. This child who drove me insane the past couple of months was going to grow on me, I could tell. These were the moments when I realized why I wanted to be a teacher. And they sustained me when I was wavering on whether or not I wanted to continue in the profession.

  “So, the students who get to have lunch with me get a small thank you gift.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep.” I went over to my private stash of sugar-free candy and picked out three different flavors. “You can have one,” I said, letting him choose which one he wanted.

  He studied the candies as if the choice would change the world. Finally, he picked up the red one with two fingers and looked up at me, smiling like I had never seen him smile before.

  I smiled back. “It was an honor to have lunch with you, Chris. I hope we can do it again sometime.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “You can walk your tray down to the cafeteria. If our class isn’t outside yet, just take a seat at our table and wait quietly.”

  “OK,” he said as he pushed back his chair and picked up his tray. “And thanks, Miss Johnson.”

  “It was a pleasure,” I replied.

  I felt a chill of excitement run through me as I watched Chris walk away. For the first time this year, we might have just had a breakthrough.

  ***

  “It sounds like your little guy gets a lot of exposure to art at home,” Susan said as we stood at the outside door before the students were to line up to come inside.

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Joseph, put that rock down or you’ll be missing recess for the rest of the week,” Susan called out to a boy whose arm was over his head, his fist closed tight around what could only be a rock.

  The teacher on duty blew a whistle and the students ran to their spots to line up. Chris was all smiles as he made his way to the line.

  Susan noticed as well. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy," she said, patting my arm.

  I agreed. He even gave me a little wave from the line, something h
e would never have done before. I watched him as Georgia walked her students inside, Chris keeping his hands to himself. Again, something I had never seen before, even when he was with Georgia. Pride pumped through me.

  I could not wait to find the books on painters so we could read them together.

  Chapter Six

  Mid-October was a busy time. Between a first round of testing to see how students were progressing so far in the school year and parent-teacher conferences, my life was like living in a madhouse. Or maybe living on a farm, I was not sure what to compare the chaos to. Students were getting excited about Halloween, so keeping them grounded was always a battle. I wanted to do fun Halloween activities, but because I worked at a struggling school, we were not allowed to deviate from the curricula, which was probably some of the most boring material I had ever seen. Had I had this when I was in school, I would still be struggling with reading.

  Alice and I had gone on two more dates, one the week after we had our picnic at her apartment and the other when she had gotten back from the modeling stint she had been offered.

  I asked her how it went.

  “I had to wear these boring sweatshirts that were so baggy on me, I wondered why I even bothered jogging the week before,” she said, laughing.

  Because of her excitement about jogging, I decided to give it a try. We met up at the Thornton Park and Alice gave me tips.

  “You don’t want to go all out at first. It’s important for you to build up to where I’m at now.”

  “And where are you at now?”

  “I jog five miles every other day.”

  My jaw dropped. “So, the path around this park is about a mile. You do five laps length in one day?” I felt my stomach tighten thinking about it.

  She laughed. “I didn’t come out of the gate doing five miles, though. I had to start off with a fast walk and then move into jogging sprints.” When she saw the look on my face, she added, “I don’t mean real sprints. I mean just episodes where you speed up your pace.”

  “OK, that makes better sense.” I was relieved. I could barely imagine myself getting to jogging a mile, let alone five.