Other Echoes

by Noe Dearden

The next day, Charlotte and Mr. Kerrigan finished sorting the last of the typecases during lunch. The last letter – a serif q – was dropped into its proper place with great fanfare.

  “I think this calls for a celebration,” Mr. Kerrigan said. “Unfortunately, I have nothing but a tuna sandwich to celebrate with.”

  “And I guess I’ll have to make do with a Snapple,” Charlotte said, taking a swig from the bottle.

  Mr. Kerrigan returned the newly organized box to its spot on the shelf. “Thank you for all your help with this, Charlotte. It would have taken twice as long without you.”

  “Thank you for letting me help.” She stood and walked slowly around the empty classroom, weaving between the chairs and desks. Bach’s cello suites were on the stereo, the volume down low. She moved in time with the music. Mr. Kerrigan had played these for her in the past. The sweet, plangent melodies were familiar now, and linked in her mind with Mr. Kerrigan’s quiet voice and gentle presence.

  She smiled quietly, enjoying the moment. During their conversation yesterday, Charlotte and Mr. Kerrigan had forged a new, unspoken dimension of trust. The closeness between them was soft and tender and bright, and Charlotte thrilled at its intimacy. Last night, as she had lain awake in bed, turning his words over in her mind, she realized that the feeling she had for him was love in its purest form. Love. The word sounded extreme and romantic, but she felt its truth unfolding through every cell in her being, like the petals of a blossom that opened infinitely.

  “Are you going to luau tonight?” Mr. Kerrigan asked. He had returned to the desk they used for eating, and was attending to a tomato sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

  She went up to the whiteboard and doodled her name in ink. “I have to. It’s part of my punishment for skipping class yesterday.”

  “Wow, some punishment,” he said. “Food. Music. Dancing. My heart really goes out to you.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Yes, and I won’t know anyone there,” she said. “It will be lonely.”

  Mr. Kerrigan wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’ll be there. Chaperoning for my homeroom,” he said. “So you’ll know me, at least. And Emi, of course.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad, then,” she said. She sat down in the seat across from him. Suddenly, a memory popped into her head and she couldn’t help smiling.

  “What?”

  She chuckled. “I was remembering when I first met you. In the pool. The look on your face…”

  “Ah,” he said. “What brought that to mind?”

  She scowled thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I…I think I had a dream about it last night. You’re in my dreams a lot.”

  “Hm.”

  “I always dream that you’re rescuing me from evil. Like a knight in shining armor.”

  He balled together his empty wax paper and stood to throw it away. “I’m flattered you hold me in such high regard,” he said, crossing the room. “But I’m pretty sure you’re quite capable of saving yourself.”

  He didn’t return to the table. He went to the sink near the back of the room and began washing paint from a brush that had been left there.

  “Do you ever dream about me?” she asked.

  “I never remember my dreams.” He turned off the faucet and wiped his hands on a smudged dishrag.

  “I only remember the bad ones,” Charlotte mused. “And they always used to scare me. But not anymore. Because now you’re in my dreams to rescue me.”

  “From what?”

  “Ghosts,” she said. “Echoes of people I used to know. Angry people who want me to do bad things.”

  He placed the cleaned brush onto the rack to dry. “That sounds pretty scary,” he said quietly.

  “It was. But now there are other echoes, too. Good ones. Like the echo of you, Mr. K, and all the good ripples you send off just by being around.”

  He smiled, and his kind eyes lit up with a brightness all their own. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Charlotte. Thank you for sharing that.”

  “It means a lot to me, too,” she said. She walked to where he stood. “What would I have done if you weren’t my friend?”

  “You’re strong,” he said with conviction. “You would’ve been fine.”

  “I don’t feel strong.”

  The prelude to the second suite came whispering from the stereo. It was Charlotte’s favorite. She fell into the spare immensity of sound, closing her eyes. Her sadness communicated something independent of her knowing, and she felt herself move toward him, resting her head against his chest. She felt him flinch at her touch and try to move backward, but she had him in her embrace. His closeness transported her to some ill-defined space between conscious thought and dreaming.

  “Charlotte,” he said.

  “Shh.” She wanted to be closer. She wanted to grow seamless and merge with him, take all her used-up, wrung-out sadness and become all his.

  “Charlotte,” he said again, distantly.

  She knew there was longing in him, too. Longing in his muscles, and in his cracked voice and his fingertips brushing her elbow. Through all his resistance, she knew it was fully there.

  Mr. Kerrigan tried pushing her away once gently, then again more forcefully. She drew back reluctantly.

  “You have to leave,” he said. The level of urgency in his voice frightened her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  For once, he seemed at a loss for words. He steered her toward the door and opened it for her. “Please,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She gazed at him, heartbroken. “What’s the matter? What did I do?”

  “This isn’t…” he began. “It’s not permissible.”

  His sentence broke off and he opened the door with a violent jerk. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. You have to go.”

  She looked back at him in bewilderment as he brought the door swiftly shut behind her.