Creative Writing Ch. 01

At no point did I say anything crass or untoward. It was a pouring out of many months of pent-up passion and genuine admiration. I had this hypothetical student tell his hypothetical teacher that should she ever grace him with her most precious gift—her time—that no one would ever know of it. And lastly, because he knew the very real concerns facing her, he provided her with a way to reach out to him should she ever choose to do so. It would be their private, secret code. All she need do was make a faint pencil notation in the upper righthand corner of an assignment. Should she write, "F9p" he would understand that to mean Friday at 9pm. Should she write, "Sa10a" he'd know to come to her on Saturday at 10am. Unless otherwise specified, he would meet her at her home making sure not draw any attention from neighbors with watchful eyes.

Just before the bell rang that Wednesday at noon, I laid my paper on her desk and wished her a happy Thanksgiving. She smiled bravely and said, "Thank you, Cal, but I don't think that's going to be possible this year." I didn't ask her why, but she knew her beloved Brad was leaving home Monday morning and the thought of it was breaking her heart.

When I got to class on Monday, there was a substitute. After a tearful, early goodbye, Mrs. Lloyd crawled back in bed and cried the rest of the day. She was too distraught to even get out of bed let alone teach class. She came back to work on Tuesday but she wasn't herself. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She was distant and unprepared. She told us she hadn't had a chance to look at our papers but promised us she'd return them by Monday of the following week.

When that day came, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Her hair was uncharacteristically down. It was long, soft, and smooth with a gentle wave running through it. I was also fixated on the soft, yellow sweater and skirt she'd worn to the point I didn't even notice when she began passing back our papers toward the end of class. Someone next me tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Another 'A'. Looks like someone is still teacher's pet, dude!" I looked down and noticed a large "A" written on it in red marker. I smiled until I remembered the code. It was then I noticed there was a pencil notation in the upper righthand corner. My heart leapt into my throat until I read what it said: Please see me.

I waited until the last student left and remained seated at my desk. Mrs. Lloyd closed the door and said, "May I sit down?" She was pointing to the desk across from mine. I told her that would be fine.

"Cal?" she began. "First of all, I wanted to tell you your paper was superb. It was by far the most well-written paper in the class and that's why I gave you an A. But may I ask you a question?"

"Of course," I replied.

"This hypothetical teacher. Is that me by any chance?"

The was no judgment or condemnation in her voice and her facial expression told me she wasn't angry. Even so, I was no longer feeling confident. In fact, I was feeling very uncomfortable. "Well," I began. "It was, you know, just a hypothetical student and a hypothetical teacher so..."

She stopped me and said, "Cal, you've always been honest with me and I need you to be honest with me now. I'm not upset. I just need to know. Was this story really about you and me and the way you feel about me?"

I felt my face begin to turn red for the first time in many weeks but I didn't lose control. "Are you going to refer me to the principal if I say 'yes'?" I asked shyly.

"No, of course not. I just want you to tell me the truth."

I looked down and then back up at her and said quietly, "Yes." I couldn't maintain eye contact so I looked back down and asked her, "So now are you mad at me?"

Her look softened even more as she said, "No, of course I'm not mad at you. I was actually...very flattered. Your entire paper was without doubt full of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me. So how could I be mad?" She looked at me with such compassion that I no longer felt so awkward. "But Cal, you understand nothing like that can ever happen, right? I mean, you know I'm married and I'm also your teacher. Those two things alone mean I couldn't spend time with you—like that—even if I wanted to."

She waited for me to look at her again before continuing. "I want you to know that last week was perhaps the worst week of my life." She didn't go into detail but she did mention something happened involving her husband and her son that had broken her heart. As she did, her eyes filled with tears and I wanted nothing more than to be able to take her in my arms and hold her. Instead, I got up and grabbed her a tissue from the box on her desk, handed it to her, then sat back down.

"Thank you," she said as she dabbed her eyes. "You have always been the sweetest boy in all of my classes. I was so worried you might turn into the kind of person who tormented you for so long when you went through this...transition of yours. But you're still a very kind, very sweet, very gentle boy and if there was ever a student I would spend time with—if I could—it would definitely be with you. But you understand why I can't, right? It's very important to me that I not hurt your feelings. And they came through loud and clear in your paper, by the way. And again, it was so sweet of you to say such nice things—especially during a time when I was going through something so difficult. So thank you for that." She sat the tissue down then said, "And since you promised you'd never tell anyone anything we did together, I'm trusting you to include this meeting as part of that promise. Will it?" After I nodded she said, "I wanted to tell you while it's just you and me here that I read your paper five times."

"You did?" I asked with sincerity.

"Yes, I did." She looked down almost as though she were the one was now embarrassed as she said, "Even as I was reading it the first time I had this feeling that you had been the proverbial fly on the wall watching me. Watching me live my life. I almost felt betrayed as though someone had told you about my marriage and my distant husband and the loneliness. But you also made me feel so...beautiful and so...special. I was just amazed away that any boy—sorry—young man—your age, could write something so insightful and so personal without being rude or explicit. I actually thought it was very...romantic. So I wanted to thank you for making a middle-aged woman who doesn't feel beautiful, feel good about herself. That was so very kind of you and it was exactly what I needed. That was very sweet of you, Cal. It doesn't change anything, mind you. I just had such an awful week and your paper turned it completely around for me so I would be remiss not sharing this with you. It was the sweetest gift and one I will always treasure."

I sat there just staring at her. My heart was beating fast and while I heard every word, I couldn't concentrate. She finally waved her hand and said, "Cal? Hello? Are you in there?"

I came to myself and said, "I'm sorry. I really was listening. It's just that... Well, I want to be honest now, too. It's just...it's just so...so hard...to concentrate whenever I look at you. I don't mean to be inappropriate. I did hear you tell me you're married and my teacher. It's just that...well...you're not like any other woman I've even known or even seen, for that matter. You're always so kind and so thoughtful and so caring, and it's those things that led me to write what I wrote. I mean, you really are as beautiful as I said but it's everything else that makes you so special to me. That's why it really would be such a pleasure to be able to spend even a few hours with you some time. Just to talk." I could feel my face had reddened slightly again. Thankfully, Mrs. Lloyd didn't mention it.

"Again, thank you so much, but I explained why that can't happen, right? You told me you were listening so I just need to be sure you understand what I said."

I have no idea where this came from but it did indeed come to me. I looked directly into her eyes as I spoke very softly. "Yes, you did explain it. Well, partly, at least. You gave me two reasons why it wouldn't be right, but what you didn't say was all I heard."

She tilted her head and asked, "I don't understand. What didn't I say?"

"You told me you're married and that you're my teacher. Both of those things are true. But you didn't say you don't feel 'that way' about me. And you didn't say you have no interest in ever spending time with me."

I waited for her response but she didn't say a word. She was sitting there staring right through me. I waited for a moment but she seemed suddenly disconnected so I stood up and said in the gentlest way I knew how, "Mrs. Lloyd? I just wanted to say I know doing something like this with me would be very difficult, possibly even uncomfortable, and potentially very dangerous for you. I won't ever mention it again after this. But, well...should you ever change your mind, you know how to let me know. I meant it when I said I won't ever say a word to anyone about spending time with you—or our talk—but that doesn't mean my heart won't beat fast every time you hand back an assignment as I look at the corner hoping against hope there might be a message there from you. Anyway, thank you for all the kind words. They mean a lot to me. I just want say one more time I meant every word I wrote. You really are beautiful and special."

She was still glassy eyed. She just kept staring right through me as though she'd been hypnotized. I finished saying what I had to say, looked down, then picked up my things and left the classroom.

There were roughly two weeks left until Christmas break and the end of the first semester. We got back another paper and a quiz. Much to my chagrin there was nothing but a letter grade on either one. While both were As, what I really wanted to see wasn't there.

We had another half day before going on break and I came very close to skipping school. The only reasons I went were to lift before school and because we had one more paper to be returned. Each class was shortened so I only had 20 minutes in Mrs. Lloyd's class. She waited until we had about a minute before the bell before handing back our papers. She had one left in her hand as the bell rang and as it did, everyone bolted for the door hooping and hollering. I stood up and Mrs. Lloyd slid my paper on my desk without looking at me.

I didn't have my backpack with me so I just picked up the paper and started to walk out. I saw another large "A" at the top in red and then my heart stopped when I saw a very faint mark in the upper right corner. It read: F8p. It took all the willpower I had not to turn and look at her or to react in any way. I lowered my paper then picked it up again and double checked. The notation was definitely there. My legs felt rubbery and my stomach was in knots.

This was a Wednesday and I had to wait all the way until Friday evening. The next thirty-some hours were the longest of life up to that point. The minutes took hours and the hours took days. It was torture and the clock was my tormentor. I asked my Aunt Jean for another haircut and her advice on what to wear to impress someone special. She suggested jeans with a nice button-down shirt so that's what I wore. I hit the gym hard both Thursday and Friday. I played video games. I paced. I fretted.

Then finally, it was 7:30 and time to leave the house. My palms were sweaty and I felt like I was going to throw up as I pulled into her driveway. I knew where she lived. Everyone did. It was the nicest development in our town. Her home was enormous. It was over 5,000 square feet with huge picture windows with a beautiful panoramic view of Mount Ranier. I knew enough to drive around to the back where two stalls of their four-car garage were open. I was relieved when I saw her little Miata was the only car there. I pulled in, took several deep breaths then got out and went to the door. No one could see directly into the garage but I still hit the door opener when I got to it. I stood there for a moment, took a few more breaths, then knocked. I waited for what seemed like an eternity before I heard the sound of heels clicking in the hallway followed by, "Cal? Is that you?"

It was dark and cold and I didn't bring my jacket. "Hi, yes. It's me."

It was quiet for a moment before I heard a very nervous-sounding voice say, "I'm really sorry but I don't think I can go through with this. I thought I could but I'm really...afraid. I seem to have lost my nerve. Can you please forgive me?"

I felt like I'd just been kicked in the stomach (or somewhere lower.) I was afraid to talk too loudly as sound carries at night and I didn't want some neighbor hearing this even though the garage was shut and no one lived within 50 yards of the house. I put my face as close the door as I could and said, "Mrs. Lloyd? I understand being concerned but there's no 'this' to go through with. It's just you and me sitting down and talking. That's it. It's really cold out here. May I please just come in?"

Another pause followed by, "Um...well...can you just wait there for another minute? Give me just another minute and I'll let you in. Okay?"

What else could I say? "Okay. Sure."

Nearly five minutes later I heard a very soft sound on the floor followed by, "Cal? Are you still there?"

I was shivering and blowing on my hands but I was determined to stay there all night if I had to. "Yes," I replied.

The door opened and Michelle peeked out through the crack. "Come in, please. I'm so sorry to make you wait."

I stepped inside and felt the warmth of the house. "Thank you!" I said as I rubbed my arms to warm myself up.

"Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry!" she said sincerely. "I didn't even think about the temperature. Come in and I'll make us some hot chocolate."

She barely made eye contact with me but I was most definitely looking at her. I noticed her hair had been bleached a lighter shade of blonde and that she had on quite a bit of makeup but no lipstick. Her hair was also pulled back into a pony tail which wasn't unheard of but I'd only seen her wear it that way once or twice. She was wearing black sweatpants and a baggy black t-shirt. Oddly, she was also wearing some very expensive gold earrings. And although it was nearly hidden under her t-shirt I could see she also had on an even more expensive gold necklace. None of that made any sense to me. Who wears jewelry with sweats?

She warmed up some milk in the kitchen as she mostly kept her back to me. She turned off the burner then reached for the Hersey's syrup. "Did you have any trouble finding the house?" she asked me.

"Um, no. I actually knew where you lived. These homes are the nicest in town. What I mean is I mean is everyone knows where they are."

She laughed nervously and said, "This was my husband's dream home. He drew up the blueprints and also served as the project manager when it was built."

"It's really amazing," I said. "My family lives in a very small house that's maybe 800 square feet. It's very modest but as they say, it's home."

She stirred in the syrup and said, "You are so mature for someone your age. Did you know you talk more like an adult than many of my adult friends? You have a very good perspective on reality, Cal."

She sat the mug in front of me and said, "It's so cold out there tonight. I really am sorry I made you wait outside." She kept stirring her glass but still hadn't looked at me.

"It's okay. I'm sure you had a very good reason. You're too nice to do anything like that intentionally. So it's fine—really. And thank you for letting me come in. Oh, and thank you for the hot chocolate. It's delicious."

She finally put the spoon down and then looked up at me. "That was all my fault. For leaving you outside, I mean. It was intentional. I just..." I didn't respond. I sat and waited to see if she'd tell me why. "I was actually very excited about the prospect of seeing you tonight until about ten minutes before you got here. Then out of nowhere, I panicked. I'm not kidding. I couldn't breath and I couldn't think. I suddenly went from being excited to feeling embarrassed and even ashamed. I've never done anything crazy like that before and I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of it. You didn't deserve that."

"Crazy how?" I asked politely.

Michelle took a sip of her hot chocolate and said, "This is so silly, but well, I spent most of the day yesterday out shopping. I kept running the things you wrote about me through my mind and I wanted to look exactly like the woman you described in your paper. I tried on a couple of dozen different sweaters and skirts and finally settled on one that was the same color and style you said were your favorite. Well, your hypothetical student's favorite on his hypothetical teacher." She smiled a weak smile then continued. "I had my hair done today and I even got a makeover." She looked down again and said, "This is so hard to say."

"It's okay. Really. I'm not here to judge. You can tell me anything and please never feel embarrassed with me. You could never do or say anything wrong."

She looked at me again with the saddest of eyes and said, "You really are amazing. I feel like such a fool, but just hearing you say that makes me feel better. At any rate, I was wearing that new outfit I bought with you in mind. Then just before you were due to show up, I panicked. I couldn't think. I felt like everything was closing in on me and the only thing I could think of was to just not let you come in. But once I heard your voice, I felt even more guilty for inviting you here only to send you home. So I...I ran to my bedroom and changed into...this. I guess it's my way of trying to tell myself if I look like this then none of this really matters and..."

"Mrs. Lloyd? It's okay," I assured her. "I didn't come here to see you wear something in particular. I came here to see you. And as I said, there's no 'this' for you to go through unless just talking with me is really that arduous for you."

"Arduous! You see? What 18-year old uses that word? And here you are comforting me...again...after I've made a fool out myself and then made a bigger scene by trying to hide the foolish things I did to try and..."

"To try and what?"

She looked down at her mug as she told me, "To...impress you. I really can't explain what I was feeling. It's just that with Brad leaving and Hugh gone all the time and your paper and my..."

"Brad left? Where did he go? And when?"

"Oh, sorry. I just assumed everyone knew. He enlisted in the Navy last month and he's in boot camp now. I must have cried off on and on for a week. It still kills me."

"I didn't know. I really sorry. I thought he was a senior at the other high school in town."

She explained how that all came about and I could see it was hurtful to talk about.

"Listen, if you need to talk about this, I'll listen all night. It's just really hard to someone I care about so much hurting this badly. Maybe we could discuss something less painful for you?" I suggested with raised eyebrows.

For the first time, I saw her look at me. She'd looked at me hundreds of times but she'd never actually looked at me that way before. I was too young to understand what it meant. I just knew it was...different.

"So Brad's been gone for almost five weeks and Hugh, my husband, is supervising a project in Spokane. He's been gone all week and won't be home until the 24th. So this big, beautiful house feels more like a minimum security prison than a home." She realized what she'd just said then said, "Oh, wow. That wasn't what you had in mind, was it? I'm so sorry, Cal. I'm really not very good company tonight." She paused again then said, "But I am glad you're here. I may not be very good company but I am really enjoying yours."