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Authors: Zoe Whittall
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checked their hair in the reflection of their phones and held microphones at their sides while camera crews took shots of the school. Police cars blocked the main road’s entrance. Andrew walked behind the building towards the athletic field, trying to be inconspicuous. A group of girls were playing lacrosse on the field closest to the school. The grounds looked smaller, shabbier than he remembered them. He was now walking where he used to scurry, hoping not to be noticed, wishing he could disappear. It was comical, the way the land looked so anonymous and non-threatening as an adult.
The north field, beyond a line of trees, was where Stuart and Andrew had had a meeting spot at a certain boulder. You could be seen, but not always. The shrubs in the area had grown thicker. He passed through the thicket on the dirt path, well worn by sneakered kids over the decades. The track looked exactly the same.
Stuart was standing in the middle of the field holding a clipboard while students ran around him. Andrew sat in the bleachers and watched, astounded that while he had gone to university then law school, while he had had dozens of relationships and finally found someone he could be with long-term, Stuart had been in the same spot, running the same circles around the same field. Yelling the same shouts of encouragement, ogling the same broad-shouldered closet cases year after year. It was both sad and comforting.
Stuart looked towards the bleachers and Andrew waved at him. Stuart looked in his direction again, puzzled, and waved in a way that indicated he wasn’t sure who Andrew was from that distance. Eventually he sent the class indoors, and as he approached, his eyes widened. His hair had receded, and the beer he loved to drink to excess on the weekends at the gay club in Woodbridge had certainly done a number on his midsection. He looked tired, significantly older, and he blushed when he saw Andrew.
“Holy shit, Andy Woodbury.”
No one called him that anymore, not in years. They hugged. Stuart smelled the same, like a spicy drugstore cologne. In his final year of high school Andrew used to spray it all over his sweater before leaving Stuart’s apartment in the middle of the night to bike home, just so he would be able to breathe in his scent, his head swirling with love.
“I had no idea about your father, Andy. We’re all in shock.”
“Worried they’ll come after you next?” he joked.
Stuart didn’t laugh. He looked mortified. “That’s not funny, Andy. You were seventeen — that’s not really the same thing.”
“I know, I know.”
“And I held off for a long time … You were the one who chased me. I didn’t do a thing until you came to the bar that night and shocked the hell out of me. I figured if you were going to go home with some old guy, may as well be someone who cared for your well-being,” he said.
“You weren’t old. You were twenty-five, for god’s sake. I’m older than that now. I was just kidding …”
“I know, I know.” He looked over at the school, as though expecting someone to come out and catch them, even though they were just two grown men chatting.
“Do you know the girls?”
“Some of them, yeah. I know a few of them. I don’t know, Andy. It’s a tough position to be in, a male teacher away on a trip with a bunch of drunk girls. It’s always easy to judge … You know, we all want to stick up for your dad. He’s always been such a solid guy.”
“Well, I know that. But the girls? They’re still kids, right? I mean, that’s what they’re going to say, the people who believe them.”
“Right, right,” Stuart said. “Kids are so different now, Andy. They scare me a bit with how much they know.”
“I dunno. We knew a lot. Doesn’t every generation think the next is so scandalous?”
“No, I’m telling you. These kids have no innocence anymore.”
Andrew didn’t want to debate Stuart on this myth he was clinging to, so he just nodded, saying
The north field, beyond a line of trees, was where Stuart and Andrew had had a meeting spot at a certain boulder. You could be seen, but not always. The shrubs in the area had grown thicker. He passed through the thicket on the dirt path, well worn by sneakered kids over the decades. The track looked exactly the same.
Stuart was standing in the middle of the field holding a clipboard while students ran around him. Andrew sat in the bleachers and watched, astounded that while he had gone to university then law school, while he had had dozens of relationships and finally found someone he could be with long-term, Stuart had been in the same spot, running the same circles around the same field. Yelling the same shouts of encouragement, ogling the same broad-shouldered closet cases year after year. It was both sad and comforting.
Stuart looked towards the bleachers and Andrew waved at him. Stuart looked in his direction again, puzzled, and waved in a way that indicated he wasn’t sure who Andrew was from that distance. Eventually he sent the class indoors, and as he approached, his eyes widened. His hair had receded, and the beer he loved to drink to excess on the weekends at the gay club in Woodbridge had certainly done a number on his midsection. He looked tired, significantly older, and he blushed when he saw Andrew.
“Holy shit, Andy Woodbury.”
No one called him that anymore, not in years. They hugged. Stuart smelled the same, like a spicy drugstore cologne. In his final year of high school Andrew used to spray it all over his sweater before leaving Stuart’s apartment in the middle of the night to bike home, just so he would be able to breathe in his scent, his head swirling with love.
“I had no idea about your father, Andy. We’re all in shock.”
“Worried they’ll come after you next?” he joked.
Stuart didn’t laugh. He looked mortified. “That’s not funny, Andy. You were seventeen — that’s not really the same thing.”
“I know, I know.”
“And I held off for a long time … You were the one who chased me. I didn’t do a thing until you came to the bar that night and shocked the hell out of me. I figured if you were going to go home with some old guy, may as well be someone who cared for your well-being,” he said.
“You weren’t old. You were twenty-five, for god’s sake. I’m older than that now. I was just kidding …”
“I know, I know.” He looked over at the school, as though expecting someone to come out and catch them, even though they were just two grown men chatting.
“Do you know the girls?”
“Some of them, yeah. I know a few of them. I don’t know, Andy. It’s a tough position to be in, a male teacher away on a trip with a bunch of drunk girls. It’s always easy to judge … You know, we all want to stick up for your dad. He’s always been such a solid guy.”
“Well, I know that. But the girls? They’re still kids, right? I mean, that’s what they’re going to say, the people who believe them.”
“Right, right,” Stuart said. “Kids are so different now, Andy. They scare me a bit with how much they know.”
“I dunno. We knew a lot. Doesn’t every generation think the next is so scandalous?”
“No, I’m telling you. These kids have no innocence anymore.”
Andrew didn’t want to debate Stuart on this myth he was clinging to, so he just nodded, saying
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