be mine. But then again, it obviously wasn’t supposed to be mine. Or this wouldn’t have happened.” She held her arms up when she said this, as if they signified that her entire being was now cancer. That probably wasn’t far from the truth.
The words were taking her energy away; I could feel her slowing down. But she wasn’t going to stop, not until she was done.
“I want you to have kids. I want you to have grandkids. I want you snuggled up on a couch with someone when you’re old and gray. I just wish it could have been me.”
“I don’t want it to be anyone else,” I stammered, the tears in my throat, controlling my voice. “I hate this. I don’t want to lose you.”
We sat there the rest of the night and cried together until we fell asleep in the recliner. The next two days we would wake up early, enjoy the sunrise, listen to the river and the wind in the trees. Her parents would spend time with us until the sun went down. They would leave, and Carrie and I would return to the recliner and talk and cry and laugh some more. The third morning I woke up to one of the most majestic sunrises that I had ever seen. I shook Carrie gently to wake her up, but she wouldn’t wake up.
I made it to the morning meeting in time, and I was able to share with the rest of the faculty what had happened overnight with Robin. Everyone joined together to pray for her and Walt, but everyone was encouraged that the doctors had been able to successfully perform the surgery. Most considered it miraculous that Walt had been able to get her to the hospital in time. I was inclined to agree.
I spent the majority of the morning balancing my thoughts of Robin and the ones I was having about April. I hadn’t seen her that morning yet, and I found it preoccupying wondering what color her dress was, or how she had fixed her hair that day.
I went down to the lunchroom and sat with my coworkers, but there wasn’t any sign of April. I assumed she had been next door—no student had complained that the classroom was teacher-less. She couldn’t have been having lunch with her husband, who was of course in Boston. I ate hurriedly and excused myself from the table, pretending like I had to get back and prepare for my next period.
I walked down the hallway toward our classrooms, and her light was still on. I got close to the door and peered through the glass. She was sitting at Robin’s desk, her head buried in her arms. At first I thought she might have been sleeping, but I could see her hands moving through her hair.
Don’t go in there , I told myself. She obviously wanted to be alone.
I ignored my better judgment and walked in.
Her head lifted slowly from her arms, and she smiled forcefully as I slowly walked toward her desk. It didn’t look like she had been crying, but her eyes looked twenty years older than the rest of her. It was startling.
“Hey,” I said. “I just wanted to check on you, make sure everything was okay.”
“Oh, I am fine,” she said, and I knew she was lying to me. “Just had a long night. Thought maybe I could get a quick nap in.”
I didn’tbuy what she was trying to sell me, but I played along.
“Well, I’ve heard turning the light off usually helps. People seem to sleep better in the dark.”
She smiled, less forced this time.
“Plus, if the lights had been out, it would have kept an idiot English teacher from barging in and disrupting your peace.”
I was mad at myself for walking in like this, but instead of making it better and leaving, all I could apparently seem to do was keep talking.
She sat up and leaned back, involuntarily stretching her upper body. She was wearing a scarlet red blouse, and when she leaned back, her small breasts pushed up against the fabric of her shirt. I tried not to look, and thankfully she hadn’t noticed me fail at my attempt.
“It’s okay, really,” she said. “Lunch is almost over anyway, and there is no way I would have passed out on this
The words were taking her energy away; I could feel her slowing down. But she wasn’t going to stop, not until she was done.
“I want you to have kids. I want you to have grandkids. I want you snuggled up on a couch with someone when you’re old and gray. I just wish it could have been me.”
“I don’t want it to be anyone else,” I stammered, the tears in my throat, controlling my voice. “I hate this. I don’t want to lose you.”
We sat there the rest of the night and cried together until we fell asleep in the recliner. The next two days we would wake up early, enjoy the sunrise, listen to the river and the wind in the trees. Her parents would spend time with us until the sun went down. They would leave, and Carrie and I would return to the recliner and talk and cry and laugh some more. The third morning I woke up to one of the most majestic sunrises that I had ever seen. I shook Carrie gently to wake her up, but she wouldn’t wake up.
I made it to the morning meeting in time, and I was able to share with the rest of the faculty what had happened overnight with Robin. Everyone joined together to pray for her and Walt, but everyone was encouraged that the doctors had been able to successfully perform the surgery. Most considered it miraculous that Walt had been able to get her to the hospital in time. I was inclined to agree.
I spent the majority of the morning balancing my thoughts of Robin and the ones I was having about April. I hadn’t seen her that morning yet, and I found it preoccupying wondering what color her dress was, or how she had fixed her hair that day.
I went down to the lunchroom and sat with my coworkers, but there wasn’t any sign of April. I assumed she had been next door—no student had complained that the classroom was teacher-less. She couldn’t have been having lunch with her husband, who was of course in Boston. I ate hurriedly and excused myself from the table, pretending like I had to get back and prepare for my next period.
I walked down the hallway toward our classrooms, and her light was still on. I got close to the door and peered through the glass. She was sitting at Robin’s desk, her head buried in her arms. At first I thought she might have been sleeping, but I could see her hands moving through her hair.
Don’t go in there , I told myself. She obviously wanted to be alone.
I ignored my better judgment and walked in.
Her head lifted slowly from her arms, and she smiled forcefully as I slowly walked toward her desk. It didn’t look like she had been crying, but her eyes looked twenty years older than the rest of her. It was startling.
“Hey,” I said. “I just wanted to check on you, make sure everything was okay.”
“Oh, I am fine,” she said, and I knew she was lying to me. “Just had a long night. Thought maybe I could get a quick nap in.”
I didn’tbuy what she was trying to sell me, but I played along.
“Well, I’ve heard turning the light off usually helps. People seem to sleep better in the dark.”
She smiled, less forced this time.
“Plus, if the lights had been out, it would have kept an idiot English teacher from barging in and disrupting your peace.”
I was mad at myself for walking in like this, but instead of making it better and leaving, all I could apparently seem to do was keep talking.
She sat up and leaned back, involuntarily stretching her upper body. She was wearing a scarlet red blouse, and when she leaned back, her small breasts pushed up against the fabric of her shirt. I tried not to look, and thankfully she hadn’t noticed me fail at my attempt.
“It’s okay, really,” she said. “Lunch is almost over anyway, and there is no way I would have passed out on this
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