Timeless Read online

  I pulled my gaze away to see Beth eyeing me sympathetically. Could everyone in the room tell I hadn’t been on a date in three months?

  “We’d better call it a night,” Miles said, pushing back from the table. We’ve got some work to do at the house if we’re going to get it on the market this spring.”

  “You have a house here?” I asked, eager for a diversion.

  “Yes, I worked at the college until about two months ago, when I transferred to the admissions office at DePaul University.” He smiled sweetly. “I wanted to be closer to Edmond.”

  “We miss him terribly,” Beth said. “And we hold Edmond personally responsible for cutting our gay and lesbian group by one fifth.”

  “It’s not my fault you had only five gays in the village,” Edmond teased her. “Surely you could recruit some more.”

  The table went quiet, and Jody seemed suddenly interested in folding her napkin until Edmond realized even though he was among friends, Darlington wasn’t the best place to publicly joke about recruitment, especially with teachers at the table. Despite the fact that Rory and Beth had clearly been granted some level of acceptance, wariness and a level of caution permeated my senses here. That awareness of my surroundings had been born from years of watching, testing, and observing what types of behaviors were rewarded, which were tolerated, and which were met with rebuke, silent or otherwise. Those lessons had guided me through my youth and stayed with me always. Rory, on the other hand, seemed quicker to move on as she rose and extended her arm to Edmond, saying, “Ladies, shall we adjourn?”

  “We shall,” Edmond answered cheerfully and, looping his arm through hers, headed toward the parking lot.

  We all said good-bye to Edmond, who hugged me again, and to Miles, who thankfully did not, but as we turned to go, Jody lingered.

  “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, wishing I’d come up with something more impressive or charming or at least a question I didn’t already know the answer to.

  “Yes, of course. I look forward to it, but I won’t be free before the assembly. I have a class until ten o’clock, and after that we won’t have much time to do anything but lead you to the stage.”

  I didn’t know what bothered me more, the thought of the stage or the reminder I wouldn’t get another chance to talk with her. Say something, anything. My brain begged my mouth to keep the conversation going, but I managed only to say, “It’s okay, I understand.”

  Jody nodded. “So you have everything you need for tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” I started to back away. Who was I kidding, wishing for more time with her? I’d likely make a fool of myself, and on the off chance I didn’t, what would it matter? I’d be around for only twenty-six more hours. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, thanks.”

  I took another step back and bumped into Beth. She steadied me with a gentle hand on my shoulder before saying, “I’m sure you’re tired, but it might be better for you two to run by the high school tonight. You know, to go over the itinerary and walk through the setup for the assembly.”

  “Honey,” Rory interjected. “They’re both professionals. I’m sure they don’t need a dry run on something this straightforward.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply they couldn’t handle it,” Beth said, her tone understanding but her gaze purposefully angling from Rory back to me. “But not everyone loves to just jump up on the stage. Having all the information ahead of time might put their minds at ease.”

  “Well, I don’t want to keep Stevie out too late, but it might not be a bad idea to check things out tonight. If we do need to make any changes, tomorrow will be too late,” Jody said tentatively, her smile shy but hopeful as she turned to address me directly. “That is, if Stevie doesn’t mind.”

  “No, it’s fine with me.” I might have been tired, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I lost another chance to talk to Jody.

  “Good,” Beth said. “It’s best to be prepared.”

  Rory wrapped her arm around Beth’s waist and kissed her quickly on the temple. “That’s my little librarian for you. Why don’t we just follow you to the school, Jody?”

  “We don’t need to go.” Beth subtly steered Rory toward their car. “I’m sure Jody can handle things.”

  “We’re Stevie’s ride,” Rory said.

  “Jody can drop her off when they are done. Can’t you, Jody?”

  “Sure.” Jody’s voice carried a hint of the awareness that warmed my cheeks even in the cold February evening. Beth had arranged for us to be alone together. Why didn’t it surprise me that the darling of Darlington liked to play matchmaker? I didn’t know if I should trip her or hug her, so instead I shrugged my acceptance.

  *

  Jody unlocked the front door to the high school and flipped on the lights. The main hallway flashed into view, causing the memories to surge so strong and swift I took a step back. Fluorescent glow ricocheted off every surface, from the tile floor to the gleaming red lockers and out through the double panes of glass lining the front office. I took a deep breath to steady myself, only to be accosted by the smell of institutional cleaning supplies and the lingering scent of cafeteria food. The combination reminded me of a hospital, but without the acrid tinge of antiseptic. This smell hung heavier in the air, and not nearly as sharp, like years of closed doors and body heat had worn off all the edges.

  Jody led me through the main corridor. I trailed behind, firmly holding a mental lock on sentimentality and nostalgia. I stayed close to the wall, close enough to run my hand along the lone red stripe about halfway up. Had someone decided, in a last-second attempt to break the monotony of white, that this minor accent of the school color would make the place seem more cheerful? It didn’t. Red ink rarely symbolized good things, especially in a high school.

  Jody stopped and glanced over her shoulder, her blue eyes questioning but her smile hopeful. “How’s it feel to be back?”

  “Good,” I lied. I didn’t feel anything. I wouldn’t let myself.

  “Really? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

  “Do I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Relax, it’s fine.” She reached out as if she intended to touch me but then thought better of it. “It’d be weird to come back after so long. You’re allowed to be a little freaked-out.”

  “Am I?” I sighed. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. I don’t have fond memories of this place. High school wasn’t the proverbial best time of my life, but I don’t have the animosity Rory did. I don’t carry any anger. High school was just something I had to do, like paying my light bill or, I don’t know, flossing.”

  Jody threw back her head and laughed, a beautiful sound rolling out in an octave higher than the tone she spoke in and fading into a silent bounce of her shoulders. “I’ve been here over a decade, and I’ve never heard anyone equate their experience to a four-year teeth cleaning.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to denigrate your life’s work. Sometimes words just come out before I think them through, which is why I generally try to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You’re funny, and right about the flossing analogy. School isn’t fun all the time. It can be tedious, but it should never be painful. And ultimately, diligence in your studies keeps important parts of yourself from rotting away. You’ve always had a way with words.”

  “Really? I feel like my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth most of the time.”

  “You never spoke excessively, but when you did, or more noticeably when you wrote, you had an economy of language and precision of vocabulary far beyond your age. You’ve refined those skills throughout your career, but I saw the seed of that talent even when you were in my class.”

  Pride pressed at my chest as I let the compliment sink in. I didn’t know what to say, but maybe I didn’t have to say anything, since Jody had obviously seen something to like in me, tongue-tied and all.

  She opened the gym door and lifted a series of switches.
Each one triggered a heavy metallic thump from the old rafters and a gentle buzz of electricity as the overhead lights slowly stirred to life.

  The space seemed hollow and darkly cavernous in the early stages of illumination. Once again the smell hit first. It had the same base of cleaning products, but instead of food, the overarching scent here was sweat and scuffed rubber. The memories pushed at the back of my mind harder this time, the far-off echoes of shoes squeaking as they shuffled across the floor and the clamor of a ball hitting the backboard or bouncing off a rim. I felt rustling of fabric, the press of bodies settling into metal folding chairs, the strain of a band—without the members who now wore mortarboards—striking up “Pomp and Circumstance.”

  “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” I asked, slamming those sensory doors to the past.

  “Well, like I said, I’ve got a class right before the assembly, so Rory will bring you to the school. You guys can wait in the locker room if you want to avoid the crowd.” I must have grimaced because Jody stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  “Probably nothing.” I blushed. “But can you maybe find some more appropriate place to put two out lesbians than a high-school-girls’ locker room?”

  Jody stared at me wide-eyed for a second before letting her laughter flow freely again. “Right. Maybe the balcony would be more comfortable.”

  “I think so. Go on.”

  “When I get out of class, I’ll come meet you, and we’ll go to the stage.” She indicated a worn-out blue platform in the middle of the gym with several chairs and a podium. “You’ll sit with me and Rory and the dean of Bramble College. I’ll say a few words about your time as a student, and Rory will talk about your current work. Then we’ll call you up to give you the award.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” I said. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

  Jody eyes sparkled with amusement. “You don’t have to give an acceptance speech now, or at all really.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t intend to. It just occurred to me that I never thanked you, for the award, or keeping up with my writing, or even remembering me. It’s all very unexpected.”

  “Really?” Jody seemed genuinely confused.

  “Sure. I mean how many students have you had in the last decade?”

  “Hundreds.”

  “Why should I stand out? I wasn’t vocal or athletic or particularly involved. I wasn’t even in the top ten percent of my class academically. And I haven’t been around since then. I’m not one of those people who come to reunions or homecoming.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I don’t have any glory days to relive.”

  “But why?” Jody was pushing me. “You’re smart and successful. You’ve made a name for yourself. And from what limited time I had you as a student, I could tell both your mind and your sense of humor were sharp, but you keep everything to yourself, then and now.”

  I sat down in the first row of the bleachers. “I don’t expect you to understand. You probably flew through high school.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re beautiful and blonde and smart and outgoing and funny…”

  Her face turned red, causing me to realize I’d just showered her in compliments.

  Did she think I was coming on to her?

  Was I?

  “Is that how you saw me? How you see me?”

  I could lie. I could rein in the embarrassing emotional response I’d let slip out, but instead I surprised even myself by plunging on. “Of course. I admired you so much as a student teacher. You were only a few years older than most of the class, but you had it all together. You struck me as one of those people who always knew the right thing to do.”

  “Oh, Stevie.” She sighed and sat down beside me. “Part of me is relieved to hear I fooled everyone, but it’s not fair to let you believe a lie. Student teaching was a horrible time for me. I was wracked with doubt about every decision I made. The pressure got so bad I almost quit.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing in the classroom. Mr. Owens offered no help. I felt constantly judged by the students and the other teachers, and all the time I battled panic-attack-inducing memories of my own high-school experiences.”

  This news shocked me. If I couldn’t see the anguish in her eyes, I would’ve accused her of acting. “I thought people became teachers because they loved school and didn’t want to leave.”

  “The opposite was true for me. I loved the course work. I loved to read and the school musicals and plays, but those were my escape, my refuge. The hallways terrified me. The cliques and backbiting made me sick. Literally—I got an ulcer at sixteen. I wallowed at the bottom of the social food chain.”

  “But why? You’re smart and funny and attractive.”

  Her eyes watered with emotion. “You’re the only one who saw me that way. I’m short and scrawny, a book nerd and a theater geek. I never wore the trendy clothes, and I never swooned over the boys.”

  Things fell into place. “Did people know you were gay?”

  “Most of them just knew I was different, and they threw a lot of names and slurs my way. Some of them happened to fit, but in the late nineties, Oquendo, Illinois wasn’t a hotbed of gay culture, so homosexuality wasn’t on most people’s radar. I didn’t even know for sure I was gay until I went to college.”

  “But you did know during student teaching, and you understood what high schools were like. You understood how bad they could be. Why choose such a hard career path? And why choose Darlington?”

  “I grew up not far from here. I know what these kids’ lives are like. The name-calling, the bullying, the backstabbing almost crushed me, and no one even noticed. The teachers were too busy to care, or even worse, they played along. It was every person for herself. Having to face the torment alone was the worst part.” Her shoulders sagged under the invisible weight of those memories. I could almost see a cloud of desperation settle over us until she sat up and lifted her chin. “I swore if I became a teacher I’d do better for my students. I could offer them a little shelter. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could make a small-town high school celebrate differences, but even if I couldn’t stop the rising tide of hate, I could weather the storm with them. I could let them know they didn’t have to struggle alone.”

  I got a chill. This was the stuff legendary teachers were made of. How many lives had she saved? But at what personal cost?

  “You probably think I’m crazy.”

  “No. You’re amazing, inspiring. Maybe if I’d had four years with you as a teacher I’d be a completely different person today. You’ve sacrificed so much for your students. I just wonder what kind of toll all that work has taken on you.”

  She brushed off my concern. “I haven’t given up much, and what I have, they’ve given back tenfold.”

  “What about the toll the closet takes on your identity and your personal life?”

  She rolled her head from side to side slowly, as if trying to release some pent-up tension as she considered the question. I got the urge to massage her shoulders, to run my thumbs down the soft skin along the graceful curve of her neck. Instead I clasped my hands together tightly in my lap.

  “I’m out to my parents, my brother, Rory and Beth. I don’t deny anything when asked outright, and people who are sensitive to these things, people who are looking and know what to look for can always tell.”

  I’d realized from the first time I’d seen her that we shared the undeniable connection neither of us would’ve dared speak but both clearly understood. Could the unspoken sustain someone forever? “Don’t you want to come out on a wider scale? Don’t get me wrong, I’m no flag waver, but I enjoy the freedom of being able to write without censorship. Or date openly, even if it doesn’t happen often.”

  “I won’t say it’s not hard at times, but not because of my own desires. It’s all the small-mindedness I encounter in my students, and more frequently my colleagues, that hurts most. W
hen people make a fag joke or say ‘that’s so gay,’ I’d like to say, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m gay and I’ve made a good life here.’” She shrugged again, pushing on with less passion and more reason. “But if I were out I’d be seen as pushing a personal agenda rather than standing up against bigotry. I’m in a better position right now by staying closeted.”

  “I admire you, really, but I couldn’t do it. I paid my dues to get out and live my own life. It’s hard enough to have strangers judge my work. The thought of putting my whole life out there for scrutiny all the time would paralyze me.” I shivered. “I might never leave my bed in the morning.”

  “Some days I feel that way. For all my talk about making sure students know they aren’t alone, my own life can get pretty solitary.”

  “Do you date?” I asked, torn between wishing the best for her and not wanting to think about some lucky woman who got to hold her at the end of a long day.

  “Not often.” She looked around the gym. “Even if I did have a chance to meet women, this is a lot to compete with. The strain of my job often crushes possibilities before they have a chance to blossom.”

  “It must be hard to feel romantic while looking over your shoulder.”

  “I still live in Oquendo, which gives me a half hour to unwind at the end of the day and keeps students from just driving by my house to see when I’m home.” The resignation hung heavy in her voice and slowed her words. “But I’m here several nights a week working on the school play or conferencing with parents. Even when I go to St. Louis to get away, I’m always running into a former student or someone from town. Some times are better than others, but you’re right. I can never fully relax.”