I do love my job, promise. Before I even attended teacher’s college I knew I wanted to work exclusively with teenagers with learning disabilities. But it’s still teaching. Twenty kids with me and occasionally an assistant if I’m lucky, depending on the class list.
However, this year’s class is probably my favourite I’ve had in the past four years. I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s the truth. They’re a good bunch. They tolerate me, their families are mostly co-operative and engaged, and they’ve got more entertaining gossip than elderly church ladies at a luncheon. And that’s a lot of good gossip. The passive aggressive kind too, which was my personal favourite to eavesdrop on.
Oh, sweet Candice… you know Candice, right? Laura’s daughter? Yes, bless her heart. Poor thing has only gone and got herself knocked up. I know, heaven bless her. We should keep her and her family in our prayers. Especially the father… whoever he is.
You know…that.
This group has those old bitties from my hometown beat. Especially Talia, the fire-cracker sixteen year old who’s been in my class now for three years, and her boyfriend, Jacob. They both have Down syndrome and they are also hands-down the cattiest people I've ever met. I love it. They come to my deskevery dayduring their lunch to talk shit about the other students. And they do it loudly too! They don’t give a flying fuck who hears them rattling off about how so-and-so totally dyed their hair because so-and-so did first or how Logan has a crush on Serena but Serena likes Keisha, and henceforth.
I have to attempt to be professional and shut down the conversations most days, but it's truly one of the best parts of the job.
Though I can’t help but wonder if the gossip mongers of Augustine High School know about Natalie and I. They certainly knew we were dating. One of the students caught a glimpse of my background screen once while I was googling something for him. He made sure everyone knew that Ms. Paul and Ms. Callway were “hooking up” based on the photo of us cuddling on the beach.
Then they noticed when I started wearing my engagement ring this past spring. Theyloudlynoticed. Theyenthusiasticallynoticed. And every single one of them had passed around and tried on my beautiful, oval solitaire.
But there’s been no comments since I took it off and returned it to Natalie in September.
I should have guessed they’d let me be. One of the many cool things about working alongside kids with disabilities is unlearning years of false assumptions. So often they’re being judged, pitied, or granted condescending sympathy by the masses. But, in reality, they’re the ones who know when to talk shit and when to mind their business. When someone’s hurting and needs an extra long hug. When to joke and when not to. Part of the reason I finally decided to get my formal Autism diagnosis was because of these kids. They taught me to shed the shame of beingdifferent.They have the gift of true emotional intelligence, and I’m grateful for them.
Especially lately, because it’s been a rough couple of months.
Natalie and I weren’t happy for a long time. I can see that now. I felt a slow shift, sure. But what I mistook for settling in, Natalie had quietly labelled settling. What I believed to be comfortable silence, Natalie thought unbearable.
I know I played a part in that. I’m not the most affectionate person. Not the most romantic, naturally. I can get easily overwhelmed, overcrowded, overstimulated. However, I do wish Natalie hadn’t tried to spice things up by proposing—as she admitted when loading the last box into her truck—and maybe justtalkedto me.
I also wish that truck wasn’t driving straight to Lisa’s house… or Ms. Turner, shall I call her. It’s always the history teachers. The horny fuckers. You’d think they’d know what happens to people who cheat on their partners. Anne Boelyn, anyone?
Now, I’m sure students catch a glimpse at Natalie’s lock screen, which is presumably a photo of her and Lisa together, and know some shit went down. Teenagers can be cruel, sure, but this group is merciful. And they’re about the only thing helping me trudge through these last few months.
My lock screen is now my cat, Bagel. (He’s bread-coloured beige with black and grey spots like poppy seeds, and I wasreallyhungry when I went to the shelter—you cannot blame me.)
Did I adopt a cat the very next day after my fiancee left me? Why thank you so much for asking, yes I did. Do I regret it? A fair amount, actually, yes. Bagel likes to sandwich himself (ironically) between the wall and the back of my fridge. He gets stuck and then screams until I come home. My neighbours even called the cops once because they thought I was hurting him.
That was a new low. I’d hoped from my up-turned nods and grimacing smiles in passing my neighbours would have gathered I’m not a cat-murderer. But I have been told I have an extraordinarily intense resting bitch face so maybe they presumed the worst.
I was voted “least approachable” in my high school yearbook, which I still believe hadn't been a category the year prior. I’ve had only a small handful of real friends my entire life and they’re all from my hometown, and I haven't been back in a long, long time now.
One of these friends though, Clara, has recently moved to the city. Well, moved back, I suppose. She was in Toronto for university too, but I’d been so wrapped up in Natalie since the beginning of teacher’s college, I didn’t really have time for friends beyond her.
Plus, Clara has been busy too, finishing her undergrad and masters degree—making a name for herself in the photography world.
It’s not that we had a falling out or ever decided to not be best friends anymore. It’s just that we’ve been close since we were nine, so it’s easy to sort offorgetabout each other until you need a familiar face. Fading in and out of each other’s lives like the lingering silence between songs—just a lull, not an end. And lately we’ve been talking more again.
She’s just landed a new job at a gallery, and it’s a really big deal to her. Her eyes went as wide as saucers when she described this place over a video call last week. She was in her childhood bedroom at Daryl and Maggie’s house, packing up boxes. I was in bed, eating Thai food withThe Bacheloretteon mute.
Clara often needs someone to call her when she’s completing a task—to just keep her mind off of other things while she finishes what she set out to do—which has been great. Not only to catch up but because the nights have been really fucking lonely since Natalie left.
Tonight I’m taking her out to my favourite local spot to celebrate her first day. We haven’t actually hung out in person since… God, I don’t even remember. Definitely before I finished school, but I can’t recall a time after that.
Clara is adamant this dinner is also a toast to my new-found singleness. And that she, despite being straight, would make a fantastic wingwoman to an unapproachable lesbian like myself. But that’s not happening. I’ll probably die alone, alongside Bagel’s great-granddaughter, who will eat my face before my neighbours (who were much more eager to call before) let the police know about a weird smell and find my body.
It’s not that I’m some frankenstein-looking monster. I’ve been hit on, occasionally. Women at bars will tell me I lookjust like that girl from New Girland I tell them that her name is Zooey Deschanel and that she gave her daughter the middle name Otter. Otter! Who does that?
That sort of kills the conversation each time. Ergo, it seems to be my personality that will keep me in perpetual singledom. Natalie was my first real love, and I let that fade off and dieentirelyunaware. If I couldn’t keep a peppy, well-to-do mathematics teacher from losing interest and cheating on me, there’s probably zero hope for anyone else to stick around long term.
The closest thing to love I think I’ll ever get again is reality TV, which is actually a not-so-guilty pleasure of mine. A therapist may use the termspecial interest.
Regardless, I’m fascinated by how those beautiful idiots can fall in love stepping out of a limo, through a wall, or on an island. Though, I suppose that last one isn't exactly a hardship. Paradise, away from the real world and the realities of life, would probably make love easy to do.
