Oh yeah, a different age and manner of teaching.
Sliding onto the chair behind my desk, I begin to play with my necklace between my fingers. Four-year-olds are curious in a hands-on kind of way. Sure, I assign projects that let my earlyteenagers get creative. However, it’s not cute little messy finger paints and drawings that you can’t quite figure out but still smile when a little pigtailed girl says it’s a dog and then you agree.
Numbers and alphabets are new, and their eyes are opened to a whole new world. It’s a lot of balance between play and learning. Not ripping away cell phones and hoping your students completed their homework.
Noticing that I’m playing with the ring on a chain that I’ve been hiding under my shirt, I quickly let go.
I’m wearing a ring. I’m not sure I meant to keep wearing it.
I have a husband.
The sentiment repeats for the thousandth time in my head.
It’s not real, yet I do things subconsciously such as wear a necklace with a ring that isn’t exactly needed for a fake yet legally real marriage.
Oliver is my husband.
All over again, the thought causes the corner of my mouth to lift from that fact.
He’s making my dream come true, and it’s because he wanted to. So what if I eagerly agreed because deep down I was jumping at the chance to fulfill a fantasy that’s taken real estate in my mind for way too long. It makes this all risky for my heart, but his eyes were pure reverence and I knew he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, and his kisses entrapped me. I’m in quicksand and couldn’t run away if I tried.
One day it will all make sense why he is going to such great lengths to help me. Gratefulness isn’t even the right word for what I feel.
But a flicker in a tiny corner within me twists, warning me that we are just playing the part, it’s only legal. Fucking endlessly for a few nights before we jumped into marriage doesn’t always make a marriage of love and a long-lasting future.
And there lies my dilemma. We wanted to try and see where things go, embarking down an unknown path. Then we added a detour.
I’m a wife. Oliver’s wife. Mrs. Oaks.
“This is useless.” A cranky teenager’s voice causes me to break out of my daze.
I shutter my eyes a few times to bring my focus to my student in the front row, and I frown. “Why would that be, Danny?” This is going to be a few soul-crushing minutes, I feel it.
“It happened so long ago, we don’t need to learn about this stuff. We should be focusing on the future. You know we’ll probably be living on Mars in a few years.”
Tapping my fingers on my desk and smiling tightly, I remind myself that his mind is still impressionable. “Well, Danny. Learning about migration to the west of the country and how the settlers lived their life upon arrival is important in understanding American history.”
“But it’s like what, thirty years ago or something.”
Breathing to myself, I push down the fact that I keep repeating myself. “Or 175-ish years ago,” I correct him. “Look, I know this is the last place you want to be, but not only your parents sent you to summer school; you also got Ds in my class last year. I truly believe that you have more in you and we can get that grade up. In order for that to happen, you need to work with your group.”
“It’s just boring. It’s summer, I shouldn’t be preparing a presentation with a group of bookworms. I’m missing the parties by the river. I have a social calendar to maintain.”
My eyes enlarge at this kid’s audacity, but his parents donate enough to the school that I’ve been warned to go easy. With preschoolers, their little brains are fresh and your patience strong because they haven’t even figured out what school is. But the seventh-grader in front of me with attitude? He’s putting inno effort, and I feel exasperated that I’ve tried all the ways to get through to him but failed. That’s not the feeling I want to have as a teacher. I care.
“You have the gold rush to study, and that’s a topic that might draw your interest.”
“Or I can just search about it on the internet and no longer use a book. You know books won’t be around in like ten years. Only our parents use them. We have apps and social media now.”
Now I take hold of my desk. “Well, books it shall be today. Because our fine state of Illinois has a curriculum to follow,” I deadpan. I fear for when we reach the civics unit in the book.
“Whatever.” He huffs and turns to face a fellow student.
I hear a ding and my hand dives into the drawer of my desk. My phone is on top of the pile of cell phones that I make the kids leave on my desk at the start of the day. Using my thumbprint, I unlock my screen and read the email.
Hi Hailey,
Thanks for your email and sorry for the delay. I was out of town. We can have a call later or I’ll see you in town. My office is open until five. Hopefully, you have some information that will change the situation for the building on Main.
