Her All Along

I poured the last of the coffee from my thermos and took a sip.

Well…I was here to write. I should get started…

I’d placed a notepad and a camping lantern in front of me for a reason.

There was an envelope waiting in the car, labeled with the address Willow had helped me find.

Where did I begin? How did I explain to my brother that I’d lived a miserable life, one where I’d hurt those who’d hurt me, where I’d held vile views and been filled with bitterness and resentment, where I’d eventually healed, mostly due to the two girls who now completely owned my heart and turned my world into a brighter place?

A place worth living.

My time on this earth was no longer about survival.

I released a breath and flicked on the lantern, which cast a faint glow over the picnic table.

I supposed Finn was a good place to start.

Finn,

Much has happened in my life the past few years, but no matter how much time goes by, there’s a void that only you can fill. I think about you often. I wonder how you’re doing, how you’ve moved on, and if you’re surrounded by people you love. I hope you are.

I lived destructively for years. My trust in women was broken, I hurt people, and I carried an insurmountable volume of hatred within me. Maybe you remember how important school was for me? That didn’t stop. I actually became a teacher. Education remained my one constant, the one thing that kept me afloat. Well, there was one more thing. I befriended a friend’s baby sister when I was in the middle of my divorce. A twelve-year-old, annoying, inquisitive, sweet girl who’d stop by in the morning when I read the paper on my porch. Her world view kick-started a change in me…

I hadn’t been nervous stepping into a classroom since my first year as a teacher.

Until today.

I’d arrived early to get into the right headspace, and now I could hear students out in the halls. Lockers slamming shut, guys hollering, girls chatting.

This wasn’t a private academy in a sleepy Washington town. It was an inner-city public school in Oakland.

The walls were bare, except for a few posters. A map of California, our flag, and a list of our presidents.

I didn’t even have a fucking whiteboard. It was chalk.

The textbooks were outdated, because some idiots thought text about history was as set in stone as the actual historical events, so I’d made copies for everyone of what we’d discuss today.

The desks had seen better days too—probably in the seventies—and there was no chair to my own desk.

Fine. I’d stand.

My phone lit up with a message, and I picked it up and saw a picture in the preview. The sight made me smile and relax a little. Elise had the day off, which was rare, so she’d spent the night with me in our new place in Berkeley. Today, she was watching Grace. The picture was of the two of them, and it looked like they were sitting in the grass somewhere. Maybe the tiny park in my neighborhood.

Be you, sweetie. They might not love you right away, but you’re a good authority figure. Let them recognize that and stick to your principles. I love you!

She knew exactly what to say.

In Ponderosa, I was expected to look respectable. Image mattered in private education. However, it mattered here too. Just a different image. A shirt and tie would just make me look preppy at this place, so I’d opted for jeans, a tee, and, unfortunately, my damn glasses. It was a tricky balance. I didn’t want the students to write me off as a Suit. At the same time, I didn’t want them to think I cared about being “one of them.” Teachers who tried to be their students’ friend were a sad breed in my field. The students didn’t have to like me. I didn’t care. They didn’t even have to respect me; I just wanted them to listen. I knew what I was doing, and I knew that education was a ticket out of most bad situations. And bringing my knowledge into a place that lacked prospects and opportunities was the best I could do.

If the students listened to me, if they learned from me, they just might be able to rise above the system that worked against them.

I opened the door a minute or so before the bell rang, and then I returned to my desk and half sat on the edge of it while the students started trickling in. Starting tomorrow, they’d check their own attendance at the door, but today I wanted to see their names properly. New class, new faces, new names. And hopefully I’d get an answer about whether or not I was ready to give up my job in Ponderosa and look for a position in the working-class district I’d grown up in south of Downtown.