Don't Stand so Close to Me
Chapter 1: The subject of school girl fantasy
Young teacher the subject of school girl fantasy
She wants him so badly knows what she wants to be –
Don't Stand so close to me – the police
(The Teacher)
I ran my hand across my cheek. I was mildly surprised to feel noting but smooth skin. Even though it had been almost year since I had the surgery, part of me still thought the scar that had been with me my entire adult life was still there. I had to tell myself that it was gone several times a day. Just like that chapter of my life.
The chapter left more than physical scars but there was no operation for that.
RIIIIIIIIIIING
The students shift around in their seats preparing for yet another day.
"As much as I'd love to torture you," I said over the quiet murmur of students. "I have decided to give you a free day. Use it wisely."
I sat down in front of my computer and started opening emails.
I was mildly surprised to have message from my "evil twin" Alice.
Inside were drawings of clothing from her latest line, and the news that she just attracted some big time investor.
I was often jealous of my sister's perfect life. We both go to the same art schools and she winds up being fashion designer and I wind up being a high school art teacher. To top it shortly after I call off my engagement with Victoria, she announces her own engagement to my best friend, Jasper.
I mean WTF. Where the hell is my happiness?
I continue reading my demon sister's E-mail which progressing into a carefully worded request to use my house for her engagement party.
I started a message in compliance to her request. I loved my sister even though I hated how she was the lucky one, ALL THE FUCKING TIME. But still you can't go through the kind of shit we've been through together and not end up being close.
My reverie was broken by the rushed apologies of an unfamiliar voice.
I looked up to see a young girl who introduced herself Bella. I knew she wasn't in my class. Even so, I couldn't help but feel I'd seen her before. I continue to gaze upon her features.
Her brown hair was hidden mostly under black hoodie that was opened to reveal a faded Metallica t-shirt. Her stained blue jeans were covered in writing. I looked closer to see the writing was poetry, little excerpts of poems that had yet to have been written or perhaps they had been. Either way I didn't recognize them.
In a nut shell, she was a natural beauty. She wasn't sexy or hot like Victoria, who could never even think of eat anything out fear of being bigger than a size 0. No, she was truly beautiful and a size six or seven. See Victoria, you don't have to starve to be beautiful. I thought to myself.
Of course I had to reign in these feelings. So, rather than up and propose to her in front of half the school's female population (which would be instant death for both of us) I decided to say something more reasonable.
"Any particular reason for not wearing a uniform?" great, her in uniform, that's the last thing I need to envision. Focus Edward.
"I'm a transfer student. I haven't had a chance to get one since I just arrived this morning." She said handing me a piece of paper.
Now that I was paying attention I realized she was speaking with a European accent or something wherever she was from, she wasn't from Massachusetts.
"Fine, take a seat we're doing free drawing so you can just doodle today if you want."
She complied and sat down in a desk in the front row. I wondered absent mindedly what she was drawing and fought the urge to look over her shoulder.
The bell rang and she was one of the first to leave.
Even though, hers was at the bottom of the turned in assignments, I looked at hers first. It was a pencil drawing of faceless people holding their faces like masks and one person hold two face/masks. The right side of the paper had a poem written in French in an elegant script. It took my college Spanish class (which I nearly failed) and a strained memory to translate it.
Life is a masked ball where you
Wonder who's who and what
They mean
And more importantly which mask
Do you wear and when?
And I think to myself
Which mask is the real me?
And suddenly when I saw students piling for my next class, I realized something.
…French was my new favorite language.