DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT FOR THE PLOT OF THIS STORY. JUST ENJOY IT :D
In a perfectly normal world, people are all confined to their jobs. A lumberjack tears down trees. A sailor finds a second (or first) love in the sea. A police officer is strung up in a web of political and personal justice, taking years in fact to separate the two. A doctor saves lives or ends them against societal law.
I am none of those things.
I am a teacher.
More precisely, I am a sphere of infinite knowledge in regards to American and World History. And using my talents and acquired gifts (that have been bestowed upon me for nearly eighteen years); I have dutifully been hammering in all of my knowledge into the young and willing minds of my beloved students. On top of my printed role, teaching has allowed me to fulfill a more personal role, in that, each and every day, I am allowed to help build, grow and even maintain all the dreams of my students.
All except for one.
"Phillip!" The dark-haired brat looks up at groggily at me. His deep cerulean eyes are filled with the waters of sleep and sleep deprivation. Truthfully, I should be used to this look. It's on most of my students after all. But for some reason, on Phillip, it pisses me the hell off. "This isn't some roadside rest stop! This is my classroom! Don't you dare sleep in it!"
He wipes his eyes free of whatever gunk they're acquired in the past thirty minutes, before stretching and then collapsing back on his desk.
"Hey!" I roar while ferociously hitting the top of the desk with my right fist (that's now snapped the white board marker in two). Phillip rises automatically and suddenly. "I just said not to sleep in my class! Do your own damn sleeping at night like normal people! The school day belongs to the school and it requires your undivided attention!"
"But I'm so tired…just a few more minutes…" He moans, whilst, again, putting his damn head on the desk. I pull on his always messy hair and drag his head back up so that his woefully sleep-needed eyes can stare into the fire pits of mine.
"No sleeping allowed in my class." I growl from the bowels of my throat.
Phillip takes the moment to yawn – nearly snapping my last nerve – and then sighs – an act that snaps my last nerve – before sloppily stabilizing his heavy head. "I can't help it Mr. Callaway. Your class is just so boring."
I can feel the blood vessels in my brain burst to the pressure. "Then why the hell did you bother taking the course?" I shout directly into his face.
He cocks a small smile. "Because you're teaching it."
Instantly I can feel my blood beginning to boil. I can also feel the weight of my hand growing, thus threatening to rip out each and every strand of this boy's hair only to land the coiled right fist directly into his face.
But I am a teacher. A man of guidance, not violence. This kid wasn't going to cause me to break my will.
"Fine." I begrudgingly release my hold on him, close my eyes, and count to five before picking up the rest of my sentence. "It's detention for you today then."
His smile and eyes slowly drops. "Okay." He looks back to me, and quietly starts with "Mark, I'm sor—"
I didn't quite catch the last part of what he was trying to say as my eyes had long since left him once my ears picked up something that should not exist in my classroom. Unauthorized conversation.
As soon as my heels finalize the turn, I head over to the source of the noise and find it coming from Cody Rhodes. He's turned – yet again – to the smallest kid here, Evan Bourne. And – yet again – they're talking in my class.
Normally, I don't use violence. I didn't against a slacker like Phillip Brooks just a few moments ago. But this is a reoccurring problem that needs to see an end. So, I channel all the force meant for Phillip's face into the back of Cody's skull. He bounces off Bourne's desk.
"Don't talk in my class boy." My eyes wander over laxly to Bourne to find the stick of a lollipop stuck in his damn mouth. My anger rises as I subconsciously argue with my transfer choice. Walter's World Foundation High was far more behaved than this dump. I let out a soft sigh to my bad decision and yank the piece of candy from my student's mouth. "Don't eat in my class." To emphasize my point, I meticulously place the red bulb in between my teeth and crush it with the force of a crocodile's mouth closing shut. The boy shows fear in every orifice of his being. I can see that Bourne now gets it, and although he's knocked out cold, I can see that Cody gets it too.
/So why not you?/
"Sir" I turn to the origin of the icy tone to find it – surprisingly – coming from Phil instead of Randy Orton (who, now that I think about it, hasn't been in class for two weeks) "We should get moving with the lesson."
"Yes." I could have snapped back with authority and wit, but there's a stoniness on Phillip's face that has me confused enough not to. "We should."
My name is Mark Calaway. I'm thirty five years old today. And for some damning reason that I can't put my finger on, a student of mine has decided to bake me a cake. And leave it on my desk. Unmanned. And unmarked.
But I know who it's from, because this is the kind of thing that student always does. He pisses me off one day, and apologizes the next. As I swipe the provided fork on the cake to rip off a tester piece, I've come to realize that for the past five years this dance of ours has never really changed. I teach History to all classes, to all grades, and even though he's told me many times that my course bores the shit out of him, he always rejoins in the coming year. Always. Never changing.
Once the piece of cake reaches my mouth, I realize something else. /It's bland./ Just like this.
But, just like the cake, no matter what either of us thinks or believes, it's still good. And it will still be finished.
"Cake?"
"Yeah. A student baked it for me, but I'm not a fan of deserts. So here." Once again I chuck the cake towards him. And once again, this damned blonde refuses to take it.
"I don't want it."
I sigh tiredly. "Why not?"
"Because a student baked it for you." He smiles childishly. Sometimes it hard for me to believe that he and I are the same age. This is one of the reasons why. "I can't bring myself to take that and then eat it."
"Well, I can't finish it!" Damn this idiot. Just take the damn thing already and put me out of the zone that sees me owing a thank you to Phillip Brooks.
"No." He turns his nose up cockily and walks away from me, disappearing into the living room of this tiny apartment. "So how was work today?"
I glance to him as I put the cake down on the kitchen counter. "The same as it was five years ago."
"Oh." He playfully drawls, whilst collapsing wholly into the sofa. From there, we both have a good view of each other. "I heard you gave a kid detention."
"Yeah. He was sleeping in class." For some reason, he starts smirking instead of smiling. It catches me off guard and then subsequently unhinges me. "What's with that look? I simply punished a student who misbehaved. There's no law against that."
"You're right about that Mark," He pauses, "but why didn't you deliver the same punishment to Evan and Cody? When I stopped by the nurses' station to see how Rhodes was, Evan told me you hit him because he was talking in class."
My eyes widen a bit. I can clearly see where this is going, because we've been there before. This time though I am more prepared. "If I sent them to detention for talking then I'd have to give the entire class detention."
"So even your rules have rules then" He scoffs a bit before drinking down the majority of air in the room. Already I can feel myself starting to suffocate as a result. "You're always so hard on that poor kid, Mark. Even though he really likes you."
"But I'm his teacher!" I defend only to realize that I never really had to.
"That defense has no merit." Says the man who brought that meritless defense out of me. "You only took my offer to live with me because right outside that balcony" He points to the set of sliding glass doors at the end of the room "is a kid you've been spying on ever since you transferred to the Academy! So just drop the act already Mark! Everyone knows that you love him!"
It is a rare thing to hear Shawn Michaels raise his voice in anger. That being said, I find myself stuck in a sinkhole of speechlessness and powerlessness. Who was I trying to fool? I'm not a normal man. I'm not a normal teacher. And that pisses me off.
"I'm his teacher you damned idiot!" Shawn reflexively puts on a look that screams 'who are you calling an idiot, idiot?' I ignore it, and press on while I still had some steam. "I'm supposed to guide my students into a brighter future! I'm supposed to be the guy they can count on to help build their dreams and make them come true! I'm supposed to be their adviser, the care giver, the councilor! I'm supposed to be all these things! So I can't be in love with Phillip Brooks because I'm not supposed to be my student's lover!" My hand slams down with authority and crushing force. Anger pulses violently through my veins. "That's not the reason why I signed on to become a fucking teacher, you prick!"
Shawn stays quite for a long while, allowing me to catch myself and rein in the terrible feelings that threaten to blot out my consciousness. The longer I stare at Shawn, the more things become apparent. I was right. I can't fall in love with my student. But…I already had. At some point during my five years here, I already fell in love with an eighteen year old named Phillip Brooks. The truth of that knowledge and the knowing of that knowledge made me afraid of a lot of things. It made me afraid of losing my dream; of losing my ability to continue teaching. I know for certain that I couldn't live with that kind of loss. But on top of that, I began to fear something far worse than exposure. As I looked into the tea green eyes of the man sitting a few meters ahead, I feel a very human chill run the length of my spine. It's a chill of realization.
A realization that Shawn was right. That I was wrong.
I wanted Phillip Brooks.
I want Phillip Brooks.
"Oh dear." Shawn speaks almost from a distant place. "You broke the cake." My eyes wander down to the place where Shawn was now looking. I see my hand in the center of what used to be a cake. Now it is a cocktail of icing, and mush. Tasty mush. Instantly I take up my cake covered hand. "No one is exempt from an apology." Shawn speaks again with a chuckle behind each letter. I look back sturdily at him. "And I think your student deserves one."
After a night of arduous self-debate, I finally come up with the courage to face Phillip Brooks without having a subconscious lecherous thought rampaging through my mind. History always begins in the afternoon because the Academy's dear Headmaster – Hunter Helmsley – decided that the afternoon (more precisely, the time directly before lunch) was the best time to have a History lesson pounded into the starving, sleep-deprived minds of the students. I think I now understand why the previous teacher ran off with a new found madness. Hell, it's a miracle to me every time I grade a paper with double digits less than eighty, but greater than sixty. If I were my student, I wouldn't truly be able to focus on a class that hovers in the space between first period and my damned lunch break.
Anyways, all this is beside the point. The point is, I didn't have to bother looking for Phillip because I know for certain that he'll be in one of two places. My classroom, or my office. The former turns out to be true as Phillip Brooks waltzes into my classroom with a hulk of humanity taking up residence in the space beside him.
"Who's he?" Immediately I regret asking that as both Phillip and the man who resembles the last History teacher, Dave Batista, both look at me a bit unhinged by my abrupt and dry question. I quickly search for a method of salvage. "I don't allow students who don't belong to this class in this class." As always, my long list of rules saves me.
"Oh." Phillip looks to the big guy. The big guy looks back sheepishly to Phillip. Phillip smiles a bit and takes hold of the big guy's hand, as he looks to me with a beaming smile so bright it replaced the sun for a moment. The big guy's face turns red. I'm utterly pissed off. "This is Mason Ryan. He's an exchange student from Wales. He arrived late yesterday because of a flight delay, but now he's here and fully enrolled."
"Hmm." I respond suspiciously, and look idly through my roster book as a means to focus all the random shots of destructive feelings that seem to have come unwantedly packaged with my inexplicable love for this young brunette. In other words, I found myself questioning this Mason Ryan, and then hating him for no reason. My hatred only intensifies once I see the kid's name marked down in my roster. It was written in my hand writing. I had put him there. Damn it. "Okay." I slam the book in both their faces to ward off the impending awkwardness. "Welcome to my class Mason. I take it you've got all your tools?"
The big kid looks to Phillip. Phillip gives him another one of those bright, calming smiles. I die more inside.
"Books Mr. Ryan." I clarify as if that solves everything. "Do you have all the textbooks?"
"He doesn't sir." Replies the brunette whom I've found myself attracted to. "I'll share with him until he gets them." He smiles again, but not as…what's the word…sweetly?
Yeah. The smile I've received is the smile I've always received. It's a blank slate with nothing behind it or attached to it. And it makes me wonder just what the hell I was expecting. And then why I was expecting that.
"Alright." I turn away. "Just take a seat."
They heed, and sit beside each other.
"It's been like this for two weeks now Shawn." I speak with my eyes glued to the window ahead. "Him and that kid."
"What did you expect Mark?" Shawn replies from somewhere to my left. "He's eighteen and single. It's only natural that he'd be going out with other people."
"I guess I thought wrong then" My mind tells me that this isn't on topic, so I ignore it. "I guess it's just me."
Shawn sighs. "What did I tell you about speaking in parables?"
I glance wearily at him, before returning my eyes to the window in the distance. "I felt that he probably liked me."
"No. You wanted him to like you." Shawn's words hit hard, but I'm not too sure if it's because they might be true, or if it's because they're a truth I don't want to know. "Look," He places a hand on my shoulder, "in the next week or so, Phillip Brooks and half those other kids you teach will be graduating. They'll be going to college and university. They'll be starting their own lives without any of us." I close my eyes to the throbbing pain emitting from my very soul. It was, after all, a truth that I did not want to know. "We were and always will be a shadow in their past. The part of the story they leave out. We're nothing more Mark. We're just teachers. That's it."
"That's it." I reply distantly. My eyes look to the window for a while longer. I can see Phillip clearly like I've always been able to see him. I can see him smile. I can see him laugh. But not with me. Never with me. Just like Shawn says, just like everyone will say, I can only watch him grow for five years and then disappear from his life like dust in the wind.
It is a silent breakup, but it hurts with a thunderous force. I feel like crying. I want to cry. But I don't. I just look to Shawn, take in his sympathetic expression and hear him softly whisper "Let's go back inside."
The busiest time of the school year is the examination period. And then, just like that, it's all over. In no time at all, I am left with nothing to do but hole up in my small office (why I agreed to work in this tiny space is beyond me) and plan for the new school year. And the new students. In the moment where my mind leaves its home in the hands of my subconscious, I find myself drifting slowly away. I think back on all the faces I've seen, on all the minds I've taught, on all the advice I've given, and one thing stands out in the thicket.
This is all a process. There was never anything special or different about it. Students pass through here every day, every month, and every year. This cycle has been a staple in every educational institution for years, and it will never change. Not because of me. Not because of Phillip Brooks.
The only thing I have left to know is that I am a constant. I will always remain here, at this Academy, until the end of my teaching days. But it's not because I can't work anywhere else, it's because I won't work anywhere else. I won't leave here, ever, no matter what, because each brick and blade of grass on this campus is important to me. In this room alone I gave a student ten days suspension for wearing a lip ring when piercings weren't allowed. In the hallway to the right, I bumped into a student and he twisted his ankle, forcing me to carry him to the nurses' station and apply first aid to the bruise until the nurse arrived. In the hallway to the left I told a student to stop clinging to me because of the no physical contact rule, and then regretted it when he obeyed. And in that classroom I call home, I conversed more with one student than I did with my entire class for five straight years.
And in those years I came to know more and more about that student. I came to know that he chews on that damned lip ring solely when he's nervous. I came to know that he dislikes luck so much that he tattooed 'Luck is for Losers' right across his stomach (something he showed me in this very office when I asked him why he got in a fight over a guy who called him Lucky for fun). I came to know that, in terms of food, he holds chocolate in high regard, but literally melts at the mere sight of a well done steak. I came to know that he hates gossip of any kind and doesn't support rumors. I came to know that he's Straight Edge, and set in those ways. But most importantly, I came to know that I was in love with him.
That I am still in love with him.
Exhausted at the mounting paperwork, I turn my eyes away from the words and towards the view outside the window. Out there is a grassy area for students to simply do whatever they want within school means. On that large patch of green grass I sat down to eat lunch, and was joined by that very student. And we ate, and we laughed and I fell more and more in love.
/Damn it./ My mind returns to knock away my subconscious. Graduation was literally a day away. Phillip Brooks is eighteen and single. He doesn't have an interest in me and he shouldn't because I am old and constant. And he has a world to change.
"Can I come in?"
Immediately my attention snaps to and I look to the door. Bathed in a late afternoon sun and slightly stirred in with the sounds of lunch-happy students wandering outside these walls stands a brunette who should have never joined my class.
"Phillip." I call his name as casually as I can. To help ease the tension, I stand to my feet. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Why do you always think there's a problem?" He responds light-heartedly.
"Because with you there almost ever is." I sit on the edge of my desk. The action makes everything easier. "So what's up?"
He scoffs a bit to himself. "I've been accepted to The National Academy. It's a college for professional artists."
"Oh." It's a genuine 'oh'. Not an 'oh' oh, or an 'hmm, that's sounds riveting' oh. "You're really pursing tattooing."
"Yeah." His eyes go to the floor. The awkwardness from before begins to creep in again. "It seems to be a passion of mine, so I'm just going to go with the talent."
"What about the dream of yours to become a professional wrestler?"
He looks at me with the same look I'd be giving myself right now. A look of 'he remembered'. And then, like these past five years, it disappears to a small smile. "I'll still train for that, but it's second in line to my love for tattoos." His smile widens a bit – cautiously even. "It's a five year course, but when I'm done I'll be guaranteed as a professional and I can open my own business."
"That's good." I let out a light chuckle. "So I guess I can come by your parlor in five years' time then?"
"No." His blunt response stops me short. "I'll come back." His eyes steady on me before falling to the floor again. "I'll come back here."
There's a ghost smile on my face. I'm not sure how long it's been there. But it allows me to see Phillip Brooks like I saw him the very first time. I knew it would never work. I knew we could never be. Not because I was his teacher, but because I was a constant. And I hated that. But now, it seems I need to stay that way because if I don't, five years will go by and I'll never see him grown.
"Sure." I nod slightly. It's alright. It's alright to believe in this. "I'll be right here when you do."