A/N: Wow. You haven't heard from me in FOREVER. Sorry about that. My life is CRAZY with uni and stuff... Anyway, brief update: I'm having more poetry published in a book called Ten of the Best. Crazy, huh? Anyway, this is just a small Christmas present to the best readers in the world. I didn't think I'd finish it in time and my hands started cramping because of how fast I was typing. But...MERRY CHRISTMAS :D
Merry Christmas
I have long since concluded that being a secondary school teacher was an art form in itself. Ironically, I'm an art teacher. I had work experience in primary schools and concluded that something happened to children in the summer between primary and secondary school. I don't know what happened, exactly. Just that kids who had been perfectly well behave in year six suddenly turned into spoilt brats in year seven.
It happens.
After the length of time I spend complaining about my job, a lot of my friends and family didn't know why I didn't quit. But the truth is that I love my job. The year sevens and eights are, and always will be, the worst. It's the fact they're forced to learn about art. Once they went into year nine, they were forced to contemplate their future. They had to think about which GCSEs would get them where they wanted to go in life. So, years nine, ten and eleven were almost perfect students because they wanted to learn about art.
However, any teacher will tell you that no matter how old the class is, there is always (always, always) at least one troublemaker; one student who pushes the boundaries and knows exactly which of your buttons to push.
And with only three weeks until the Christmas holidays, they were all pushing boundaries.
Teenagers are tricky to handle. The majority of them think they know everything, they think they know who they are.
But they don't.
"Sam, I'm warning you for the last time. Turn your phone off. Now." I stood over him, sending him a well deserved glare.
Sam, the oldest student of my year ten class, reluctantly turned his phone off and held it out to me, knowing it was better for him if I had it in my possession. He wouldn't get tempted. Sam was the perfect artist. He was talented, he was passionate. But not only that, he was angry and frustrated and full of raw emotion that he didn't know what to do with. It was for this reason that my classroom was completely open access during lunchtime so that any student in the school could come along and paint or draw or paper mâché or whatever creative outlet helped them.
He turned back to the easel stood in front of him, paintbrush in his hand. "Sorry, Miss."
I sat down on a nearby stool and watched him for a moment, painting the bowl of fruit in front of him. "He's gone again, isn't he?"
He nodded, lips pressed tightly together, never moving his eyes from the canvas in front of him.
"When does he come back?"
He shrugged. "Next November. How much does that suck?"
I sighed and nodded. "It sucks a lot. Believe me, I understand." Sensing that he wanted to be left alone, I wandered around the room, inspecting my other students' work.
The thing about living in Catterick, England, is that 99% of the population are going through the exact same thing that you're going through. This meant that when someone says 'I understand', you know that they mean it.
But it still doesn't make it any easier.
I sat down on a stool next to another student, Natalie. I watched her effortlessly mix the colours in her paint palette and continue working on her abstract painting. "Try a darker green. It's contrast beautifully with the blue."
She flashed me a quick smile as she focussed on mixing the colour I'd suggested. "Thanks, Miss." She paused. Then, without looking at me, asked, "You know your boyfriend?"
"What about him?" I asked.
"How did you fall in love?"
I smiled. "I didn't choose to fall in love." I paused. "Are you planning to make the second eye bigger or smaller?"
"Bigger." She faltered. "Is that right?"
I nodded. "It's your painting."
She sighed, looking intensely into her paint palette. "Why are guys such jerks?"
"Being around you? Who could blame us?" Sam muttered.
"Sam," I scolded, twisting to see him looking intently at his canvas, as if he hadn't said anything.
Natalie snapped her head towards him, her blonde ponytail flying over her shoulder and landing in her paint palette. "Oh, great," she whispered. Setting her paint palette and brush on the nearby table, she inspected the green tips to her blonde hair. Upon hearing laughing, she and I both turned to look at Sam. "Shut it, Baker," she snapped.
"Make me, Jones," he retorted.
I sighed. "Quiet, the pair of you!" I turned to Natalie. "Would you like to go to the bathroom and try and wash it out?"
She shook her head. "No. What's the point? I know something else is going to go wrong before lunch." She sighed. "Guys hate me."
"Because you're such a know-it-all," Sam muttered.
"Sam, if you say one more thing to Natalie, you'll be spending lunch in detention," I exclaimed. I turned back to Natalie. "What's wrong?"
She shrugged. "How did you fall in love?"
Gabriella shivered as the autumn wind stung her cheeks. It was at moments like this when she was thankful for being brought up as a true northern lass. Northerners in England had no choice but to brave the elements during late autumn and the winter months. Unlike cities, they didn't have supermarkets on their doorsteps and so during winds and rain and snow, they had to drive into what people laughingly called a town just to get a week's worth of groceries. And, more often than not, it took half a day just to get a car out of the snow.
She dug her gloved hands deeper into her coat pocket, watching the clock on the church spire. The wonderful thing about Catterick was that it was a remarkable community. No matter what happened, they did things together. Whether they were celebrating the smallest of accomplishments or grieving the most devastating disasters, they stuck by each other. And it was for this reason that on November 11th, in the middle of the day, the entire town stood still. No cars were running, the cafes and shops closed, the schools shut, too, and Gabriella was, at that moment, stood with her year eight class amongst the 3000 people that made up their small, but lively, town. The whole town gathered every year, without fail, to pay their respects to soldiers who had fought for their country but who had not returned.
"It's a bit chilly," a voice commented.
She turned to see a tall man stood next to her. He was a good four or five inches taller than her, with a buzz cut of sandy brown hair. His facial features were soft but with a subtle toughness and ruggedness. But, the only thing she could see were his eyes. Estimating that he was only two or three years her senior, she could tell that his cobalt eyes betrayed how he'd seen things beyond his years. She noticed how he was attired in a simple white shirt and a navy blue blazer. She briefly wondered how he could stand in the cold in just that but what bothered her were the medals attached to the lapel of his blazer.
"Just a bit," she murmured. She nodded in the direction of his medals. "You've been out there?"
He nodded. "I'm going back in two weeks."
Gabriella nodded slowly, turning back to her students. "Sam, leave her alone. Come here. Now."
A thirteen year old Sam skulked to the back of the group to stand next to Gabriella. "She started it," he muttered.
"Well, I'm finishing it," she snapped.
The guy next to her coughed. "These are your kids?"
Gabriella shrugged. "Between 9 and 3, technically yes. I'm an art teacher at the secondary school."
"Hey, Jay," Sam called. "Miss is hooking up with Mr Soldier over here."
Jay laughed. "Wow, Miss. Who knew you were so hardcore?"
"Boys, if you don't stand and be quiet, ready to pay your respects, you will be paying your respects to me at lunchtime in detention," she said sternly. She turned back to the guy beside her. "Sorry. Students. They're like family. You can't choose them but you're stuck with them."
The guy laughed. "I'm Troy." He held his hand out.
"Gabriella," she murmured, shaking his hand.
The crowd turned to the vicar who began saying a short Bible passage to begin the ceremony. At 11 O'clock, instead of the church bells ringing, a member of the Royal British Legion began playing "The Last Post" on the bugle. Everyone watched the flags being lowered.
Gabriella looked around when she heard snivelling and saw Troy crying into a handkerchief. He looked down at her apologetically and shrugged. She smiled sadly and reached for his hand, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She didn't say 'It's okay'. Nobody in Catterick ever did. True, they understood what you were going but there was a mutual understanding that simply understanding what your neighbour was going through didn't mean that it was okay.
The two minutes dragged. Gabriella, who usually just thought of the soldiers who had been killed in action, was now haunted by a tsunami of things that Troy might of, and probably had, seen.
Once the bugle sounded to signal the end of the two minutes, the vicar said a short prayer and then movement began. There were hugs shared and this part of the service always amused Gabriella. The serious part was over and the aftermath was more of a social gathering. However, Gabriella was a teacher and she wasn't allowed to spend the afternoon chit-chatting.
"Right, class," she called over the muted buzz of other conversations, "I need you to gather round." She realised that she was still holding Troy's hand and quickly let go. "Now, if we go back to the school straight away, we're going to get caught in a stampede and I can guarantee that some of you," she gave pointed looks at Sam and Jay, "will take the opportunity to skip the rest of my class. So, I suggest that we stay here for a couple of minutes."
"Just so that you can flirt with your boyfriend," Sam muttered.
"Thank you, Sam, it'll be nice to have some company at lunch today. I'll see you in detention, okay?" She turned to Troy. "Sorry but I've got to go."
He shrugged. "It's okay."
"No it's not," she whispered. "Let me buy you some coffee. After school, I mean. How about three thirty at Benny's?"
He sighed. "I'd like that."
"Great," she said.
"That's all it took," I whispered. "A cup of coffee and two weeks together. Then, he was sent back out there and we've been together ever since." I paused. "Don't worry, you've got time for that."
"But guys are such idiots," she hissed, twisting to glare at Sam.
"Yes, they are," I commented. "Sure, I have Troy, but I only get to see him about two months a year. We still fight and he still says things that make me mad and think of him as an idiot. But, then I remember that he's my idiot. And that's the best feeling in the world. Don't worry, it'll happen."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah right. Not in this town. The standard isn't exactly set very high."
"You'll get there, I promise," I whispered. Moving from one student to the next, I offered pointers and advice but couldn't shake the thought of one thing: Troy. As with many of the 3000 people in Catterick, my Christmas was going to be rather dull this year, as it had been last year, as well, as was the year before that. It was through nobody's fault, exactly. Bad luck, I guess. But as I spoke with each student, I couldn't shake the memory of why my Christmas would be dull.
It started two years ago. A lot of women would've given up, would've run away because of fear. But not me. I'm still around.
Gabriella folded her arms as she watched Jack and Lucille give Troy farewell hugs. They were his parents, she felt that they had to go first. Besides, the longer she waited for her turn, the more she believe it would never come.
"Okay, I'm writing you every day," Lucille promised.
Troy laughed and nodded. "I know. But, remember, I don't get mail every day. And, don't worry, I'll write when I can."
Lucille hugged him again. "Just be careful," she insisted.
Jack rolled his eyes. "Please let our son breathe, Lucy."
She released Troy but sent a glare to her husband. "I'm worried about our little boy, so sue me."
Troy scratched the back of his head, something that Gabriella had noted means that he's feeling anxious. "Mum, I'm not so little anymore."
"You're our first son," Lucille protested.
"I'm you're only son," he grumbled.
Jack sighed and looked at Troy. "Exactly. So we don't want you hurt."
Troy nodded. "I get it, Dad. I'll miss you both."
Jack hugged Troy tightly, patting him on the back. "Stay safe."
Troy nodded as he pulled away. "Of course I will."
Lucille turned back to Troy and began listing things he needed to have in his suitcase. Jack, meanwhile, sat down next to his son's girlfriend. "How are you feeling?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I mean, I remember when I was thirteen, I said goodbye to my brother for the first time when he went over to Iraq. That was the reason I moved to Catterick, really. But, this? I don't know. It's different. Not harder, exactly. But different. Your son is the best person I've ever met."
Jack smiled. "I've never seen Troy like this, you know. The reason he signed up for the army is because he always struggled with people. He wasn't bullied but he didn't have many friends. Now, though, he's different. He's happy and even thought you're only one person, he's not alone anymore."
He looked down at his hands. Gabriella had spent a lot of time with Jack and Lucille over the last two weeks and she'd learnt that Jack struggled with his emotions which is why Lucille was spending so long saying goodbye when Jack had merely said two words as a farewell.
He looked back at her. "You don't know how much it means to Lucy and me. And I think, I know, that I speak for my wife when I say that you're welcome at our house whether Troy's here or not."
She smiled, lowering her eyes to her lap. "That means a lot to me. Thank you, Jack."
"Gabi," Troy said softly.
Gabriella looked up to see Troy looking at her imploringly, Lucille moving to sit next to Jack. She stood up and Troy took her hand, leading her a few feet away.
"You okay?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I miss you already. Every day of these past two weeks, you've been there. And that's all it took for me to fall in love with you."
He brushed some hair behind her ear. "I love you, too. More than I've ever loved anybody."
Gabriella felt tears well in her eyes. "I think," she began slowly, "Jack and Lucy covered the staying safe part of goodbye."
He rolled his eyes. "Hey, now. This is most certainly not goodbye. I'll be back in seven months. As I tell Mum and Dad every day, this just a 'see you later', okay?"
She nodded slowly. "I get it." Gabriella reached up to stroke his cheek. "I'll see you in seven months."
He smiled down at her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "That's the spirit. I'll write you every day. Of course, the postman isn't that reliable so it may take a while to get here."
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don't worry about letters. I know that you love me. And I love you, too."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I'll see you in seven months," he promised.
I ran a hand through my hair, thankful that the lunch bell had just rung. This meant that I finally had time to clear my head. Missing Troy whilst teaching was never good. It messed with my head. I guess, I had concluded that it wasn't fair. We'd been together for two years and hadn't spent a single Christmas together because he was always being deployed to fight on the front line.
Although I pretended not worry, that thought terrified me.
I reached for the mouse of my computer and clicked on a video file, Windows Media Player opening up. I was greeted by Troy, in our kitchen, eating a double-decker BLT sandwich. Most people found it disgusting how much food he could consume when given the chance. But me? I loved it purely because he was happy with food. And that's how I remembered him when he wasn't around. Happy.
I reached for a couple of sheaves of paper as the video changed to one that Jack had shot without either of us knowing. It was simple, just showing me trying to teach Troy how to waltz. But, we were both laughing and it captured how happy we were in each other's presence. And we were. The time we spent together when Troy was here with me was, quite simply, wonderful.
Don't get me wrong. We argue. Quite a lot, actually. We don't agree on much. Troy likes to watch sports while I enjoy documentaries. I like burning incense at my house but they make Troy sneeze. He likes listening to heavy rock music and I enjoy Mozart. But there's one thing we've always agreed on: we love each other.
My hand was poised, ready to start writing him a letter. Being the only way to talk with him, there was never less than two double-sided sheets in the envelope and, more often than not, I'd include a recent photo of me or Buddy, my dog, or a ticket from a movie I saw with a friend. Most of the stuff I wrote about was meaningless. I didn't spend two hours writing down my feelings for him and my plans for the future. I wrote about stuff that I know would make him smile.
Because that's what I wanted.
In his letters, he expressed how scared he sometimes felt out there at night, how he worried about me living without him. So I wrote about things that I hoped would ease those worries. I didn't want him to worry about me. I wanted him to be safe.
A knock at my classroom door broke me from my thoughts. I paused the video and looked over to see Sam hovering in the doorway. In the four years he'd attended Pindar Secondary School, he'd never once voluntarily spent lunchtime in my classroom. The only time when he did was when I gave him detention.
"Hi Miss," he muttered. "Can I hang out here this lunch time?"
"Of course," I exclaimed. "But, have you eaten? That's my only rule. You have to eat."
He held up a plastic Tupperware box. "I have a packed lunch."
"Put all your rubbish in the bin and of course you can hang out here," I murmured. I turned back to the pages before me, beginning my letter. While I told Troy everything, Troy didn't have that luxury. Although he told me that he was sad or worried, he couldn't tell me why. Whatever he saw out there on the frontline had to stay with him until he died.
"Hey, Miss?" a voice murmured.
I looked up to see Sam sat at one of the desks, a sketchpad and an array of pencil crayons in front him. "What is it?"
He gestured to the SMART board which had a projection of my computer screen on, showing him the paused video that I'd been watching. "What's that?"
I sighed, sitting back in my chair. "Sam, believe it or not, I was a teenager once. I know what it's like to be fifteen, okay? You think you know everything and let me tell you: you don't." I paused, looking down at the blank pieces of paper in front of me. "Life sucks sometimes, doesn't it?" I looked across at him.
He nodded slowly. "Tell me about it."
I shrugged. "I waved goodbye to brother when I was thirteen. He set off to be in the army and that's the reason I'm here. At that age, I never believed anyone when they told me they understood what I was going through." I looked into Sam's eyes. "I don't lie, Sam. I just don't. You miss your dad and you have every right to miss him. But believe me when I say that I missed my brother when he was deployed and I miss my boyfriend when he's out there, too. It's usually a load of hooey when people say that they understand, but I do."
Sam was silent for a moment, seeming to contemplate what I'd just said. "How long has your boyfriend been gone this time?"
"Eight months," I sighed. "He's not coming back until after Christmas."
Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Is your brother still out there?"
I shook my head mutely. "No." I stood up and pulled my hair into a messy bun as I walked over to sit opposite him. "My brother was killed last year. He was in bomb disposal and one went off and...It was really horrific. I still have nightmares about that phone call, you know?"
Sam frowned. "Aren't you angry? Why the hell do you want to be with a guy who might die the same way?"
"Language," I warned absentmindedly. "Sam, if there's anything I've learnt about life, it's that you can't let your past control your future. You just can't." I paused, looking at the desk in front of me. "I know that my brother wouldn't want me to not be with Troy just because he's in the military. Do you get it?"
Sam nodded reluctantly. "I get it."
Silence enveloped us and Sam turned back to his sketchpad. I paused a moment, unsure if he'd say anything further. But when he didn't, I stood up, heading back to my desk.
I didn't know where Sam wanted to go and I didn't know what he wanted to be. I wasn't his form tutor so she'd never asked, and he wasn't particularly close with me so he'd never told me. But I knew that wherever he wanted be, whatever he wanted to be, he wouldn't get there until he stopped taking his negative emotions out on other people. He had to figure out that even when times were tough, you had to appreciate the people around you.
Even your art teacher.
The door opened and I looked up to see Natalie enter, a plastic tub under her arm, her hair still stained a tad green. "Hey, Miss." She paused mid-step when she saw Sam. "What's he doing here?"
"He has a name," he grumbled.
"Sam has decided to spend lunch here," I explained.
"Voluntarily?" she exclaimed, sitting at a desk closest to me. "Is he sick?"
"No he's not," Sam snapped, marching around to her. "Actually, I'm trying to find one small slither of a haven where I can escape the fear that my dad may not come back home, okay? So just lay off. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy school because I get away from a house that reminds me that my mother hasn't spent half of her wedding anniversaries with her husband and that my dad wasn't at my sister's graduation, okay?" He sighed. "I know that practically everyone in this town knows what I'm going through. But I can't just act like that makes it any better."
Natalie didn't answer, averting her gaze to her shoes. "It's my sister and my dad," she admitted.
I watched silently, knowing that my two students who had always despised each other from their very first day at the school, had finally found something in common.
Sam frowned. "What?"
She shrugged, looking up at him. "My sister is only four years older than me and she's out there as a medic in the marines. My dad has been in the navy since before I was born. He's an admiral now. But he's seen three of my birthdays. He only saw my brother being born, not me and my sister, and it took until year three of our primary school to figure out that I actually do have a dad who is still married to my mum and is still alive."
Sam slowly sat down next to her. "I didn't know."
She shrugged, standing up. "Because you never asked. You're always insulting me and knocking me down and making me feel bad to ever ask if there's even a small possibility that I could be going through the same thing you are." She shook her head. "I'm done with it." She turned to me. "Sorry, Miss. I'm going to go. I'll see you in class this afternoon?"
I nodded, sending her a sad smile. "Yeah, you will."
It took her until she reached the classroom door for Sam to stand up and say, "Wait."
She sighed, turning to him. "Don't bother. I get it. You think you're special and ifferent in this town and you can't accept the fact that you're not."
He shook his head. "It's not that."
She paused, slowly shutting the door. "Then what is it?"
He sighed. "You're the only one who bothered with me. Everyone else got bored with me acting out. Even Miss Montez, right?" he asked, turning to me.
I shrugged. "It gets a little boring having to give you detention all the time."
He turned back to Natalie. "But you? You actually gave me a reaction. I can't go home and talk to my mum or sister like this. You know?"
She nodded slowly. "I guess I do."
"I'm sorry," he exclaimed. "I am. I didn't mean to make your life hell, I just..."
"Didn't know how to escape your own hell?" she asked quietly.
He shrugged. "Something like that." He paused. "I know this won't make up for anything I've ever said to you but do you want to maybe go for coffee after school?"
She glanced at me. "What do you think, Miss?"
I held my hands up. "Hey, you guys have lasted five minutes without calling each other by your last names. I think Sam's seen the light."
Natalie turned to Sam. "Okay," she murmured softly. They sat back down on a desk close to the front and began talking quietly about how their families' military careers made them feel while eating their lunches and working on some sketches or drawing: some sort of artistic outlet for them.
I, meanwhile, turned back to my letter, beginning to tell Troy the progress that Sam and Natalie were making with each other. It was when I was in the middle of a letter, when I would miss Troy's voice. Not his smile or his body or even his smell. But his voice. Because the things I wrote in my letters were the things that I'd tell him when we sat down at our kitchen table to have dinner together. He'd tell me his opinions of how to deal with troublesome students or he'd congratulate me on a success.
But with a letter? I had to wait a fair few weeks to know Troy's thoughts on what I'd said.
I put my pen down and put my face in my hands, momentarily forgetting Sam's and Natalie's presence. The trouble with being a teacher is that that's all people ever see you as. They think that you know everything and handle any situation. But the truth is, when I can't handle a situation, be it a troublesome student or missing my boyfriend, I cry.
"Miss!" Sam exclaimed, clicking his fingers by my ear.
I jumped and looked at Sam and Natalie staring at me. I wiped my eyes when Natalie put her hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay, Miss?"
I shrugged. "I'm being silly, that's all."
Sam frowned. "Is it Troy?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is. I just...got thinking, I guess."
Natalie smiled sadly. "What do you usually do when you miss him?"
I shrugged. "I visit his parents. They treat me like their own daughter, you know. I paint and draw. I have piles of scrapbooks of pieces that I've drawn and painted. I watch home videos. A lot. We film every moment we have together because we know the moments we're apart are more frequent than the ones we have together." I looked at my two students. "That doesn't mean that they make me love him any less. In fact, I think they make me love him more."
I smiled softly to myself as I looked at the wall above my desk where I had taped an array of photographs, mostly of Troy and my brother. "You guys are so young and if your families are anything like mine, they want you to get detention for throwing paper airplanes, they want you to get grounded because you went home past curfew. They want you to fall in love and get your heartbroken. Don't stop living your life because they're not here."
Sam and Natalie glanced at each other. "You know the detention thing...my mum put in a letter to my dad about all of the detentions I get. When he wrote back, he didn't sound like that's what he wanted," he joked.
That afternoon, with an apron protecting my clothes, I was stood in front of an easel, paint palette in hand. It was of a coffin, wrapped in the United Flag. Paint adorned my arms, my hair, and the majority of my apron. I kept one eye on my students, pausing every so often to offer advice to her students' pieces. The great thing about years nine, ten and eleven is that because they had started their GCSEs, when they were working on their coursework, they were mostly independent. So, I could spend that time either catching up with work or creating my own pieces.
"Yo, Miss," Sam called.
I turned around to see him, for once, sat next to Natalie without world war three breaking out. Ever since the lunchtime they spent together, they seemed inseparable. I could hear their 'disagreements' from across the classrooms, but they were actually being civil with each other. They didn't know it, but they were perfect for each other: young, could relate to each other and were willing to take all of the anger that the other threw at them.
I could tell they liked each other. Even if they couldn't.
"Yes, Mr Baker?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
His face relaxed into the smallest of smiles. "Feeling better?"
I laughed. "With my favourite students in the world? I'm much better."
He leant closer to Natalie to whisper something in her ear which made her giggle.
"Less focus on Miss Jones and more on your painting, Mr Baker," I warned, raising my eyebrows at him.
Before I could turn my attention back to my creation, my classroom door opened and two of the maintenance men of the school began pushing an extremely large crate into my classroom.
"Hi, boys," I exclaimed, putting my paint palette and brush on a nearby desk. I approached them, frowning at the box which was wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper and tied in a red bow. "What's this?"
They glanced at each other. One shrugged. "We were just told to deliver this," he said before they turned and left my classroom.
I stepped forward and ran my hand over the edge of the box. "Does anyone know anything?" I looked up to see a few of my students frowning. "What is it?"
Natalie shrugged uncomfortable. "Just open it."
I began tearing the wrapping paper off and sighed at the wooden lid that was nailed shut. "Sam, pass me that hammer and chisel."
He brought the tools used for sculptures, muttering something about 'Why me?'
I secured the chisel beneath the lid and hit it a few times before the nails came loose and the lid slid off. I let out a scream and dropped the hammer and chisel upon sight of Troy getting into a standing position. Without thinking about it, I jumped into his arms, feeling his arms tighten around my waist, lifting me off the ground. I cried mercilessly into his shoulder, revelling in the feel of his arms around me.
"It's okay, baby, I'm here," he whispered. He put me on the floor and climbed out of the box, immediately wrapping me in his arms again.
I pulled back, tears still rolling down my face. I didn't care that my students were seeing me cry. I just cared that the man I loved more than anything in the world was safe, in my arms, still in his camouflaged uniform. I touched his cheek, sending him a smile. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming back until after New Year."
He smiled and shrugged. "I lied. I know you love Christmas." He glanced around at my classroom which was adorned with tinsel, glitter, and pictures of Father Christmas. "And I just feel terrible that we haven't had the chance to have one together because I'm always away. I know that we always have a mini Christmas when I come home but I know that it's not the same for you. And it's not the same for me, either. So, I wanted to give you a really good Christmas present."
I laughed and nodded. "This is the best Christmas present I've gotten." I looked down at our interlocked hands and sighed. "Not just you being here with me; just the fact that you're safe. I love you so much," I whispered, leaning up to kiss him softly.
He pulled back and glanced at my students. "Hey, guys. Have you been treating her right?"
Sam nodded. "Oh, you know, food fights, paper macheing our friends and super gluing her shoes to the floor...We're her favourite class."
"Sam's kidding," I clarified. "Well, they are my favourite class."
Troy laughed. "Baby, what you said about this being the best Christmas present you've ever had...that's not quite true."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, when I'm out there, I think about you. A lot. In fact, I drive my campmates insane from how much I talk about you," he murmured.
I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks.
"And although the time we spend apart is more than the time we spend together, I want to have you so that we can be together for the rest of our lives." His voice was soft, his eyes never leaving mine, his thumbs caressing my palms. "Even if you live longer than I do, I want to die knowing that you're mine."
"Don't talk like that," I whispered. "You're here, now. And I am yours. That's all that matters."
He shook his head. "That's not what I mean." He paused, looking down at his feet before looking back into my eyes. "I guess," he began, "what I'm trying to say is..." He let go of my hands to dig for something in his pocket. He brought out a small square box as he dropped to one knee.
I covered my mouth in shock, smiling in disbelief. Never had it occurred to me that Troy would propose to me. Sure, I wanted him forever. But, it hadn't even occurred to me that he'd want to marry me.
"Will you marry me?" he asked, snapping the box open.
At the sight of the modest engagement ring, I nodded silently, tears rolling down my cheeks. Troy got to his feet, grinning at me as he put the ring on my finger. He kissed me softly before turning to my class who was cheering and wolf-whistling. "Thanks, guys."
I frowned as he wrapped an arm around me. "Wait. You guys knew?"
Sam smirked. "Your lover boy told us at break this morning. He's been in the building all day. He just wanted us to know to make sure you'd say yes. We knew you would."
I turned to Troy and smiled softly, stroking his cheek. "Okay. Maybe you were right. This is the best Christmas present I've ever had."
He kissed my forehead. "Merry Christmas, Gabriella."