3

Need

"You Can't always get what you want..."

Edgar always bought into the American dream. When you're the son of a Cuban immigrant, even a relatively wealthy one, you get an appreciation for the possibilities in America whether you like it or not.

He always wanted a house in the suburbs, a white picket fence, family dinners every night. He knew it would be tight sometimes, between his teacher's salary and his future wife's part time job, but they would love each other and they'd be happy and that was worth more than any mortgage. She'd be blond, sensible dark blond, the kind of color you only have if you've never died your hair; she'd wear slacks and business skirts, and she'd know how to cook desserts because he knew how to cook dinners, and that would even things out.

They'd meet at a parade.

They'd meet at a coffee house.

They'd meet on the street, bumping into each other and the fireworks would shoot off and they'd just know.

Edgar wanted that.

He kept an eye on the better neighborhoods, driving through them on detours late in the afternoon, admiring cottages and sensible brick homes and imagining what would it be like to live here? To raise a family here?

Edgar wanted perfect mornings with mugs of tea on the kitchen table, waffles when there was time and bagels when there wasn't, he wanted crayon drawings on the fridge and early morning Easter services, he wanted…

He wanted what he'd lost at eleven when his mother came home from the hospital with a half a bouquet of get-well flowers and a paste-on smile.

Edgar wanted that.

But so far, nothing was going his way. None of the girls he met were his, every one meant for somebody else even if he didn't know who that somebody was. They weren't supposed to end up with him. There were no sparks, there was no sense of easy companionship, and even though he didn't really believe in love at first sight he thought you ought to at least feel something. Friendship, vague approval even.

He'd had girlfriends before—three if you wanted to get accurate—but none of them ever went anywhere. They both knew it was transitory, both knew that it would never be more than dinner and dates to art shows. No real love. Affection, certainly, but nothing strong enough to weather a lifetime.

And that was why there was still an empty place across from him at the table.

Edgar was sitting on a park bench, trying to keep an eye on fifty students while simultaneously making periodic call-ins on the walkie-talkie Vanessa had handed him. He was pretty sure she'd given him the one dud in the whole bag. And this as if it wasn't enough that Angelica had conned him into taking her place, as if he didn't end up doing half the administrative work for the English department anyways.

Static, static, static…

And where'd Vanessa disappear off to anyways? She was supposed to be chaperoning this thing, not him—and goddamnit, she better not have wandered off with the tour guide because that was so incredibly unprofessional.

"Hey there, Mr. Vargas."

Edgar looked over at the kid taking a seat next to him. Jimmy winked, stretched and let his arms fall behind him like one of those dumb jocks trying to put the moves on his girl at the beginning of a fifties horror movie. Edgar eyed the hand resting just above his shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Jimmy. Please keep your hands to yourself."

"Aw, so professional," the student complained, sliding a little closer. "After all we been through?"

"We are in public," Edgar hissed. "You know what kind of trouble you could get me into if Mrs. Hollenbeck sees us and tells Rogers."

"Rogers can suck my dick," Jimmy yawned. "You be principal. C'mon. It'll be great."

"Seriously, you need to stop. I don't want to get fired for something I haven't even done."

The younger man looked out towards the field where his classmates were playing an impromptu game of football next to the historical graveyard. Edgar followed his eyes.

"I hate to bust up your paranoid bubble, Edgar man, but nobody out there gives a shit what you do. Relax, dude. Anyways, Mrs. Hollenbeck's fucking the park ranger behind the station."

"That bitch," Edgar breathed. Then he glanced sideways at Jimmy's bemused face and dug the heels of his palms into his cheeks. Ugh, fantastic. "Sorry."

"Dude, I didn't know you even knew how to cuss."

"Obviously, you're not really supposed to do it around students."

"You're also not s'posed to kiss 'em. Didn't exactly stop you before."

Edgar glanced back at the arm still resting inches behind his shoulders, considering that he could actually move it himself before somebody did manage to notice. Except, you know, he didn't really want to. It was nice out and he could feel the sun sinking into the black folds of his jacket, could hear wind driving through the trees behind him, could see every shade of yellow and green in the grass spreading out in front of him. And he didn't really feel like pushing Jimmy off the bench just now.

"That kiss was a onetime deal. It doesn't mean anything."

Jimmy gave him a suddenly serious look, brows furrowed. "Edgar, mi corazón, what d'you want outta life anyways?"

Looking askance at his student, the older man asked, "And are you the councilor today?"

"Maybe. Why not? You're great at workin' out other people's shit, but I really don't think you got a clue what you want. Humor me, yeah?"

The sun was golden and the sky was blue, and Edgar was suddenly very uncomfortable. Rule number one of being a Vargas was not examining your own problems too closely.

"I want what most people want, I guess," Edgar shrugged. "A happily ever after, a family, somebody to love… you know, that stuff."

Jimmy grunted. "How normal."

"Well, what about you," Edgar shot back, "what do you want?"

A smile broke across his student's face. "Lotsa sex, lotsa rock, an' a helluva lotta kisses from you if I can't have any more drugs."

"Hmm." Edgar looked over at his class one more time, and slid into the crook of Jimmy's arm. It was warmer, after all. "I guess that's one way to look at life."

Jimmy curled his black-nailed fingers around his teacher's far shoulder.

"Y'could try it sometime."

And they sat in the sun, pretending to be a couple until someone blew the load-up whistle and broke the spell.

The thing about life is that you can't really tell it where to go. If you expect too much, you're bound to be disappointed.

That doesn't mean that life can't be good, though.

As the senior class loaded up on their charter bus, the kind that smells vaguely of carpet fibers and Lysol disinfectant, Edgar caught sight of a woman on the side of the road.

Her vest marked her to be a tour guide, and she had an admirably sensible bob of dark blond hair tucked behind her ears. Little faux diamond studs. She looked up from her clipboard for just a moment, just hardly a spark of a second, and caught Edgar's eye.

She was pretty, very clearly a woman. She probably had a cat, but she'd grown up with dogs and she didn't really mind them, probably wanted a daughter someday that she could buy princess dresses and Lawyer Barbies for. She probably liked romantic comedies but not Oprah, and she'd probably have the perfect cherry pie recipe tucked somewhere on her kitchen shelf.

She looked at him, and Edgar knew that this was what he had asked for.

All he had to do was talk to her. All he had to do was walk over, tell her that he'd lost his wallet in the park and he could really use some help if she could spare a minute, if it wasn't any trouble?

She looked at him, and she was what he had always wanted, ever since he was old enough to draw pictures of his future family for some crayon coated assignment in kindergarten.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

Behind him, Jimmy was holding up a spray can and grinning.

"Tell 'em you caught me tryin' to vandalize a headstone, an' I can sit next to you on the way back."

Edgar took the can and after a moment of contemplation, said, "Alright."

And he never looked back.