"Now we're so cold and you're not mine."

-"Cold" Evans Blue


The drive to work had been an especially long one that morning. Not that anything about a two-hour drive is short, but there was too much on his mind, too much in his home, too much in his life. Too much. At least the rain had subsided for the most part. The roads were still slick, unfortunately, and there would always be some young fools prowling around without the basic knowledge of how to handle any weather conditions whatsoever. With a sigh, Gohan pulled into the teacher's parking lot of Satan City High School, which in actuality was the same Orange Star he knew, but the name had changed shortly after the death of the so-called 'hero' (which he couldn't really argue about considering who he married). It suited him well enough that all the academic club shirts still had the orange star logo and name on the back.

Straightening what he could of his disastrously wrinkled top and adjusting his glasses so they rested perfectly on his nose, Gohan primed himself slightly using the rear-view mirror. The corners of his lips tugged downward as he noticed the first bit of peppering in his hair, right behind his temples. That must have come from his mother's side of the family; surely he was too young to have graying hair and he certainly wasn't stressed. Not stressed at all. Combing a hand over the scrubble on his face, he opened the car door and stepped out, toting his brief case, which held the paragon of scholarly excellence within.

The bell rang far too early. Glancing down at his watch, he groaned audibly. The bell wasn't early he was simply late. Again. He was starting to make a career out of this. Had he not been the head of the English department, he probably would have his milk crate in his hands instead of his work. By the time he hit the hallways, little more than left over food wrappers and discarded papers were strewn about. His classroom, a former lecture hall, was barely half filled today. He counted himself lucky that so many had bothered to show up. If only they showed enough motivation to pass.

The room was a rather bleak black and white, with an obnoxious burnt orange stripe that bordered the top of the room. The black and white tiles had to bother him the most for they had no actual pattern to them. Generally he'd step on only the black or the white tiles, but sometimes they were just too far apart, which limited his motion while traversing the room. Thankfully, he figured out all conceivable ways between the door, his desk, and the chalkboard. Taking special care to only walk on the black tiles today (for it was Monday and naturally that was the only way things like this should be conducted) he slouched to his desk. It was a rather stark little thing that would normally be in good and proper order, but recently had slipped into the depths of decay. A few papers were out of place. He popped open the latches of his briefcase and peered into it contemptuously. There were some wonderful tests lying on the top, which he quickly shoved aside. Underneath was a fresh ream of paper that he had printed off the night before that detailed the homework assignments for this quarter. The school printers rarely had toner anymore.

"Now class," he started, pulling the intimidating stack of papers out and setting them on the faux wood desk. "The end of the quarter is soon and we'll be finishing our last book by the end of this month so we can move on to one act comedy plays." Not that this wasn't comic enough as is.

Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, he filed through them then unlocked the bottom right drawer of his desk and pulled out fifteen books. Being especially careful, he walked by everyone's desk and placed a book on it all while silently cursing his new seating arrangement. He had moved all the desks into a large semi-circle with two rows. The administrators seemed to think this configure would help unwilling students learn better. Some kids prodded at the book and groaned loud enough to draw the attention of everyone else in the room while others peeked their heads up only long enough to glance at the cover before resuming nap time.

"Invisible Man" Gohan spoke clearly as he wrote the title on the front board.

"The science fiction novel?" A student in the back piped up with seeming interest.

"No, that would be The Invisible Man, this is Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. Are any of you familiar with the name?" He didn't bother waiting for a reply before he sat on the corner of his desk, nudging the pink-tinted glass pyramid paperweight out of the way before he did.

As he expected, the dull buzz of the overhead lighting was first to respond.

"Anyway," Gohan started and flipped open to page one of his copy of the book; his students followed suit, well, some of them did anyway. "This is not a science fiction; I'm sure many of you are disappointed. However, I think you'll find this novel interesting, it's a Bildungsroman novel." He paused and leered over his glasses, seeing that he had completely lost his audience. " Meaning it's a coming of age story, so to speak. The protagonist matures throughout the plot and seeks enlightenment, which leads to rejection of society's pressure to conform." A few heads rose. "Well, I won't ruin the story. I expect everyone to have the first two chapters read by next class period—and yes, there will be tests on it."

The moaning of his students made a nice chorus while he passed back the papers he had graded the night before and the new assignment. Needless to say, the moans became louder as he did. He spent the remainder of the period explaining the homework, which consisted of a chapter-by-chapter reading log and several short essay questions. By the time he finally got to sit in his seat, the bell rang and the students sped out to their next class, which he guessed to be infinitely more interesting than his. Students out of sight, Gohan allowed himself to not only sit, but completely collapse in his rickety old chair like a rag doll that had been cast aside by a careless child. Small beads of sweat graced his brow and he absently wiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead and let his arm stay there, covering his eyes. The morning had barely begun and he was already feeling like it was time to exit stage left.

"Mr. Son . . ." A timid voice chirped at the doorway to his classroom.

Lifting his arm just enough to glance in the voice's direction, he half-heartedly attempted to smile despite the fact this was he free period and he did not want to be bothered for any natural reason. "Yes, miss Hoer?" He took special care to pronounce the name like 'hair' as he had made a rather embarrassing blunder the other day about it.

The pale-skinned, brown-eyed girl stepped forward, her shoes making an irritating scraping noise against the tile. Her hair was as brown as her eyes and garnished with a small red bow that matched her top "I really like the book, but . . ." She bit her lip in the way that most schoolgirls did around him. "But it's just very different from the last few books we've read—it wasn't in the lesson plan, I checked."

"That's the great thing about writing your own lesson plans, they don't always apply." He had managed to smile at the fact that she noticed. "I always wanted to teach this book in previous years but never got around to it. I figured you'd rather read this than Wuthering Heights. I don't even want to read that book." A soft laugh passed through his lips.

"Yeah, I guess." Her shoes must have been especially interesting, for her eyes never left sight of them for a moment.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Hoer?" He was all too familiar with this situation and found the opportunity to lock his briefcase and place it in the larger desk drawer before collecting his keys and placing them in his pant pocket. There was no way he was going to stay here unless she genuinely needed help.

"I—I guess not." Babbling some inaudible words, she fussed with her hair, which as pretty as it was, didn't interest Gohan in the slightest.

"Well, if you think of any questions, save them for next class period. I bet they'd be a great contribution to the in-class discussion." With that, he stood from his seat and walked towards the door, holding it open for the young, now blushing girl, out of common courtesy, before leaving himself.

This was going to be a long day.

By the time the final bell rang, Gohan's appearance was similar to that of a drowned rat. His hair was disheveled, shirt even more wrinkled (if at all humanly possible), and his pant leg now had a wonderful coffee stain compliments of a temperamental pot in the teacher's lounge. Long after the students had barreled out of the doors, he left. It was a very serene place when there was a lack of raging hormones in the air.

There was something wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling of moths, yes, moths in his gut. Sliding into his car, he soon came to rest his head on the steering wheel, staring down at the floor. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and called home to Videl.

The friendly voice greeted him cheerfully. At least someone was glad to hear from him today.

"Hey, sweetie, I'm going to be home a little late, I'm going to check on an old friend. I'll be back before dinner time."

Videl made a slight noise of disappointment before telling him that it was pot roast night to ensure that he would, in fact, be home at a decent hour. Saying his goodbyes, he hung up the phone and looked to the west. Even though the view was blacked by all manner of office building and skyscraper, his mind's eye could clearly see the thickly wooded forest and feel the refreshing mist of the waterfall on his skin.

This was a trip too long overdue.

A trip home.