Opening the trunk of my everyday economy car, I stare at the boxes of supplies in the back just waiting to be used. Some are marked with a K, others with a 3; it all depends on the grade I used them in.
Dust bunnies settle on the lids from sitting up in my mothers' attic all these years. Looking closer I can see my hand prints from when I dragged the boxes out to my car last night.
I only briefly looked inside these boxes, completely unaware what awaits underneath the construction paper and glue sticks. My mom would buy me all sorts of supplies, including things that weren't even on my list or things I never asked for. Sometimes I wondered if "school" was a place you only did arts & crafts. A lot of the things inside these boxes haven't even been opened yet. It's time we change that.
Lifting one box at a time, I set them on the pavement at my feet. Pausing, I stare down at the box covered in dust particles, I think to myself: I should probably wipe these off before bringing them inside. Luckily, I have an old rag in the back seat of my car that will help with the task at hand.
"Mr. Bing..."
A soft little voice brings a smile to my face as I turn and crouch down in front of my student who walks towards me slowly with a carrot in her hand.
"Yes, Emily?" I ask, a smile still in its place.
"My mom told me to ask if it's okay."
I chuckle softly "If what is okay, Em?"
"If I feed this carrot to Waffles?" She holds up the long orange vegetable.
Smiling, I nod "You tell your mom, I said that's fine."
Without a reply, she runs off to her mother a couple parking spots away.
Standing there I watch the interaction between mother and daughter. While Mrs. Brady scoops up her daughter I smile broadly. She wraps her arms under Emily's bottom in order to have a better support before giving her a quick peck on the forehead. As Emily slides down her mothers body and runs off to be with the other kids, Mrs. Brady looks back towards me, gives a warm smile followed by a small wave just before disappearing on the other side of the car.
Hearing the 10 minute bell, I walk to the side of my car and open the back door to retrieve a rag.
My student's happiness is my priority. If they're happy, I'm happy, and right now I couldn't have asked for a better group. Every one of my 8-9 year olds are looking to succeed in the future and I'm going to make that happen. If I have to stay after school every day of class and work with all of them individually, I'll do it. Not only is making sure my students succeed in their schooling part of my job description, but it's something I would be more than happy to oblige.
I have 23 children that fit into my 1 heart. 23 little kids I care the world that remain safe outside of my classroom. My co-workers tell me not to get attached, it just makes the end of the year 10 times harder. But it's too late, I'm velcro and their carpeting just stuck to me the minute they walked through the door. Pulling apart only does damage and frankly, I think we work better as one.
"Hey, Chandler, need some help?" Looking over I find my co-worker Tim walking towards me with only a laptop bag and a coffee mug in hand. Tim Fields teaches the 6th grade and reminds me to this day that I'm the best 2nd grade teacher that has come through those doors. Tim has been here since the late 90's, he's seen many different types of teaching methods; him saying that I'm an inspiration means a lot.
Okay, maybe he didn't exactly use the word inspiration, but he might as well have.
"That would be great, I appreciate it." Smiling, I pull out the last box and wipe it down.
Tim stands there patiently until I'm ready. "So how was your weekend?" He asks looking down at me before sipping from his coffee mug.
"Ah..." I hesitate not sure which part I should fill him in on, or even if I should tell him all that happened. I could be that person that just says "the usual, you?" and move on with my day. Then again, that's not how I was taught to communicate. "I went to a Labor day barbecue."
"Oh really?" He acts generally interested in what I did this weekend, "Who's? A family friend, relative, block party?"
"Just a family friend." I answer, standing up straight and tossing the rag in my trunk before slamming the back door closed. "It was actually really nice out so once it got dark they fired up the burn pit and we just sat around catching up." I try to avoid telling him that this family friend was actually Monica Geller, the well-known actress. And she happened to be there, not to mention I once dated her, impregnated her, which ended horribly, horribly wrong. Did I mention she was there?
Clearing my throat I look back at Tim "How about you? Any great parties you attend?" Bending down, I stack two boxes, leaving one for Tim.
"Nope, just my cat and I this weekend."
Did I mention Tim was a sad man?
Picking up the supplies we head towards the building.
It was mostly silent walking up to the building, with the exception of an engine flying 30,000 feet above, and for a moment I wonder if it's Monica. I'm not aware when her flight leaves or if that plane is even headed towards California, but apart of me wishes it's not her. I want her to remain close to me, the idea that she is going back to the other side of the country hurts and I can't bare the thought of it any longer.
Thankfully, when we approach the front doors someone is there holding them opened. With a thank you, we walk past and towards my room.
"Johnathon, what do you think this is?" I ask holding up a hard covered book over my head.
It was just after recess and I was starting my 4th lesson of the day. I could tell the kids were getting tired, I was even tired. However, I'm not planning on this lesson taking very long.
"Um...a reading book?" He says a little unsure if it's a trick question.
"That's right, and what exactly is a book?" I then ask, bringing it down so they can see closer as I move in and out of aisles.
"Paper." He answers
Nodding, I remain quiet to see if anyone else wants to take a guess. When I don't get any response I move ahead with my lecture.
"Books are objects, they can be moved," I grab Katelyn's book and move it to Brittney's desk beside her. "replaced," Grabbing Miles', I switch it out with mine. "and even thrown away..." They wait for me to react but I don't "I'm not going to toss this." I respond, receiving a small laugh in return. "But what happens when I open and actually read it?" Flipping through the pages I turn and walk back towards the front of the room. Spinning around I find a few hands in the air. "Emily?" I ask, setting the book on my desk behind me and relaxing against it.
"You learn something."
"Exactly!" I push myself off my desk and walk towards the chalkboard. "Now, I know what you guys are thinking, when are we going to throw our books in the trash."
I get a few chuckles out of that one-
Suddenly, a loud piercing sound rings through the building followed by a bright blinking flash that lights up the hallway. It's a sound that everyone is familiar with as one by one students stand. "Alright, it's just a drill." I assure them because I know a few hearts are racing. "Leave your stuff and don't run." Everyone hurriedly rushes towards the door and I mentally do a head count, touching each one on the shoulder as they leave. "Follow Mrs. Reynolds' class out, quietly." I instruct.
Just when the last student leaves my sight I walk towards the windows and close every one before grabbing my emergency bag and slinging it over my shoulder. Double-checking the room, I walk out, closing the door behind me.
Even when everyone is out the alarm still rings and will ring for another 5 minutes.
Finding my class on the lawn they stare back at the building just waiting to see it will go up in flames. I can hear the fire trucks blocks away as their sirens blow. When I reach my class, questions are asked. "Mr. Bing, if this isn't a real fire, then why are the firemen coming?"
"It's just a precaution, they go around the building and make sure each alarm is working properly." I answer
"Ohhh.." They nod "If there isn't a real fire then how did the fire alarm go off?"
"Someone pulled it, dummy."
My head snaps over to one of my students. "Conner." Out comes a stern tone I'm sure none of my students have ever heard. I'm not use to disciplining my students and I'm sure my glasses aren't helping with the authority look, but I'm trying my damnedest to pull it off. "Another comment like that and you'll be finding yourself standing next to Mr. Stevens."
The moment I said it "Oow's " were sung.
Trying to ignore them I grab my clipboard "Let me take attendance. I know Conner is here..." I mutter
15 minutes later we are making our way back in the building. Teachers unlock their doors and students file in ready to resume their lesson. Honestly, I don't remember where I was going with mine.
Walking in I find Waffles' hair sticking up and his little hut turned over.
"Mr. Bing, I think Waffles was a little scared." Someone comments and everyone gathers around his cage.
"I think you're right." Leaving the classroom door open, I stride across the room to the windows. It'll be nice if we could get a good breeze in here again. Next, I walk back to Miles desk replacing my teachers handbook with his. That is the last thing that needs to be mixed up in this class. "Alright." I start and everyone gets the hint to go back to their seats and quiet down.
"Have you ever been in a fire, Mr. Bing?" Miles asks
All eyes land on me and I hesitate. Have I ever been in a fire? Sure, but probably not the fire they are talking about. I glance back at the clock and sure enough, I have time for a quick story.
"Who here knows the actress Monica Geller?" I ask as hands shoot up high, eyes wide and a smile creeping to the surface of their lips. "Well here is something not a lot of you know." I pause and walk over to my podium "Monica Geller can't only act, but she is also an amazing cook." One by one my students begin to lean forward on their elbows. "Mr. Bing...is not." They laugh
It's like watching paint dry.
The fumes fill the air as you watch the permanent ink slowly eat away at the color underneath. Making sure not a single drop slides down the wall, you start to circle around the work you've done. With the smell and the constant paint watching, you soon regret the color you picked out. Does this color coordinate with the rooms around it? Does the color drain the artwork you bought to spice up the room? Just when you think it's dry, you better think again. It'll take hours, days even, if nothing helps move the process along. The fumes get to you and your head starts to pound. Who's going to break it to your wife that this is the last time anything gets painted? Sure as hell ain't going to be the dog.
My hands find my hips as I stand in front of the stove. I don't know which is worse: watching paint dry or water boil.
Her hands snake through my arms and wrap around my abdomen before her chin rests on my shoulder.
"You don't have to stand here and watch it all night." She informs me before kissing my cheek and letting go.
"I feel like I do though." Spinning around, I face her. "Explain to me why I'm cooking again..."
She chuckles "Because you wanted to prove to me that you could cook."
"Ahh...the answer to all my questions."
"Baby, you don't have to do this." She shakes her head, grabbing for my hands. "I know you can cook-" She pauses rephrasing her comment and breaking eye contact. "You may not be very good at it, but it's still edible." She assures me, looking back.
I sigh, letting go of her grip and walking away. "Isn't it sad though? That I can't even cook for my girlfriend."
She shrugs, not really sure how to respond. But can I blame her?
"I just want to be able to boil water and not fuck it up." I'm pacing back and forth, her eyes the only thing following me. "When was the last time I cooked for you?"
Shrugging once again, her arms cross over her chest "Last month."
Shaking my head, I continue my strides, "I ordered pizza last month."
"It was very good pizza, though." She points out, giving me some credit.
"Thanks, I'll be sure to thank the man who satisfied my girlfriends appetite." I remark sarcastically retrieving one of her infamous eye rolls in return. "This is what's going to make you break up with me, isn't it? Because I can't cook." I begin pacing faster as I talk more rapidly "We might as well end it now before dinner-" Without warning my voice softens "Je vais probablement vous tuer avec ce repas . Je ne peux pas faire un ce droit-"
"Chandler..."
I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact. "Et je sais ce que tu vas dire , ' Chandler vous exagérez .' Mais suis-je ? "
"Chandler!" When Monica yells I look up to find the pot over boiling and flames high around it.
Before I can react, I grab Monica and push her over to the fridge out of the way. "Call 911." I instruct to which she already has her phone out doing so.
Eyeing the stove top I cautiously and hesitatingly turn off the burner with my body crouched down and my arm extended. I could feel the hair on my arm start to burn and quickly pull back.
It's like I just ran a marathon, my heart is beating so fast.
Glancing back at Monica I see the panic in her eyes and I imagine mine look the same.
From the moment I turned off the burner the flames seemed to die down; much to my relief. Opening the cabinets underneath the sink, I reach down and look for the small fire-extinguisher I got as a house warming gift from Monica when I moved in. I guess she knew I would be needing it.
Standing up, I grab the short hose with one hand, aim, and pull the nozzle.
I never should have went off on her and I would have been watching what I was doing. Hell, I never should have been cooking and none of this would have happened.
With one final squirt, I drop my arms and look back at my white covered stove. The can is pretty much empty as I toss it to the side and slowly slide down the wall. A few burn marks on my ceiling, but besides that no damage done. My knees are bent with my forearms resting upon them, my eyes never leaving the place of the impact.
It wasn't until Monica crawled over to me that my mind started to come back. Honestly, I don't remember much of what happened. It's all a blur I was so nervous.
"Was that French?" She whispers to me, her arm wrapping around my shoulder as her hand squeezes my bicep.
Chuckling, I shake my head and reply softly "I didn't think I remembered any of my French from high school." I say, honestly
Her chin rests on my shoulder as her eyes blink up at me. "You had me worried there for a moment."
It was stupid and childish the way I acted, but all I can think to say is "I'm sorry."
"Promise me you won't overreacted again. Let's just talk things out...preferably in English." She smirks
Looking over I see the familiar sparkle in her eyes. "I promise."
Just then the fire department rushes in and we both jump back. "Anyone home!" They yell out
"In here!" Monica responds back before quickly looking back at me "I love you." She whispers, placing a kiss on my lips.
After securely checking the kitchen to make sure the fire is truly out, we gave our statements. The crew is pretty much done here but no one leaves as they sit around and wait for the all clear.
With a fire resistant blanket around our shoulders we sat outside in the back of an ambulance.
It was a comfortable silence and for a while neither of us spoke. "I don't get it."
My feet rest on the bumper, my elbows on my knees and nothing holding the blanket in place. So when I turn to look at her I wasn't surprised when the blanket fell. "What?" I question
"I watched every single thing you did. I don't understand how the fire started, exactly." She shakes her head still trying to put all the pieces together "Unless you did something when I went to the bathroom?"
I shake my head "I only did what you told me to do and that was to put oil in the pot."
Her eyes widen, her head whipping back at me. "I didn't say that."
"Yes you did." I defend
She chuckles as if this is a joke "Chandler, I never said to put oil in the pot, I said to put oil in the pan."
"What's the difference?"
"Everything!" Her voice rises, her eyes widening
I realize there is probably no point in arguing with her, her major is culinary.
"Once everything is over." I change the subject not wanting to start speaking French again. "And we look back on today, I have a feeling we are both going to be laughing."
She nudges me with a smirk "I hope you learned something here."
Nodding I answer "Yeah, put the pizza man on speed dial."
"Did you really speak in French, Mr. Bing?"
I laugh as his mother looks up at me, confusion written all over her face "Oui, Tucker." I wink at him "If you come in tomorrow morning and know what Oui means I'll let you pick out my hat." He smiles happily before grasping his mothers hand and walking off.
Strolling down the steps with my hands stuffed deep into my pockets, I watch as students fill the school buses. As a kid, I loved riding the school bus. I have 1 too many stories that involve my little nugget head on a school bus. All stories rated G and only 1 ended with me in the superintendence office.
With most of my students gone, a few on the playground, I take off my engineering hat and straighten out my hair.
"I really like your hat, Mr. Bing."
Spinning around I find one of my noble students standing by. "Why thank you, Emily." I squat down to her level "I really like your hair today."
Her smile never fades as she tilts her head "Mamma says it's only short because of the medicine." She runs off to where her mother stands by the car.
Slowly, I stand up. Everything starts to dawn on me as my eyes stay fixed on the little girl.
Silently, her mother takes her hand while she balances on the curb. I try to mentally prepare myself for the truth as they head this way. With only a few steps away, Emily cautiously lets go of her mothers hand and moves along a little faster.
Stopping just in front she quietly begins to explain. "Emily-"
I stop her politely "I think I know." For a split second I take my eyes off my student walking along the buses to look at Mrs. Brady.
"We just didn't want to tell anyone quite yet, afraid she might get treated differently than all the other kids."
I nod, understandingly.
"It's just a matter of time before chemo kicks in." She informs me, glancing back at her child a few buses down before walking back.
"Is she going to be okay?"
She puts on a small smile as she looks up at me "Emily really loves your class. She can't wait to get to school everyday." Her smile drops as she looks over at her daughter playing happily. "And uh...I'd be grateful if you kept our secret a little longer." She nods, her small smile returning "I just don't want her to be singled out."
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod "Yeah."
She smiles appreciatively and grabs Emily's hand as she walks back up the curb.
I watch as the little girl turns and waves goodbye, causing me to blink my eyes several times to stop the tears, before waving back.
They said to not get attached, and that is exactly what I did.
I don't have long to process what I just found out as my phone begins to vibrate in my pant pocket. Looking down the text is burred by the water in my eyes. Choking back, I blink away the tears that threaten to fall and read the words Unknown Number. Usually I'd ignore it and move on with my day but right now I want nothing else but to give life a chance.
"Hello?" I question
"Hello, is this Chandler Bing?"
AN:
No one wants to be my friend so I'm writing fanfiction.
You can thank the bitches that just ding-dong ditched me.
But seriously, if anyone knows how to change back a cabled TV to a non-cabled TV...feel free to spread the information. My roommate left for the weekend telling me that her TV doesn't get cable. I messed with it and now it does, problem is, I'm not too sure she wants that.
So now I'm friendless and I broke the TV that belongs to the one person that trusts me.
But other than that, what did you all think of this chapter? Honestly, I finished it last night but was too lazy to post it. Don't worry, you will find out who called Chandler next chapter. Hopefully sooner rather than later.