It's been three months since I bumped in to that guy at the church. I think about him from time to time. I wonder what could've been if I just said hi. The sound of his deep voice echoes in my mind, I can still smell the laundry detergent on his clothes. I can barely remember his face, but I know that if I ever saw him again I would recognize him right away.
"Jennifer," my boss calls me.
"Yes, Mrs. Hawthorne?" I answer back. Mrs. Hawthorne is the headmistress at the private school I work at - Excelsior Academy - where I am a kindergarten teacher.
"How are you today? Good and ready, I hope."
"Yes, I am very ready."
"Good, the student intern starts today. He'll be here at 8:30 am, half an hour before the students start class."
"Thanks for confirming that, Mrs. Hawthorne. I'm looking forward to meeting our seminarian this year."
Every year our school partners with the local seminary - a school for young men who wish to become religious priests. Why a young man would deliberately opt for a life of poverty and celibacy in this day and age is beyond me. However, I do admire the dedication and and determination they have to pursue a path they believe is greater than their own existence. Now, I call them boys even though most of them are around my age - greater or less than 5 years on average. I look at them as boys because they all posses this childlike quality that's not immature but rather innocent and kind. The way a child would be too trustworthy because he has been sheltered from the harshness of humanity and he hasn't been callused yet by repeated pain. I wish I could say the same about me, but that's another story.
I've gotten along well with the last three interns we had. I treated them like the little brothers I wished I had (I'm the youngest child in my family) and, in return, they treated me with the highest level of (pure not romantic) love and respect. These guys have definitely helped me increase my standards and expectation of men. They are the reason why I am still single.
It's 8:20, I go to my classroom to prepare for the day and await the arrival of my students. I look out my window and watch as my kids trickle into the school yard one by one, hand in hand with their parents. It's a scene that's so familiar and yet I know nothing about it -- what it feels like to deliver your own child to school, watch them learn, grow and mature, worry about them while you're apart and look forward to your reunion with them at the end of the day. As the kindergarten teacher, I am always on the receiving end of the morning drop off. I spend the days with their kids and teach them what they need to learn, grow and mature, but, I don't know what they do after the dismissal bell. Yes, my job is important and takes up the lion's share of time in these 4 year olds' lives, but, the short moments these kids have with their parents before and after the school day are where they will learn the most valuable lessons. What I have to give is a crumb in the cake of these kids' educational careers. As they say, it starts at home. I greet the parents every morning and wonder what it's like to be them. I want to know what it's like to do what they do. Perhaps one day I could be lucky enough to be on the delivering end.
Knock* Knock*
The door interrupts my daydream.
"Come in," I say to the woman at door. I already know who it is.
"Jennifer, ummm, my apologies, Ms. Danube, your intern is here," says Mrs. Hawthorne.
"Wonderful, send him in!"
My students will be excited to meet this intern, whoever, he is. I find that my students respond well to a male playmate. The interns balance out my classroom. I am usually involved with the selection and hiring of the seminarians, but this year I was not able to participate in the process. Part of me is worried that the team did not select a good candidate. On the other hand, I trust Mrs. Hawthorne and my co-workers to make the right choice for me. My attention is stolen by one of my students outside -- she and her parents are entangled in a tight embrace. They are saying good bye to her before heading off to work. My heart feels warm and fuzzy.
"Ms. Danube, I would like you to meet your intern for the next 8 months, Mr. Heath MacKay-Camano."
"Good morning, Ms. Danube."
That voice. My ears perk up. Why is it so familiar? I turn from the window to face that sound.
Standing at the door beside Mrs. Hawthorne is Heath. Tall, tanned and toned, he's wearing a navy blue polo shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants to highlight the shape of his swimmer's physique. His black hair is neatly coiffed, without a single hair out of place. He walks towards me with his hand extended, ready for a handshake. I reach my right hand out to meet his. He grabs me, his grip is firm and encompassing, his skin is smooth yet hard. I look up to see his gentle brown Bambi eyes looking at me framed by his thick eyebrows. I breathe in the smell of laundry detergent.
"Good to see you again, Heath."
YOU ARE READING
To The Boy I Knew
RomanceIf you have to ask yourself if he likes you, does that mean he doesn't like you? And, if you have to wonder if someone likes you, does that mean you like him? Jennifer is not interested in falling in love right now. Relationships are the last thin...
