Page 14 of Ancient History

I could feel myself turn red. Those mementos were intimate, and it left me feeling a different kind of exposed.

If only I was strong enough to follow through and wash Amos out of my system.

“Pop.” I placed a hand over his wrinkly, rough skin. I didn’t have the energy to fight him on this. I was surprised at his excitement over my dating life. Was I that much of a guy in need? “I’m not looking to date. I need to focus on the Huskies winning the championship. I need to get my shit together.” I exhaled a tired breath. “Although if I were to have a boyfriend, I can guarantee you, it wouldn’t be Amos.”

4

HUTCH

High school memories flooded my mind on my drive to school. I knew the way by heart, still remembered to go down Berman Street to avoid making that impossible left into South Rock High. The building hadn’t changed, but there were jarring updates that moved it into the present. The front sign was slick and new, electronic messages now instead of plastic letters slid into rows (and humorously re-arranged by rabble rousers who didn’t include me). Two trees in front were chopped down, making way for a pair of benches and cell phone charging station.

I pulled into my usual spot in the parking lot. Students buzzed around me. It was spring and warmth had finally arrived. Kids hung out by each other’s cars, sitting on trunks, chatting and sharing things on their phones. I got out of my car, the same beast from high school, and nodded at the girls parked next to me. One was copying something from the other’s notebook, which they slapped shut when we made eye contact.

“Hey,” I said. Did I still sound cool?

“Uh, hey,” said the alleged homework copier.

“I’m the new men’s soccer coach. Hu–Mr. Hawkins.”

They traded looks with each other, those conspiratorial teenage looks that instantly made me feel like I had gum in my hair or something.

I still had it. I was Hutch Hawkins. South Rock High was my playground.

“I’ll see you inside.”

“Uh, Mr. Hawkins?” said one of the girls.

Now I got why people said shit likeMr. Hawkins is my father. Call me Hutch.Because it’s freaking weird to be called mister. When did I get old enough to be a mister?

“Yeah?” I asked back, hands in pockets. Not trying to be cool, but also not not trying?

“You’re in the student lot. The teacher lot is behind the school.”

“Oh.” A true kick to the balls if there ever was one.

I was a teacher. I was an adult. An adult who went by mister.

They shared another look and held in their laughter, which I supposed was deserved. I was giving off major Josie Grossie vibes, not Mr. Coolson ones. (Thank you Amos for making us watchNever Been Kissed.)

“All right then. Catch you on the flip side.”

Did I really just say that? Did anyone say that? Someone should give me a walker. The ones with tennis balls on the legs.

And then because I hadn’t proven just how uncool I was, I gave them not one, but two thumbs up.

Oof. This was officially my worst first day of high school in history.

* * *

The teacher’slot was much more my speed. It was quiet and calm, two qualities I didn’t know I wanted in my life. The teachers were a mix of my contemporaries, middle-aged lifers, and the relics. I recognized a few from my days as a student. I couldn’t wait to catch up with them. Yeah, I was one of those guys who liked chatting with his teachers.

I rolled down the row until I found an open spot. It was a tight squeeze at the end, butting up against some thorny bushes. I made a note to get here earlier tomorrow so I’d land a better space.

The idiot parked next to me didn’t look when he opened his door. I nearly took his door off as I pulled in.

I screeched to a stop.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself. I paused before continuing to pull in.

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