Page 6 of When He Saved Me
I preened at her praise. My mom had been a teacher for over thirty years before she had to take a leave of absence due to her illness, and I wanted to follow in her footsteps. Her praise meant a lot to me. I had always thrived on it.
“Yep, and I’m closing in on the last half of the semester before I student teach. I’m so ready to be in the classroom.”
“You’re going to do great. Did you hear back on that application?” I’d submitted my request to student teach at my mom’s old school, and while it wasn’t the end of the world if I didn’t get assigned there, I was really hoping they’d have a spot for me. Once upon a time, I’d been a student there, and I knew that Swope Middle School had been a home for her in many ways, having taught there for thirty-odd years. As a result, I knew several of the staff and felt like it would be a good fit for me. I was hoping that student teaching there might lead to a permanent position the following year since there were a couple of English teachers due to retire.
“I haven’t heard back yet, but I just submitted it yesterday, so there’s still time.”
“Well, no matter what happens, any school will be lucky to have you.”
I grinned at her. “You’re supposed to say that.”
“Damn right, I am. But in this case, it’s not just because I’m your mother. You have a way with kids.”
I blushed at the praise. The truth was, I liked working with kids. In high school, I’d worked summer camps and had given swim lessons at the Y. I’d always had a knack for speaking to kids and had patience with them. While I appreciated the compliment, I didn’t think I did anything all that special. “Okay, enough about that. How was your day? How are you feeling?”
She sighed. “I’m okay. Pretty tired, but hanging in there.”
“Are you hungry? Aunt Cathy made some soup.”
“I could eat.” I helped her sit up, adjusting the pillows so she could sit comfortably, and began feeding her small spoonfuls. I knew she hated that she had to be helped this way, but the chemo left her weak and shaky, and attempting to feed herself would have resulted in more soup in her lap than her mouth. And as much as I hated to see her like this, I enjoyed spending time with her. Between her teaching and my athletics and school, life had been hectic growing up, especially after my dad passed, but now, it was nice to slow down and enjoy these moments with her.
She managed half a bowl of soup and most of her tea before signaling she was done. Her eyelids were starting to droop, so I set the dishes back on the tray, pulled up the covers, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, turning the lamp down low and retreating to the kitchen.
After cleaning up the dishes, I made my way back to my room, making sure to move quietly so as not to disturb Mom. I changed into joggers and a long-sleeved T-shirt before settling on my bed to do a little homework. When I opened my backpack to pull my laptop out, my fingers brushed against a piece of paper I’d tucked away earlier.
I smiled as I pulled it out, remembering my discovery at the coffee shop. After Finn had gone back to work, I’d noticed a loose scrap of paper on the floor underneath the table where he’d been sitting. The handwriting was similar to what I’d seen in his notebook, so I knew it was something he’d written. I’d debated returning it to him but couldn’t bring myself to do so. The paper held just two lines, but they captivated me.
Darkness falls on my descent into madness
The flavor of him lingers on my lips
Was this autobiographical? About a lover, perhaps? And what about the descent into madness? Was that something he was dealing with? Or was it figurative language and imagery?
I loved words. I loved the way they felt on the tongue and the way they looked on the page. I loved the endless ways you could combine them to invoke a mood or feeling, describe an object, or recount an event. I loved all the myriad ways you could use them. The possibilities were endless.
It was why I wanted to be an English teacher. It wasn’t just because that’s what my mom taught or because I was good with kids, though I couldn’t discount those reasons held some weight, but in a world that seemed ever destined to consolidate thoughts and feelings into bite-sized snippets shared on social media, I wanted the next generation to see how much words mattered. How the study and use of words and all their endless possibilities could change and shape the way we think, feel, and interact with the world.
The fact that Finn was a wordsmith made him infinitely more intriguing. If I’d thought I’d been attracted to him before, reading his words had turned that spark into an inferno. I was half-hard just reading those two lines again.
I adjusted myself in my sweatpants and deliberately set the paper aside. I had work to do, and as much as I wanted to solve the puzzle of Finn, I couldn’t afford the distraction right now. This close to student teaching, I needed to focus on finishing the semester strong. With my mom’s illness and my class load, I had enough on my plate without adding a broody barista.
Still, when I set my laptop on the charger a couple of hours later and settled into bed, it was Finn’s face that appeared in my mind’s eye as I fell asleep.
CHAPTER3
FINN
When I was four,I started preschool at a very exclusive academy just a few blocks from our Mission Hills home. My mother didn’t work, so there wasn’t a need for me to have childcare. It wasn’t to help me socialize and play with other children since I was an only child. It was simply what people in our social circles did. Children were enrolled in the most exclusive private schools so they could get a leg up on their education and lord it over those less fortunate later in life.
I was miserable.
I didn’t mind the work with letters and numbers. I had a quick mind that soaked up new information like a sponge, so I picked up new skills rather quickly. But it was the social structures I couldn’t figure out. Even at the age of fucking four years old, I had begun to figure out I was different. I liked to run and play like the rest of the kids, but I liked music more. While the other boys pushed and shoved and played dirty and rough, I preferred the quiet, often finding ways of amusing myself and avoiding the larger groups of children.
I was an introvert in a world wired for extroverts.
Shortly after the Thanksgiving holiday, a boy named Shane joined our class. He had blond hair and round cheeks and was quiet, just like me.
We began to sit together at recess, not always talking, mostly just observing the other kids at play. At snack time, he always offered to share his fruit snacks with me, and I shared my crackers.
