3
Sophie
I sat in my classroom, not quite going over the curriculum I was setting up for the new school year set to start in just a week or two. I kept finding my mind wandering, staring out the window to the grassy areas that were freshly mowed by the groundskeeper, and to the places further out and beyond, where you could almost see the back of Stearns’s ice cream stand. I heard myself let out an audible sigh, wondering about the world that was outside the school walls, past Stearin’s, past the old Howard place where they had a farm for generations, and even beyond Highway 32 and out to the rest of the world.
A light knock on the open classroom door startled me out of my daydreaming. I turned to look and saw Mary Connors, the eighth-grade math teacher in my section of the school, standing there smiling at me. She slowly walked over to my desk and sat herself down on the corner of it.
“What’s up Mary?” I asked her as I shut my planner. I knew I wasn’t going to get much more accomplished today anyway.
“What’s up with me? What’s up with you?” she said to me quizzically. “I’ve been standing there for five minutes watching you stare out the window like you were watching the grass grow. What were you daydreaming about?”
I grabbed my planner and a couple of books from my desk and shoved them into my backpack, the same leather backpack I had managed to hold onto since my college days.
“Oh nothing really,” I said to her absentmindedly as I closed the backpack. “Just enjoying the last waning days of summer I guess.”
“Sure you were,” Mary said sarcastically. Mary and I had started teaching here at Canon Middle School at the same time about eight years ago. Just thinking that it had already been eight years that had gone by was hard to imagine.
“There you go again,” Mary said to me as she playfully pushed my shoulder. “We need to do something to snap you out of your doldrums. How about we grab some dinner tonight?”
“I don’t know Mary,” I told her as we slowly walked down the freshly waxed hallway.
“Come on Sophie,” Mary whined at me lightly. “What are you going to do? Spend another night at home reading…” she reached into my open backpack and grabbed one of the books out. “The Short Stories of Henry James? Just the thought is making me fall asleep.”
“There’s nothing wrong with reading,” I told her as I snatched the book from her hands. I placed my backpack on the floor and put the book back inside, making sure to clasp the bag closed this time.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with reading at all,” Mary retorted, “But you could spice things up a bit once in a while too. Maybe throw in a little Fifty Shades book now and then for good measure.” She smiled wryly at me as she said this and I could feel my cheeks start to blush at the thought.
“You know I don’t go in for trashy romance books Mary,” I said as I tried to make my blushing cool down a bit faster.
“Well I like a little trashy now and then,” she said as she twirled around a bit and laughed, causing her floral print skirt to spin open a bit.
“Who’s talking about trashy?” I heard the voice echo down the hall as Mary and I turned quickly to see who it was.
“Oh geez,” Mary groaned as she rolled her eyes at me. It was too late for us to make a quick break for the exit. It was Kenny Price, the school vice-principal ambling down the hallway towards us. Kenny, oddly enough, had started at the school the same time we had, but he looked as if he had aged ten times faster than we did. Even though he was the same age as us at thirty-two, his hairline was starting to recede and what was once a fit and toned body had softened quite a bit over the years. The cheesy, bushy, brown mustache he had had flecks of gray in it already too, earning him the nickname “The Walrus” with students and teachers alike.
Kenny stood before us, wearing khaki shorts and black dress socks with his loafers, and Mary and I had to do all we could to stifle laughter.
“Hi Kenny,” I said. “Mary and I were just talking about books.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Kenny said, hoping perhaps for a juicier story to latch on to. “So, what are you up to tonight Sophie? I was going to see what was playing at The Royal Theater tonight. Care to join me? We could go there and then to Stearn’s for ice cream after.”
Kenny had the hopeful twinkle in his eyes that he had every time he asked me out. I had gone out with him once or twice years ago when we first met but had been regularly rebuffing him since then when he tried to get a little too handsy for my tastes on the second date. He apologized back then, but he kept trying to get me to go out with him anyway.
“I’m sorry Kenny,” I said, trying to sound sincere. “Mary and I already have plans to go out for dinner tonight.”
The twinkle quickly disappeared at the rejection. “Okay, no problem,” Kenny told me dejectedly, clearly feeling a bit embarrassed that I had turned him down in front of someone else. “You gals have a fun time tonight.”
“Maybe another time, “ I said to him apologetically.
“Sure thing,” the hope returned to his face as he answered me before he turned and headed back down the hall towards the main office.
Mary hooked her arm around mine as she led me out the front doors towards the parking lot.
“Why do you do that to him?” Mary said to me.
“Do what?”
“Give him false hope about going out with you,” she told me as we reached our cars, which just happened to be parked next to each other. “He had his shot with you. If he weren't a lecherous octopus, maybe things would have been different. Just the thought of him putting his hands on me…. Ewwww,” Mary shook her body at the thought.
“I know,” I told her as I put my backpack in the trunk of my car. “I guess I feel bad saying no all the time.”
“Stop being so nice Sophie,” Mary scolded me as she walked over to her car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window to the passenger side of her car to talk to me. “Meet me at the Homestead at six?”
I sighed again. “I guess so,” I said to her, knowing Henry James could wait another day.
“Great! Finally, a night out on the town with you. See you later!” Mary backed up and peeled out of the parking lot like she was one of the seniors in high school. I laughed as I waved away the dust she kicked up and climbed into the driver’s seat of my trusty Camry.
As I slowly worked my way the long not-quite two miles from the school to my house on Hodges Avenue, I glanced over at the house on the corner of Collins Drive, right before my street. I always slowed down as I went passed, knowing it was his Dad’s place. In my imagination, I half-expected to see him walk out the front door and stop me as I was going by, but of course, this never happened. Today was no different, though the house was clearly quieter now.
I wonder what will happen to the place, I considered as I kept driving by until I reached my driveway.
I pulled into the driveway and shut off my car, climbing out and grabbing my backpack from the trunk. I gave a casual wave to Mrs. Griffin, sitting out on her porch next door as she always does this time of day in the summer, and hopped up the steps of my porch to the front door. I checked the mailbox by the door before going in, and it was the usual junk mail.
Not even the mail is exciting in Canon, I thought to myself as I walked in the front door and tossed the mail on the end table.
I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and got my pitcher of lemonade out and poured myself a glass. I walked over to the old rocker in the living room, the one I always sat in just like my mother did before me, and sat down to relax. It was only three-thirty, so I still had time before I had to meet Mary for dinner.
I picked up my backpack and held it in my hands. The brown leather had worn over the years, but the bag was still in great shape and had served me well. I ran my hand over the brass plate that had my initials on it, still visible after all this time, though with scratch marks and spots. I pulled the bag closer to me on my lap and closed my eyes, thinking back to the day I got the bag, the day he gave it to me as a gift, and how much I had smiled and loved it.
And loved him.