“Mr. Cotter, Mr. Cotter they’re here!” Lilli came running over excitedly. “The firemen are here!”
All of the children in my first grade class were excited for the day’s lesson. The FDNY sent over a group of firefighters for Fire Safety Month. Lilli really wanted them to bring a Dalmatian. The chance of that happening was pretty slim, but hopefully any disappointment would be lost in the thrill of getting to sit in a fire engine.
I attended an elementary school only a train stop away. It wasn’t until I came out in tenth grade that I started to dread going to school. The bullying and teasing were intense. I was fortunate enough to have an incredibly supportive family, but one group of kids were relentless, and they were cruel.
When I got a scholarship to go away to college in Boston, I took it and ran. I loved it there. I was out and proud, and surrounded by plenty of others in the same boat. The more time I spent away from home, the more I realized that I wanted to make a difference for children like I had been. I didn’t have a role model, at least that I knew. If I’d had an out teacher growing up, it would have made me feel so much better.
The boys who teased me so mercilessly didn’t start out that way—what if they had a teacher who could show them that gay wasn’t a negative? What if I could be that teacher?
I took time to get my education. I did my student teaching and got my master’s degree in Boston, but when it came time to find a tenured position, I wanted to come home. I wanted to make a better environment for children like me.
The school I taught at, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, was pretty small by city standards. I’d been there for five years; at 27 I hoped to have a long career ahead of me. An active and involved parents’ group ensured class sizes were reasonable and that the curriculum was fun and creative. It was a wonderful environment to teach in.
That morning, I had seventeen excited children jumping around the room. The thought of a few hours with a fire truck—and not doing classwork—was making them beyond hyper. It took all my patience and training to keep them under control. Once I calmed them down and had them in their seats, I left them with the teaching assistant while I sought out the firefighters.
“Gabe,”—the principal’s voice boomed down the hall—“I believe these men are here for your class.” Dave Kenny was a short, stocky man, usually dressed in an ill-fitting suit. But he was a passionate educator, and a real joy to work with. I strode over the green and white tiled floors to meet him, the construction paper art work decorating the school walls fluttering in my wake.
Standing beside him were two uniform-clad firefighters. As I drew closer, I realized they were two of the men who responded to Mr. Julia’s vindaloo culinary experiment that went up in smoke. Fuck.
I extended my hand to them. “Hi, I’m Gabriel Cotter, one of the first grade teachers here. My students are extremely excited to meet you.”
The taller of the two took my hand, “We meet again! I’m Vinnie Grand and this is Chris Mancini.”
Fireman Dick McCranky had a real name—Chris. In the light of the hallway, I could tell his eyes were a stunning shade of aqua blue, rimmed in long lashes, tipped with gold. His light brown hair was short, and he had some afternoon stubble around his—surprise—frowning face. His gaze was firmly fixed on his partner.
I pulled my attention from the man who seemed determined to ignore me. “How does this work?” I asked Vinnie.
“We’ll meet with the kids first, to go over some fire safety rules and act out a few scenarios. Nothing scary, so the children shouldn’t be afraid. After that, they’ll come see the fire truck and get their own helmets to take home.”
Chris glanced at Dave. “Somebody from FDNY should have given you links to our websites to share with the parents. Did you get those?”
“Yes,” Dave answered. “My secretary will send an email home to the parents.”
A door opened and the squeal of excited children echoed down the hall. “Your audience awaits you!”
Vinnie laughed and headed toward the doors with Dave by his side. I followed behind with Chris. “So,” I asked, unable to resist, “How is your day going?”
He tilted his head in my direction, seemingly surprised that I had spoken directly to him. “Fine,” he said, drawing out the word.
His dickishness was getting on my last nerve; I really didn’t want him messing with my class. “Do you not like children?”
He stopped in his tracks and turned toward me, “Why would you think that?” He huffed.
“Well, you don’t seem happy to be here.”
“I like the children fine.”
He picked up his pace and closed the distance between him and his friend. Judging by the way he ran away from me, if I didn’t know better, I’d think I forgot to put on my deodorant that morning.
The presentation was a huge success! The children adored spending time with them, and the cranky fireman actually seemed to love the kids. He joked, smiled, and was an all-around charmer. By the time we all led the children outside to check out the fire engine, the kids were totally won over, and I was completely confused.
Each child got to sit on the front seat of the truck. They didn’t offer me a chance, but I would have done it in a heartbeat.
“Do you have a fire dog?” one of the children asked.
“Not any more,” Vinnie responded. “We were thinking of getting one.”
“Do you guys have any good ideas for names?” Chris wanted to know.
The kids called out various fire-related names like Flame and Sparky. One child raised his hand and waited to be called on. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t shout anything out since Freddie was pretty shy. In fact, I didn’t expect him to offer anything at all. However, when Chris pointed to him he said, “Red. Because your trucks are red and fire is red.”
“That’s a great idea!” Chris said enthusiastically, and he went over to give Freddie a fist bump. The boy stood a little taller and beamed with pride. I’d never seen him smile wider.
After an enthusiastic round of applause for the firefighters, the teaching assistant brought the children to the lunchroom while Vince and Chris moved on to another grade. I went back to my classroom to prepare for the afternoon, determined to put the confusing man out of my mind.
The knock on my classroom door wasn’t unexpected—people were in and out all day. “Come in,” I called without picking my head up from my paperwork.
“Did I leave a clipboard in here? Oh, look. It’s the rat!”
I swallowed as I regarded my visitor. Chris stood in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Rat?” I asked.
“From the night of the alarm.” He pointed to the guinea pig sitting quietly in his cage. “Wasn’t that what you were carrying the night of the false alarm?”
“Yes, Buster comes home with me on holidays and during summer vacation. He’s not a rat though, he’s a guinea pig. They are very smart animals. Did you know that guinea pigs are not pigs and do not come from Guinea?”
“No, I’m not big on rodent facts,” he informed me sharply.
His hot-and-cold was confusing, and I was getting tired of it. Glancing around the room, I saw an unfamiliar clipboard on a bookshelf and pointed at it. “Is that yours?”
His eyes followed my finger. “Yes. Thank you, Gabriel.” He moved toward the item, picked it up, and headed for the exit. I put my head back down, but watched him surreptitiously through my lashes as he placed his hand on the knob and paused. After a moment, he opened the door and left the room, leaving it ajar behind him.