Either way, the worst part of the whole thing was the weekends. They were my hell from Friday after Wilson finished cleaning my whiteboards to Sunday night before I went to bed. I'd try and keep myself busy, diving into work, finding places to go that would devour the time fast enough so Monday could show up right on time. I'd gotten pretty good at finding things to eat up those useless days I called the weekend.
On Friday, when the fifth period bell rang, the same ritual as always began to bubble in my gut. I waited for Wilson to show up and I'd nearly stop breathing. The students shuffled in and I looked up, waiting to see her walk through the door, but of course today, I was interrupted by a text from Calvin.
TGIF Bro! Hey, Ma said Ur coming home next weekend?
I was thinking about going back home for a weekend. I figured it would be something else I could do to burn up time, and use it as an excuse to surprise Cal. But it looked like Mom had mentioned it to him. So much for keeping it on the down low!
Yeah, I was thinkin of coming out. Maybe meeting up w/some friends to go skiing. How's mom? I texted back.
What day? She's Fine. Excited UR coming. His reply was quick and to the point.
Good. Thinkin fly out Fri. Skiing with friends on Sat. Leave Sun. UR home right?
YEP. OK. C U next weekend. And that was the end of our conversation. It looked like it was time to start checking prices for plane tickets home.
I glanced up from my text, looking to see who was pouring into my class, when my eyes locked on Wilson. She'd just sauntered through the door as the second bell rang. My breath hitched and the muscles in my jaw ran taut as my throat struggled to swallow the knot she'd put there every time I looked at her … God, I hope nobody noticed.
~ Wilson ~
Every day I looked for signs that Mr. Max Goldstein might be interested in me beyond a teacher-student relationship. I'd been coming to government and cleaning his whiteboards for over two months, and I still couldn't figure out what he thought of me. Was it totally ridiculous to think that there could be more there? That maybe the feelings I had for him were enough for both of us? I'd done everything I could think of without coming right out and saying it. I'd sauntered past, swayed my hips, made him laugh, asked him questions, batted my eyes, and even passed notes hoping he'd take them. I'd worn perfume, tied my hair up off my shoulders. Hell, I even let a couple buttons loose on my top once, all with little or no success.
The second bell rang right as Joanie, my best friend, and I were meandering in. It was Friday, and on Fridays we had a tradition of free-choice seats. So Joanie and I chose the back seats, middle row. I figured if we were going to commentate on his class or talk about my infatuation with him, the last row would be the place to do it. Joanie was the only person in the entire world who knew I had the hots for Max Goldstein. Okay, so maybe it was more than the “hots.” I had it bad. And she was the one who kept me grounded in my infatuation. Let's just say he was the highlight of my senior year. Period.
“Alright ladies, find a seat, please, that was the bell. We have a lot to cover today. We are going to be continuing our discussion regarding the fiscal impact and responsibility of the governmental agency, Health and Human Services.”
Mr. Goldstein commanded the room. I loved the way he'd walk back and forth, his blue-and-gray sweater vest over his white button-up shirt creasing and pulling as he talked with his arms. His collar was always tucked and peeking out just enough to give his shiny black hair a place to dance. His voice ebbed and flowed with his words and straightened with his conviction. Yeah, he was passionate, enthusiastic, and I liked-no I loved-it. His eyes, mossy green and as vivid as a beacon, illuminated the passion in his soul.
“You know, Mr. Goldstein, my dad says that human agency thingy is nothing more than a soup kitchen for lazy people,” Bonnie Wente piped up, interrupting my totally perfect vision of Mr. Goldstein.
“Well, Bonnie…” he started.
“The only thing that agency helps are people who want to live off the government and have a bunch of babies. That's what my dad told me,” another voice piped up through the low grumbling mix of “oohs” and “aaahs.”
“Hey, hey, hey, ladies, come on,” Mr. Goldstein interrupted.
The banter continued, even when he worked to control the dynamics of the group. Some of the girls popped off about the poor living in our country, while others talked about starting a foundation for poor people. Once everyone stopped talking at the same time and the room unexpectedly turned quiet, I cleared my throat. Instantly, it felt like everyone was looking at me, eyes piercing through me as though they wanted to know what it was like to want or need. Having no desire to accommodate their silent request, I smiled and turned around to Joanie. I wasn't about to enter into a pointless discussion with girls who had no idea what it's like to go without. They had no clue what the real picture of life looked like.
“Wilson, you have something to add?” Mr. Goldstein piped up. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. How was I going to come across sounding educated when every girl around me was more worried about what outfit they were going to wear to the parties that weekend?
“I just don't see the correlation between thinking this agency is all about the parasitic relationship of the poor and this country, when clearly it has other branches such as children's welfare, and rights for the elderly,” I said. I could feel everyone's eyes marking me for a target, but oddly enough they all sat silent.
“You're right, Wilson. The Health and Human Services provide support to more than just socially disadvantaged individuals. It isn't just designed to serve the poor or lower middle class. It's designed to serve the masses. Social Security is a big part of the HHS. They have services for the elderly, children who have lost one or both parents either by death or disability … I'm glad you pointed that out. Thank you.” His eyes sparkled with excitement, his smile contagious.
“I just remember my grandparents telling me that Social Security really helped them a lot.” The room fell silent again as Mr. Goldstein and I shared a moment of connection. Finally someone saw things the way I did, and didn't worry about their new cars, clothes, or their next vacation. We connected, deeper than the surface level.
The silence broke into little snippets and, snide remarks filled the room again until the bell rang.
The classroom cleared quickly with a couple whoops and hollers about the weekend, while others still felt they needed to take a dig at our social programs and how the wealthy support the country. It was a sign of capitalism at its worst. Swirled in their selfish display of entitlement and, voila, our generation at its best. Yeah, sadly enough my generation seems to be the first one that will most likely end up being supported by their parents. But hey, if your parents have it, why not spend it?
“Wilson, I have to jet over to Spanish before sixth period. I'll see you later,” Joanie said as she flipped her backpack over her shoulder, her long, brown hair tangling and tucking under the shoulder strap.
Struggling to fit my books and folder into my backpack, I looked up and discovered I was the last person in class … alone, with Mr. Goldstein. His eyes crested mine before dropping back down to his task at hand.
“Pretty heated discussion, you think?” he said as he fiddled with papers from the top of his desk and worked them into organized piles.
“Aah, yeah, that was pretty interesting,” I answered while literally fighting to shove my government textbook into my backpack.
“Need some help?” he asked as he looked up. His furrowed eyebrows gave a home to the random pieces of hair that fell across his forehead. He dropped the papers onto his desk and came over to help. How attentive! His hands, large and commanding, grabbed the edges of my backpack and held them open, his aroma filling every square inch I breathed. His arm and shoulder pushed delicately but just enough against my body. The connection nearly made me combust. I could hear him breathe, taste his scent, and feel his intention as he looked at me.
“You want
to give it another try?” he breathed. His eyes, danced with mine, his lips bent to a smile and the butterflies that hovered in my gut spread their wings.
Already frazzled from the class discussion and now with Mr. Goldstein in my space, I couldn't find the words to respond. I was afraid if I opened my mouth the butterflies that were in full migration patterns around my body would fly out, so I just nodded.
I tried to wedge the last book into my overflowing backpack. With just a little more force at a better angle I'd be able to push the book down and zip the damn thing up. That's when, Mr. Goldstein took his large, strong, gorgeous hand, put it over mine, and pushed the book down into my backpack.
O.M.G. He …. was … touching … me!
“There you go,” he said as he tapped the top of my hand and let his lengthy, nimble fingers linger just long enough against my forearm. He looked at me, his face inches from mine. Our eyes met and, for a glimmer of a moment, I begged him wordlessly to give me a sign, some hope that he felt something more for me than just being his student. A lifetime could have strolled by and I wouldn't have cared. He was looking at me and that was all that mattered.
The classroom door flew open then and students from his next period began to shuffle in. He turned away and headed back to his desk.
“You need a pass to your next class, Wilson?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone. I looked up at the clock and saw that I had less than two minutes. I wanted to say yes, I wanted to say thank you-and every other word that filled my mind about him-but I couldn't find my voice. I shook my head, heaved my backpack up over one shoulder and gave him the best smile I could muster.
“See you after school then,” he blurted as I rushed out the door.
I didn't know how much more I could take-being so close to him and not being able to tell him how I felt, or even whether he liked me or not. I guess I should have been happy, at least I would get thirty minutes of uninterrupted time in the same room with him after school. A smile crept over my face as the wind pushed back my hair. The sun danced in my eyes and I thought about him in his classroom.
Yeah, that's right, Max Goldstein; I will see you ... after school.
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