Rogue Acts

by Ainsley Booth

  They got another beer, and she pulled out the chips and salsa. She didn’t know why he smiled when he looked at the salsa jar. They had to scoot their chairs close after all to share the salsa that sat on the tiny round folding table she kept on her porch.

  4

  She talked a lot. A lot a lot. He was a really good listener. A good question-asker. The sunset shining and reflecting on the brick of the houses on the street made him rosy. Her cheeks were rosy. She scraped the last chip through the dregs of the salsa.

  “Mark—you want it? Last chip!”

  “Oh sure.” He opened up his mouth like a little baby bird. And she dropped the chip and kissed him instead. She couldn’t help it. He shone when she looked at him. When he’d opened his mouth, it was like he sparkled. She wanted some of that for herself.

  So she took it. She didn’t really have plans, she just leaned over and kissed him.

  After a second of stilled surprise, he kissed her back, so much. And then he reached for her, pulled her onto his lap, toppling over the table in the process, and she was wrapped tight in his arms and he was kissing her hair. She sank into his arms for a moment.

  That…whoa. That wasn’t really what she wanted her neighbors to see.

  “Mark—Mark! Whoa, buddy.”

  “Holy fuck.” Yeah, he was breathless. “I am so sorry.”

  “I’m not exactly sorry, but I don’t want to make a spectacle for my neighbors to watch. Some of them, I teach their kids.”

  Okay, maybe she was sorry? She wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that kissed boys spontaneously. She’d kinda assumed that her kissing time had finished and passed her by. Still kinda dazed by his kisses oh, and maybe it was the beer. Maybe it wasn’t just her.

  She stood up and pulled the table up. “You want to come inside?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” He also looked dazed, and his body mass was substantially greater than hers. Gratifying.

  She pushed everything into the back corner of the porch and followed him into the front room. He was still blinking like an owl in the daylight. She gave him a hug because yes, he looked a little lost, and then he didn’t let her go.

  He shook himself and set her apart from him, like, lifted her up and put her three feet away from him.

  “You can’t get so close to me,” he said. “I lose my concentration.”

  “Okay, well, you sit on that couch, and I’ll sit over here, okay?” She was shimmering on the inside.

  He sat down as suggested. “Listen, Sarah, I’m so sorry. I don’t do that. You throw me off balance. Will you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you for the best kiss I’ve had in ages? I feel like I should thank you.”

  But she still didn’t know what to do about it all. She did have some serious convictions about where kissing led and when it should happen. Convictions that had left her righteous and alone. None of the single guys that passed through church—usually during their stint in seminary—understood her commitment to the neighborhood.

  None of the guys she met outside of church thought pursuing a girl who wouldn’t sleep with them was worth it. Her dating life had been a slog and then a desert.

  And now, here was Mark.

  “Well, I mean, okay, you’re welcome I guess?” Mark was shaking a little bit. Quivering? Did strong former-military 29-year-olds quiver? He had gotten close to her and wanted her closer. He was not like that. He was strong and controlled and…had spent the last four years surrounded by women-kids who had no idea what they wanted to do with their life or their bodies. The ones that he had been interested in had either had serious life plans or gotten snatched up by the younger dudes.

  But Sarah—she was beautiful. She knew who she was and how to do what she was doing. Her talking about her family and friends who didn’t understand the choices she had made—she’d been counting the cost, over and over again, and always chose compassion. Sure, she could be so grumpy. He wanted to sit her down and pet all the grumps away. She was turning him inside out. In such a short amount of time, too. He either needed to go back to counseling or this was some serious providence. Even though she was against his job, she was still helping him. He was drowning. He’d never been able to not-touch someone.

  And the look she was looking at him with… he probably needed to go. Maybe they should just email from now on. Stay on the porch? He’d better join a church and get a pastor to stay with them. Holy fuckity fuck. The thing that came out of his mouth next was unplanned, and it horrified him.

  “I just want you to know I’m not quite a virgin, but I am waiting to have sex until marriage. I haven’t been able to shake those convictions.”

  Sarah had curled up herself up in the armchair, and now she was laughing. He felt gutted. She managed to calm the coughing fit she’d worked herself into, and then it was clear she really looked at his face.

  “Oh, hey, just—me too. I was wondering how to tell you. And then you did it for me.”

  Great, they were on the same page. Really, they were on too many of the same pages. Theoretically he was a grown up in control of his urges. But something about her…it just destroyed him. She was like a detour in the path of his life, like bridges collapsed and he had to take country back roads and be late. He was still getting his late start in life figured out. God, what the fuck are you doing?

  “Okay, so that’s good. I guess.” His stress responses had kicked in, and he was panting shallowly a little bit now. What do they do now? “So—so—I guess I’ll go home now. Thanks for the teaching help.” He tried super hard not to stumble when he walked towards the door.

  “Mark.” Her smile as she looked at him was incredibly dear. Almost like she thought he was dear. Her eyes were warm. “You came in through the alley so you probably want to go out my back door. And pick up those vegetables on the way.”

  “Oh right. Thanks.” He changed direction and looked at her begrudgingly. “Have a good night.”

  She hugged the pillow she was holding even harder to her chest. “Yeah…we’ll see.”

  He could feel her gaze on him as he walked through her house. He’d almost forgotten his pad of paper, too, so he picked that up. Then he stopped and tore off a sheet. He wrote down his phone number and his email address. “Just in case,” he put down underneath them.

  Then he grabbed the produce and hustled out the door, alternately praying and cursing and laughing all the way to his house.

  Sarah sat in the chair for a while, clutching on to that pillow like it was a life preserver.

  Finally, she got up with a sigh and went to lock the door behind him. She saw the paper he’d left on the table. Email? What did he think this was, You’ve Got Mail? Maybe she’d surprise him with an email. Maybe she should bring in the salsa bowl off the front porch.

  God, she had really made out with that man on her front porch. Jesus, what is going on? And yeah, she still had to get her mind right and her lesson plans ready to teach tomorrow. These first graders weren’t going to learn about subtraction by themselves. Well, okay, like three of them could. The rest needed their loving teacher.

  She opened up her laptop and went to her personal email before opening any of her teaching things.

  “Hi Mark, This is your neighbor Sarah. How is it going? I’m still shaking a little bit. I hope you’re having a good night tonight.

  Heh heh heh.

  I just wanted to make sure that you remembered what we’d talked about so here are the steps and terms I used.

  (She made a tidy bulleted list.)

  Then you have to remember that it’s your classroom and your culture that you’re creating. Also, wear short sleeve shirts so you show your muscle and look strong.

  Affectionately, your Sarah”

  Wait. That was supposed to be “your NEIGHBOR, Sarah” not “your Sarah.” No, that wasn’t a Freudian slip. Not a bit. Not at all. She had her own busy life with school and a garden and church, and this goofball amateur from Tennessee wasn’t going to throw he
r. He was at a charter school, for goodness sake!

  She really had to repent of lying to herself, though.

  5

  She texted him a couple times over the next weeks, checking in on him and his students. Her advice was helpful! His latest text: They are really learning! You are the best. She preened during her lunch time—she ate at her desk while the students were supervised by the art teacher in the cafeteria.

  As her students came back from lunch, she put her teacher face back on. Today they were going to learn more about tenses—one of her favorites, but not always the students’. As her favorite—well maybe it was wrong to call him her favorite, but she’d taught his three older siblings too, and was invested in their family—student walked to his desk, she noticed he was looking sad—usually he had a smile on his face and a bad joke at the ready.

  “What’s wrong, Jon? Did lunch go okay?”

  He took a few seconds to answer. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Okay, buddy, but if you need to talk about stuff, you can talk to me or to Ms. Walker.” Ms. Walker was the social worker for the school.

  Her students had their desks in groups of three, mostly pointed at her. She waited until they all filed in, used the hand sanitizer, went to their desks, pulled out their workbooks, and held their pencils up to show they were ready to listen. That was, at least, what happened on a good day, and today was a good day. She walked from group to group. “What’s the difference between what you did yesterday, and what you will do tomorrow?”

  “Alex, tell me something you did yesterday.”

  “I watched a show!” Maybe one day the answer would involve reading.

  “Sierra, tell me something you will do tomorrow.”

  “Eat pizza!” Dang it.

  “What about you, Jon? What will you do tomorrow—and say it as a complete sentence, if you can.”

  “I will see the sea!”

  “Oh, Jon, really?” He was gonna try this, wasn’t he?

  “See and sea—it’s a joke, Ms. Miller.” And there was that gap-toothed smile that had been missing when he came back from lunch.

  “Pretty funny.” She looked around the room—the other children were mostly smiling, whether at Jon or at his joke, she wasn’t sure. “Can anyone tell me the difference between what Alex said and what Jon said?”

  Eventually, one of them did, and she slowed down to help them with their worksheets. The one kid who she knew was dealing with stuff at home acted out, and she had to call the principal. Her school district didn’t do suspensions for her grade anymore.

  She added, Pray for Gabriel and his family to her to-do list. Sometimes she wanted to punch the people who said that there was no prayer in the public schools. She prayed all the time in school—not aloud, obviously, and still everything in the current political climate was trying to make things more precarious for kids like her students, and for the teachers who tried to be there for them. She’d really like to talk more to both Jesus and the politicians who claimed to follow him about their care for the least of these.

  The weather was starting to cool down a little, finally, and all her parents were prompt to get their kids, so she had time to stop and check on the school garden before she went home. The older grades were supposedly in charge of it, but some days she stopped to help. It was probably time to pull most things up and start the fall crops.

  She returned to her house to find a terra-cotta pot with a blooming orchid in it by her back door. The note read in short spiky handwriting, Still thrown by that kiss, but very thankful for your help. These past few weeks were totally different from the beginning of the semester.

  Sarah shook her head slowly and unlocked the door. She walked through to the front door to check the mail—nothing good. She hung up her keys, set the flower pot down, put her teacher bag in its place, and sat down to check Facebook. Again, nothing good. Another friend engaged, another one pregnant, and her sister was on a fancy business trip. The anger she’d thought was about Mark and charter schools wafted out of the box. Blah blah blah my life is so great, out in suburbia or with my high-powered business job. Yeah, she couldn’t really see a husband fitting into her life or a minivan in her backyard parking space. She’d have to give up some of her garden. And if she was just part of selling a product, her soul would shrivel up. Why was she so angry at these people she loved for living the lives they wanted? She took a few deep breaths, searching for calm, before her eye snagged on the orchid, set in the middle of the clean space on her table, and she left Facebook and called the giver of the plant instead.

  “This is Mark.”

  “Hey, thanks for the flowers. And you’re still shook by the kiss?”

  “Listen. I’ve kissed my share of women before. But I don’t go from a single kiss to making out in the same night. Everything happens decently and in order. But I see you and I want to be touching you. Everywhere. I don’t know what to do except stay away from you.”

  “So we can talk on the phone, though? Fifty feet away from each other, that’s okay?” She was smiling now.

  “Sarah—Sarah. This isn’t funny.” Mark sounded very frustrated.

  “It is to me. It’s also really sweet and slightly disturbing, but I mean, I’m not complaining.” Everybody she knew liked her, but it had been a long time since anyone had put her in the “overwhelmingly desirable” category.

  “Well, I am.”

  “What are you complaining about?”

  “Celibacy before marriage, that you’re my close neighbor, that I just met you…you name it.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t have a filter, did he? Maybe that was just with her?

  “So, I guess I’ll see you at church.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll make sure I’m on the other side of the aisle.” His comment came out slow, deep, and dour, and she couldn’t stop smiling, nor her heart contracting.

  She hung up with a weird triumphant feeling lifting her spirits.

  6

  As it turned out, she had to miss a couple Sundays at her church in the city—a niece got baptized out in the county, a group of educators she was in had already scheduled a weekend retreat. So of course her first Sunday back she was late and just squeezed into a seat at the back. Her pastor’s wife waved at her while almost running down the side aisle, hand in hand with her just recently-potty-trained youngest child. This whole church was a mess, and she loved it so much.

  Sarah peeked out around the edge of the pew and saw the other kids in that family (alone, of course, because their father was leading worship). One was about to let lose a paper airplane, one was dancing to the Swahili praise song, and one had a huge “fuck it” expression on her face.

  Then she found Mark. He looked great in a windowpane plaid button down and straight front khakis, and yeah, he was moving his hips to the music, and boy she wasn’t supposed to be having those thoughts in church, was she? Also, they were on the same side of the church. Actually, maybe this was better because she wouldn’t have to look across the room at him during communion.

  She quickly averted her eyes and sang along even louder. They had continued to text a little bit over the weeks, with proud reports from his classroom, and had waved when they passed each other in the alley. She knew how she felt about Mark-the-person. But somehow it was like the anger she’d felt when they met—even if it was no longer directed at him—that anger wouldn’t stay in the box. Between the struggles of her Title I school, and the discussion at her teachers’ group, the news—even though she tried to avoid it, the current administration’s blatant push toward privatization and more segregation—she was getting angry too often these days. She had stopped talking to a lot of people because she didn’t want to yell at them. She hoped that church would help.

  When they reached the prayer part of the liturgy, what do you know, they were praying for people who worked in education. All the teachers stood up and looked around the sanctuary to see who their co-laborers were. She wondered if anyone else felt the zing
when she and Mark finally made eye contact. She waved a tiny awkward wave with her hand still at her waist.

  He made a face and waved back. At any rate, they all, charter, private, or public teachers and administrators needed that prayer.

  When church was over, folks had gotten their kids from the nursery time, decompressed from communion, and started visiting, she smiled at a few people and made her way to the door. Some people just always had to stop at the doorway to the sanctuary, and she always had to work on her sanctification and be patient with them. The pastor was standing just past the doorway, greeting people as they left.

  “Hey Sarah—How’s your year been?” he said as he took her hand to shake. But after a closer look at her face, he gave her a hug. “That bad already, huh?”

  “It’s been quite a semester so far,” she admitted. Even the good years at her school took a lot out of her. And this year was only so-so.

  “Well, we’ll hope God answers our prayers for you—and let us and the deacons know if we can do anything to help.” She kept herself from rolling her eyes. She loved her church, but nobody from the church ever showed up to volunteer or even thought about sending their kids to her school.

  Sarah felt her skin tingle and it wasn’t because of the pastor’s non-sexual hug. He’s right behind me, isn’t he?

  “Hey, Pastor Louis, I’m Mark Jones. I’m Sarah’s neighbor.”

  “Oh, Sarah, you know Mark?”

  “I do indeed.” She didn’t say she knew the inside of his mouth a little better than she’d meant to. This church had carried her through some pretty bad times, but she wasn’t sure it knew how to deal with insurmountable sexual attraction. On the other hand, there were a lot of families with a lot of kids around, so maybe they knew exactly what to do with it. Yeah, she didn’t want to think about that.

  “Oh, and I saw you both stand up during the prayer—do you teach at the same school?” Her pastor was observant, yes.