by A. M. Wilson
“You should. I think you’re an angel,” she says sincerely.
“I’m no angel, Monica. I’m just Tatum, your nurse’s aide. I do my job because I care, but it has nothing to do with divine power.”
“Maybe you care because of divine power. Not many people can do what you do, with the heart that you have.
If only she knew I didn’t really have a heart.
“I think I’m going to die,” is the next statement out of her mouth. Many patients begin to talk about death when the time nears, so I’m not overly surprised by her announcement. However, she doesn’t look like death is imminent to me, so curious, I press her further.
“What makes you say that?”
“It just feels like the right time. But I’m scared. What’s going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I do believe you’ll figure it out when the time is right. It’s scary because it’s a mystery. Whatever you feel, you may feel fear for a moment, but it will be fleeting, then everything will be revealed to you.” She takes in my words with a look of relief on her face. I wish I had a better way to help her.
“Thank you, Tatum. I’d like to sleep now if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Give me a holler if you need me. Goodnight,” I say, patting her leg as I get up to leave.
“Goodnight, dearie.”
The dining hall is empty when I return, which means Kelsey and the other CNA’s must be getting the others situated, whether it’s in bed or to watch a movie or play a game. The home I work for has a range of patients, from those with diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Dementia, to elderly who are mentally stable but unable to care for themselves in their homes for whatever reason. There are four staff on tonight to the 21 beds, and we also have a live-in nurse who has an apartment upstairs.
There are two other girls working tonight besides Kelsey and Myself. Danielle and Megan are two sixteen year olds who attend the same high school as I do. Simply put, we don’t get along. They’re young and dramatic, and I don’t have time to play into their insignificant problems about boys or catty girls. More than once have I heard them whisper about how I’m such a bitch. Whatever. I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to make a living.
Kelsey and I, however, do get along well. I consider her one of my closest friends. We’ve worked the same schedule since I needed to pick up fulltime hours last year. She also doesn’t like immature teenagers, so we bonded over our mutual annoyance. In the past, I’ve been able to count on her when I’d found myself in a tight spot, and I’ve recognized a kindred spirit in her.
“Hey, Tatum. Are you done with Mrs. Marsden?” She calls from the end of the hallway.
“Yeah, what would you like me to do?”
“Can you come here and help me lift Helen into bed quick? Then would you mind starting dinner clean up?” I love dinner clean up. Washing dishes is such a mindless task.
After situating Helen and cleaning up dinner, Kelsey and I release the younger girls, so the two of us get comfortable in the sitting room. She turns the television on to some detective show she’s obsessed with. Me, not so much. I lived my own real version of a detective show last year, and it was more than enough reality for me.
“Here, I brought this for us,” she says, tossing me a bag of Doritos.
“You brought us chips?”
“Mmm hmm, and this.” She jumps off the couch and runs into the kitchen. When she returns she’s carrying a family sized tub of sour cream and chive dip.
“Oh my God, how did you know this is my favorite?” I exclaim, while tearing into the bag of chips, scooping up some dip when she offers it to me. “Yum.”
She laughs at my theatrics. “I thought you might be a fan. It’s my favorite too. Since they started the “no eating our food” rule here,” she says with air quotes, “I’ve been starving by the time I’m off work. We can alternate bringing something to share if you want. Or I can bring it all, if it’s hard on you financially. I know the free food was a major plus for you.”
I kick off my shoes, slipping my feet beneath me on the sofa. I’m embarrassed she knows how financially strapped I am. “Nah, I can manage a few snacks. I’m poor but not that poor.” I watch as she takes a chip covered with dip and slips it into her mouth.
“How is everything going lately for you? School started back up again today, right?”
“Yup. Final semester of my senior year. I already ended up in Mr. Stephenson’s office, too,” I tell her.
“What? Why? I hated that guy. He’s such a dick.”
I fill her in on this afternoon’s events, trying hard not to laugh as her face turns red and she cracks up at my antics. When I’m done talking, she settles down in her seat before asking me, “Okay, that’s funny, but seriously though, why were you so annoyed with him? I get it, I’d be pissed if my teacher was off getting a bj while I had to wait for him to show up. But you’re usually so cool and collected about shit.”
“I know,” I reply, slightly ashamed. “I think it was a combination of everything. Here comes this young new teacher, looking the way he did, probably thinks he’s a hot shot. I could hear girls already swooning the moment they set eyes on him, you know? He’s ten minutes late, and frankly, I just don’t have time for that. Now, I have to spend the next two weeks with him, and I just know he’s going to make it hell for me. He looks like he’d be a vindictive bastard.” I leave out the part about meeting him the week before and our short make-out session before I bailed in a very Tatum-like fashion. That’s too much sharing for one eventful day.
She clucks her tongue at me. “Or maybe, he’s going to be totally into you, and you can bang your way through calculus,” she says with a lift of her thinly plucked brows.
“Shut up!” I throw a decorative pillow at her. “That’s disgusting.”
“Well, you did notice his fly. What were you doing looking at his crotch?” she teases.
I can’t stop the blush heating my cheeks. She has a point, but I’m not admitting that. “Give me a break! His pants were super noticeable. It was just right there! I bet I’m not the only one who saw before I called him out.”
“Maybe…” she trails off.
“Okay, so maybe I was really immature about it, but for some reason he just rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Maybe you should get him to rub you the right way—“
Oh, I already have, Kels. I already have.
“Fuck off. Since I have to spend tomorrow and the next two weeks dealing with the repercussions, can we drop it now?” I ask through her hysterical laughter.
Kelsey nods at me, still not composed enough to speak, and we sit companionably as she gets sucked into her show for the rest of our shift. When the two night NOCs show up at eleven, we say our goodbyes, and I climb into my small Honda Accord.
My phone buzzes as I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex.
Can I come over now?
Wyatt. I forgot I had invited him over earlier. The text is a welcome surprise and I type out my reply. Sure ill be ready in 30.
Unlocking my small studio apartment, I immediately head for the bathroom. The room is one big open area with a kitchen off to the right of the door, my bed off to the left. Straight ahead is one door leading to the bathroom and a small closet off to the right from the bathroom. I have a small TV I found at a thrift store sitting across from my bed on a black dresser, also from the thrift store. That’s pretty much it.
I stole my bed, bedding, and of course clothes from my mom’s house when I moved out, and everything else I owned fit into one small suitcase. I haven’t decorated or done anything to liven up the place. I don’t plan on being here long enough to care.
Entering the bathroom, I fling my clothes somewhere in the vicinity of my laundry basket and run the water for a quick shower. Nothing is a mood killer more than the smell of old people, stale food, and dirty diapers. I quickly soap my body and brush my teeth, quite aware that I’m going
to get dirty again in a very short amount of time.
Slipping on a tank top sans bra and a pair of sweats, I heat up a bowl of leftover soup and plop down on my bed to wait. It’s the only seating area in here besides a few bar stools in the kitchen. Not ten minutes later, there’s a rapid knock on my door.
“Come in!”
Wyatt pokes his head through before slipping inside. “Hey, Tate. How was work?” he asks as he takes a seat next to me. I turn to face him while slurping down the remnants of soggy vegetables. Sexy.
“Oh you know, typical night. What have you been up to?” I ask, setting down my now empty soup bowl on the floor. I hope he keeps the chit chat to a minimum. I’m beat and have school in the morning.
“Cole and I have been shooting some pool for the last couple of hours. I’ve just been killin’ time until you called, but you never did.”
“Sorry about that, I kind of forgot you were coming over,” I tell him honestly. The look of surprise on his face isn’t hard to miss and I almost feel bad. Almost.
“Really? I mean, yeah, you are pretty busy, huh,” he quickly recovers.
“School, work, sleep, repeat,” I laugh. He leans into me, wrapping his arm around the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him.
“You forgot Wyatt,” he says, before taking my mouth with his own. We sink down in the bed together and get lost in our mutual distraction.
My alarm blares early, too early for how late I was awake last night. Wyatt must have snuck out after I dozed off. Normally, I kick him out, but I was so tired last night. It’s nice to know he didn’t try to stick around. I lie in bed for a few minutes, allowing myself to wake up fully before padding off to run a hot shower.
After I’m showered, dressed, and presentable, I leave my apartment to meet Emerson at the local coffee shop, The Jittery Bean, for breakfast. It’s our ritual, has been since one of us could drive. Once a week we meet before school to catch up and unwind. Since I work most days after school, we don’t have time to hang out. Sometimes, I wonder how we’ve managed to stay friends all this time.
I approach the counter, a semi-circle of lacquered hardwood lined with dozens of treats, pastries, and scones, and order a white chocolate mocha and a blueberry muffin. With the crappy fuel injectors fixed on my car last week and not getting paid until Friday, money is tight. And I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from eyeing the egg and sausage biscuits they have in a display case to my right.
“Would you like one?” the friendly cashier asks me, probably noticing the drool practically running down my chin.
“No thanks, just the coffee and muffin,” I tell her, slightly embarrassed.
“4.23 then.” She’s smiling at me, but I can’t help feeling judged. She must think I’m really poor or something, can’t even afford the breakfast sandwich I was staring at longingly. I smile back at her, shoving a crumpled five dollar bill in her outstretched hand. She gives me the change, and once my order is ready, I huff off to the back corner booth where Em is waiting for me.
“Hey girl,” she greets as I take a seat.
“Mornin’.”
“How was your night?”
“It was pretty typical. Quiet for the most part. What did you wind up doing?” I ask, while blowing on the rim of my mug.
“Not much. I actually had homework last night! Can you believe that? English. Some, what-are-your-goals essay. Took me two hours,” she groans dramatically. I can’t help but laugh
“I knew you’d hate that English class. And Mrs. Bergson is a bitch, so you know.”
“Ugh, I know!” she exclaims. “She already snapped at me for texting in class yesterday. Threatened to take my phone away. She’ll have to pry it out of my dead lifeless fingers first.” She drops her head, shaking her platinum blonde curls as she sighs.
I startle as a figure steps up to me in my peripheral vision. Looking up, I meet the dark brown eyes of Mr. Ryan. He’s holding something out to me, wrapped in light brown paper.
“Um, yes?” I ask, completely bewildered why he’s standing over me like this. He gives me a small smile, probably laughing at how ridiculous I look.
“I thought you might want this,” he says, gesturing to his outstretched hand. I drop my eyes to the object, recognizing it as he continues, “I overheard you telling the cashier you didn’t want it, but you looked like you were going to break the display case to get one.” The bastard is definitely laughing at me.
I don’t take the stupid breakfast sandwich from his hand. Even though the smell is getting to me from the wrapper, and it smells freakin’ delicious, like warm heaven and gooey, melty cheese. I’m definitely drooling now. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, and raise my eyebrow at him, sneering from the sandwich back up to his face.
“Trying to buy my kindness, Mr. Ryan?”
He shake his head, clearly not amused by my behavior. “No, Miss Krause. Skipping breakfast is bad for the body. The repercussions include: lacking the ability to think quickly, low energy, and moodiness. Seeing as I’m forced to spend not only one, but two class periods with you, I’d prefer if you were not cranky.” He slaps the damn sandwich down on the table, and says, “See you later,” before retreating out the door.
“Ass,” I mutter under my breath as I watch him walk away. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to stay home the night my car broke down. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.
Remembering I’m not alone, I look across the table to find Em staring with her mouth hanging open in shock.
“Who was that? He was hot!”
Gag me.
“That—is Mr. Ryan, my calculus teacher.” And the number one pain in my ass as of yesterday. My series of bad luck just keeps growing.
“Why do you have to spend two classes with him?”
I haven’t had the chance to fill Emerson in about my day yesterday. “Sorry, Em. I forgot to tell you, but I won’t be able to spend study hall with you for a while.”
“What, why?”
“Um, I sort of pissed off Mr. Ryan yesterday and stormed out of class, and he called Mr. Stephenson. Now I’m stuck being his second hour TA for the next two weeks.”
Her look reflects the disgust I’m feeling inside. I fill her in, every glorified detail, cringing inside at my own behavior. Except, of course, the kiss. I’ll take that knowledge to my own grave.
“That’s bullshit! What a dick,” she says when I’m finished. I nod my head enthusiastically as I reach for the breakfast sandwich. Slowly, delicately, I peel back the paper to reveal the contents inside. Perfect, gooey, not even squished in the slightest. “Wait—you’re going to eat that? It came from the enemy!”
I smirk at my best friend. “Hey, food is food and this muffin is not enough to tie me over until lunch. Besides, I need to have my wits about me if I’m going to be spending second period with the jerk.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mr. Ryan
I hit the gym to lift and blow off some frustrations before I have to be to school. My schedule doesn’t have a first hour class, so I don’t need to be there until 9:15. As nice as it is to have a late start, that also means for the next two weeks I will spend my first class and last class of the day with The Brat. This semester is off to a great start.
Since Trey isn’t here this morning, my mind begins to wander throughout my set. It seems to have only one train of thought: Tatum.
My latest assessment of her is an understatement. Brat doesn’t begin to cover the childish immaturity she encompasses. What the hell was I thinking? Last week, she seemed like an intelligent, well rounded woman. Sure, there were a few moments of self-consciousness and anxiety that threw me for a loop, but beyond that she seemed…normal. And here I thought I was a good judge of character.
She couldn’t even accept a simple, kind gesture from me, and I haven’t even done anything wrong. She stormed away from me. She rudely called me out. The only thing I’m guilty of is standing by while she left me in a dark, deserted parking
lot after the most magnetic kiss of my life. Evidently kissing her was a colossal mistake.
I’m so damn stupid. I watched from the doorway while she struggled with herself to not buy breakfast, and then I go and buy it for her in some kind of what, truce? Jesus, I must have looked like a fucking idiot. Her friend couldn’t stop starting at me, probably thought I was trying to woo Tatum with my gift of suitable breakfast material. I just couldn’t help but remember her struggle with money at the diner. Some deep seated internal instinct simply wanted to help.
These next two weeks are going to be a disaster if I have to see her twice a day. Maybe she’ll come down with the flu, or mono. Put her out of school for a week or two.
Though, if I were honest with myself, I’d miss seeing her delectable little body swaying around my classroom twice a day. Although the sarcasm she spews is annoying at best, there’s a small part of me that enjoys her challenging me.
I need to get a grip. I can’t think of her that way. I was pissed when she ran away from me, but she wasn’t my student then. Now she is. Thoughts like those are so damn wrong.
After a quick shower, I dress in slacks, a navy blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, and a tie. Because of yesterday’s events, I make sure to arrive 15 minutes before the start of class, giving myself ample time to prepare for today’s lesson. And a small part of me wants to prove a point.
The classroom is on the second floor and the door opens into the back center of the room. Six columns of metal desks fill the open floor and face the white board hanging on the wall in the front. My own desk is a basic hunk of light colored wood that I moved off to the left side of the whiteboard when I first started. Originally, it was on the right side of the classroom beside the rows of desks, but I didn’t like not being able to see my students’ faces. I have an ancient desktop computer, a stapler, and a cup of pens covering the surface. The walls are bare, and in the front right corner sits an ancient projector machine. That’s it. The room is boring and plain, but it’s math class, what does one really expect?
