by Deena Bright
“I’m tired, Janelle. I don’t want—”
“Just listen,” I pleaded. “But I don’t think those kinds of love are the ones that last; they’re not the ones that matter.” Leo stopped and faced me.
Continuing, I said, “Real love is knowing that the hand you’re holding is the one that you want to hold for the rest of your life. Leo, it’s knowing that it’s the hand you want in yours when you’re sad, when you want to be distracted, and when you face the scariest things you can think of. It’s also knowing that once you let go that you don’t want to wait one more second to hold it again.”
“Janelle, what’re you saying?”
“I’m saying that when we were in Arizona, I watched you, and couldn’t believe how strong and wonderful you were. I knew that if anything ever happened to anyone in my family or to me that it was your hand that I wanted to be holding,” I said, tears beginning to stream down my face.
He knelt down next to me and took a deep breath as his eyes began tearing up. I grabbed his hand and held it to my cheek, and said, “Leo Cling, you’re the one I want to cling to for the rest of my life.”
“It’s about time,” he said, laughing, wiping his eyes, and flashing those giant happy dimples, the ones I hadn’t seen in a long time. “Now kiss me, Miss Garrity.”
LEO TOLD ME that I had to wait until I got home to open the envelope he gave me. He said that he couldn’t bear to be with me when I read it. I’d wanted to drive home and read it immediately, but he pretty much kept me captive in his bed all day… and his shower… and on his couch… and on his kitchen counter. I was the most satiated a hostage has ever been.
I opened the letter the second that I pulled into my driveway, since I promised him that I’d wait until I got home. Okay, so I really opened the envelope while I was driving, but I didn’t take the letter out. Fuck. Okay, so I did take it out, but I didn’t open the letter. I really didn’t. I just wanted to be ready to read it as soon as I got home.
As I unfolded the letter, I didn’t recognize the messy penmanship that was scrawled across the paper. I glanced at the bottom, and immediately began to cry, when I read the words, “Love Megan.” I started back at the top, and read:
Dear Miss Garrity (or Janelle),
I guess if you’re reading this, then you finally got your head out of your ass. Nice work. Took you long enough. Now, trust me, I Facebooked Briggs Alexander, I saw what my brother was up against. I get how that could’ve been difficult. But we’re talking about Leo for Fuck’s sake. Nobody compares to him. He is the greatest guy that ever lived, next to my dad and Cliff of course. Nah, he’s even better than Cliff. Shut the fuck up, you sick bitch, no I’ve never wanted to fuck my brother. Christ. Healthy bitches always have their minds in the gutter.
Anyway, Leo knows people better than anyone I’ve ever known. If he says you’re worth the shit he’s had to go through to help you get your fucking head out of your ass, then you probably are. So listen up bitch, if you’re reading this, then I’m dead. That blows, because I can’t kick your ass. But know this, if you hurt my brother, then I will haunt your ass. Remember in Ghost, when those ghosts could actually kill people? Oh yeah, Whoopi and Demi wouldn’t be able to save your scrawny ass. I want to write more, but I fucking have diarrhea. This shit blows. Wear your goddamn sunscreen. If you ever see my kids without it, fucking beat their asses. But anyway, take care of my brother, and let him take care of you. You have my blessing. Like you care. But you should… Ghost.
Love,
Megan
Ps. Don’t critique this for errors and shit. I have Cancer for Christ’s sake.
THE ORGAN STARTED, and my stomach flipped. After all the planning, after everything, I couldn’t believe this day had finally come. I didn’t think we’d actually get here. It was a tough, angry, brawling road, but we got here.
“You look like you’re going to hurl,” Char said, rubbing her hand up and down my back. “You look gorgeous, what’s your fucking deal?”
“Nothing. I just… I just can’t believe this is happening,” I admitted.
“Oh it’s happening, so you better get your ass in gear,” she said. “Unless… unless… Oh My God, do you think it shouldn’t happen? Because, if that’s the case, then we’ll bail right now and get loaded at that bar on the corner.”
I laughed. Only Char. “No. Nobody’s bailing.”
“I can’t believe Jocelyn’s not here. Just doesn’t seem right,” Char said.
“I know; she loves weddings,” I agreed.
“Can you believe her water broke in the middle of the night?” Char asked. “Fucking four weeks early.”
“At least we got to see the kid,” I said. “Joz is at the point that she’s had so many kids they just come barreling down like a water slide. What the fuck is she going to do with five fucking kids?”
Laughing, Char said, “Don’t make me laugh, it’ll smear my mascara.”
My dad stuck his head in and said, “Alright ladies, it’s time.” I grabbed my bouquet, praying that I didn’t trip down the aisle. Man, that would be the fucking worst. Unless, I made it onto a viral YouTube video and could make millions off of it. Focus Janelle. Yeah seriously, it’s pretty important for me to be fully focused.
I started to walk down the aisle, after a final thumbs up from Char, reminding myself to be careful, so I didn’t face plant into the bridal runner. Why the fuck were those things needed anyway? It’s a straight fucking aisle. Do I really need a pathway to guide me to the front? They were a YouTube video waiting to happen.
I glanced over at Briggs, sitting on the bride’s side, and chuckled to myself. Briggs was definitely a friend of the bride’s. Forever friends. His skank-ass girlfriend was smiling unnaturally. The bitch was probably smiling, because she gets to fuck Briggs. She should pay me for teaching him all that I know. She’s one of those ESPN sideline reporters. You know those hot girls they put on the sidelines of games to talk about sports, and everyone knows they know nothing about whatever game they’re talking about? They’re just there as field jewelry. Ahhh field jewelry. Char would like that one. See, I can totally coin new words. I hoped I remembered to tell her. It wasn’t like I could tell her now. But anyway, this one, Briggs’ girlfriend, was probably the finest piece of field jewelry that any field had ever worn. I’d fuck her in a heartbeat. Bitch. Hated her.
I made eye contact for the first time with Leo. I’d been trying to avoid his gaze, knowing that if I looked at him that I’d either bust out laughing or start bawling like a baby. Of course, he was crying. Pansy. He smiled. His dimples lit up his whole face. God damn those dimples. I wish I could find a way to fuck those things. So fucking hot.
Leo mouthed, “You’re beautiful.”
I nodded, and mouthed, “I know,” which made him laugh loud enough to turn heads back toward him.
When I met Leo at the end of the aisle, I kissed him quickly, and separated from him, taking my place in the bridal party. We all turned to face Char and my dad coming down the aisle. She was gorgeous. I loved that my father walked her down the aisle. I knew it meant a lot to her; it had meant the world to him when she asked.
I glanced over at Jasper just as he wiped his eyes. I’d never seen him happier. Granted, they were both fucking fuckers, total assholes, for keeping their relationship from me for eight months. Eight months, people! Didn’t think I could handle it. Bastards. Everyone knew, but me. When I get a secret, I’m not telling anyone. Let them see how it feels.
Anyway, my best friend, the girl that I love like a sister, would actually be my sister within the next hour. I couldn’t wait. I was so happy for them. I was happy for Jocelyn and Rick as they welcomed their fifth child into the world. Better them than me! Fuck that shit. I’m stopping at two. No reason to ever—and I mean ever—get outnumbered. I was even happy for Briggs and his Barbie girl. But mostly, I was happy for Leo and me. I mean seriously, who isn’t a little selfish when it comes to his or her own happiness?
&nbs
p; Leo spent the first six months of our relationship in Arizona. I thought it was going to be brutal being away from him at first. But as a teacher, whenever August hits, time starts running out. I needed to do a few workshops and get cracking on my year-long lesson plans. One evening at the end of August, Leo’s dad showed up at the pool house and gave me a plane ticket to Scottsdale for Labor Day weekend. Leo’s dad, Lonnie, said that love shouldn’t be separated for too long. Then, he told me that it was a surprise for Leo too. Leo was right; his dad was a romantic. When I showed up on that Friday night unannounced in Scottsdale, I’d never seen those dimples look more inviting and happy.
Leo came home once in October, and he, Cliff, and the kids came to Ohio for Thanksgiving. I’d hosted Thanksgiving at Leo’s house in the woods to ease some of the stress for Mrs. Cling. According to Char, those first major holidays, after a loved one dies, are like dipping jagged knives in lemon juice and then shoving them into your eyes over and over again. I wanted to do something, anything, to help ease all of their suffering. It actually ended up being such a beautiful, wonderful, heartfelt Thanksgiving; the Clings used the entire day to remember and honor Megan, going through pictures and mementos, sharing stories and memories. Avery and Austin were still struggling, but Cliff was an incredible father, tending to their every need and woe. It was a perfect Thanksgiving, except for the fact that I never remembered to defrost the turkey, and we ended up eating mashed potatoes, corn, bread, stuffing, and cranberry sauce with burgers on the grill. Fuck Jocelyn for not telling me that a turkey needed to defrost for four days. How the fuck can it take something four days to defrost? That’s bullshit. Fucking snow melts faster than that.
Jasper flew us all out to Arizona for Christmas. He and Char’d been on my shit list, so they were trying to do everything in their power to get back in my good graces. I milked them for everything they had too. The way I figured it. Char and I were finally rich, since she was getting access, spousal access, to his money. Thank God. It was about time I had a ticket into his bank account. Leave it Char to get us where we’d always wanted to be. Her next mission was to find out how much money he really had.
Finally, Leo showed up at exactly midnight on Valentine’s Day and said that he was home for good, because his heart belonged to me. We’d spent that entire Valentine’s Day weekend snuggled up in my bedroom, making plans and promises for the future, the future that I couldn’t wait to start.
I looked over at Leo on his side of the bridal party and smiled. He was perfection cake with perfection icing. Leo smiled, and mouthed, “You’re next,” nodding toward the altar.
I looked down at my ring, which by the way was much smaller than Char’s monstrosity that was currently weighing her hand down and tipping her to the left. I loved my ring. I loved Leo. I loved my life. I smiled, looking at my ring and then back to Leo. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait to be a Cling-a-ling and put the final piece into my puzzle.
In Schooled, I added an “Accolades Page” on a whim, just for my own enjoyment. Strangely enough, my accolades received the highest praise—higher than the actual novel to be honest. Who knew that anyone in the world cared about my thoughts on topics? I should’ve been a late night talk show host. Damn, I missed my calling. Nah, in all reality, it was quite shocking that people actually read them. I cannot bribe, pay, coerce, or tie up and force my husband or kids to listen to me ramble on about my thoughts or feelings, unless it’s Mothers’ Day or my birthday.
Well, BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND… The Final Lesson Plan’s pop culture accolades and recognition.
In order of appearance:
Dear William Styron (writer of the novel Sophie’s Choice that later became a movie):
I never read your book, but I did see the movie, Sophie’s Choice. It was very sad; I can still vividly remember the part when Meryl Streep must choose which of her children to send to the gas chamber. She chose the baby, thinking that the baby wouldn’t know what was happening. Well fuck that. That blows. Nobody should have to make that choice. Poor Sophie.
Now this particular accolade is not going to be centered around the movie or the book. It’s about the fact that I actually saw Sophie’s Choice. Ladies and gentlemen (do any men read my books?), Sophie’s Choice came out in 1982. I was nine years old. My parents were cracked. Neither my mom, nor my dad cared about what movies I saw when I was a child. They forced me to go see movies with them every Sunday afternoon. For my older readers, I’m going to give you a list of movies that I saw before I was ten years old. You’ll never believe it. (Maybe this is the exact reason I’m so explicitly deviant.) Ready? Looking for Mr. Goodbar, Amityville Horror, When a Stranger Calls, Rollercoaster, Coma, Taps, Porky’s, Vice Squad, and Saturday Night Fever. What in God’s name were my parents thinking? Were they thinking? Were they on crack? I spent the majority of my nights terrified of the things I saw in those movies. Additionally, I had no idea what “Lassie” was barking about in Porky’s. Now, I find it pretty funny! I will give my parents the credit for at least covering my eyes in certain parts of those movies. You will all be happy to know that my sons have not been afforded the same privilege or curse that I’d been granted. They have only viewed one rated R movie, Bad News Bears.
So yes, Mr. Styron, I did see the movie. I cannot say that I enjoyed it. Again, I was probably pissed off that I wasn’t at home watching the Smurfs or Captain Cave Man. But here I am, 41-years-old, and I can still remember that scene. My parents really liked it. I think the movie won a bunch of awards, so nice job there!
Dear Icarus:
Dude, it was the sun. What the fuck were you thinking? You can’t fly next to the sun. Aren’t you supposed to be a God or some shit like that? Actually, you weren’t a God, if we’re getting technical. You were a mortal, son of Deadelus, a Grecian inventor. But who the Hell gives four fucks about that? Not me. Not my students. Nobody. Either way, get your act together. My three-year-old knows better than to touch fire.
Dear David Jacobs (Creator of Dallas):
I have no idea about anything with Dallas other than “Who shot Jr.?” However, it made my point in the book. I was too young to be into your show. My mom watched it like it was her job. Maybe it was her job. That and probably smoking crack. Anyway, I don’t know who shot your Jr. character. Did he die? I’m going to look it up right now. You’ve got to love Google.
Okay, I’m back. Kristen Shepard shot Jr. She was supposedly carrying his illegitimate baby and was pissed that he didn’t want her. I did discover some Dallas trivia on my quest for answers. The actors on the show didn’t even know who shot Jr. The director filmed a scene with each person shooting Jr. and then at the last minute chose which one to use. Interesting, eh? I also learned that viewers had to wait eight months to find out. Man, you voracious readers would freak if you had to wait eight months for something. Let’s see, Schooled was released on 10-11-12, and The Final Lesson Plan: Schooled II came out on 6-7-13—just four days shy of a full eight months. Phew!
Add on for the rewrite of the book: It’s been almost 14 months since I last published a “Deena Bright” book.
Dear Marc Cherry and ABC Studios (Creator of Desperate Housewives):
Big fan. I have to admit. You made me actually like Sunday nights, which for most of my life, I have thought that Sunday nights were the Devil’s spawn. Gabby and Carlos were hysterical. Their banter reminded me much of my husband and me. But alas, I’ve never hooked up with some young, hot landscaper, nor has my husband killed people for me. But, we’re still a lot like them.
Dear American Media, Inc. (Owner of National Enquirer)
I can’t say that I’ve ever bought or actually read an entire newspaper of yours, but I won’t lie, I have skimmed a few articles while standing in the checkout at the grocery store, chomping on a candy bar that I may or may not have paid for. I am often intrigued enough to pick it up and take a few minutes to leaf through it. That has got to count for something, right?
Dear Mike Krieger and Kevin Sy
strom (Creators of Instagram):
You’re all the rage with my students. I do not have an Instagram account. I mean, it’s just pictures, right? However, you must be doing something right if high school kids think you’re the shit. They hate everything—like seriously everything. Keep up the good work.
JK Rowling (Author of the Harry Potter masterpieces):
I love you; I miss my friends. So, I was thinking, if I miss them, you must really miss them. How about you give us the prequel? You know we want it. You know we’d kill for it. Hell, I’d do the Avada Kadevra spell for it. Please don’t tell me that I’m a muggle and have no magical powers. I would stop liking you if you did. Let me live in my fictional world. It’s so much better than my reality.
Dear Constance M. Burge and Aaron Spelling (Creators of Charmed):
Okay, maybe I have a thing for fictional, magical beings. Actually, let’s be honest, I have a thing for the three original Charmed girls. They were funny, strong, kick-ass, and so supremely sexy. What wasn’t to like? However, I did notice that not many people in my age bracket were tuning into the WB, then the CW, and finally TNT to watch Charmed. Sometimes, I think I connect so well with high school kids, because I have yet to mature out of adolescence.
Okay peeps, here’ s a secret, never before been revealed, “Leo” on Charmed was the inspiration for my Leo—just the character—not his looks. We all know that my Leo visual is Chace Crawford. And if we’re revealing all, I pictured Holly Marie Combs (Piper) as Janelle too. There you have it, an inside exclusive.
I’d also like to say that I’m a huge Alyssa Milano and Shannen Doherty fan. When I was in middle school, I used to take pictures of Alyssa Milano with me to the hair salon in hopes that they’d make me look like her. (Now, this was AFTER Samantha Micelli got the makeover from Angela and Mona before her big dance with Chad McCann.) I still take her pictures with me to the stylist. My stylist looks at the picture and usually hands me a Jenny Craig coupon. Ah well, got to start somewhere.
