Our Last Time: A Novel

by Poplin, Cristy Marie

  He had an odd bald spot, a potbelly, and a permanent scowl. I was check-marking all the signs for male distress in my head. The substitute was your typical unhappy substitute. That hadn’t surprised me, but what did was his reaction to my figure posed outside of the open door to the classroom.

  He was walking towards me at that moment, and his demeanor had somehow changed to determined, and excited. And, well, for me - it was freaky, and uncomfortable.

  I will vomit if he smells like old note cards, and ass, I had thought to myself.

  I concluded that it was impossible to mask my expression of disgust as he got closer.

  “Are you Annette’s mother?” he asked me. He hadn’t gotten too close, which I was grateful for.

  His tone of voice dimmed from manly. He was wearing khakis with a button-up shirt that had dots on it, and I silently decided that he was also one of those dweeb substitute teachers.

  “Yes, and I’m here to tell you to tone it down with the low-blow homework. She’s in the third grade, and you’re not even her real teacher. Eight year olds have lives, too, you know,” I said.

  I had my arms crossed over my chest as I had gotten right to it with the man. I had kept my tone soft, so I wouldn’t sound like a bitch.

  “Well, she’s doing great…” he trailed off.

  I already knew that. We were talking about Annette, here.

  “Of course she is, but none of what you’re giving her matters. None of it really matters until her real teacher comes in,” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  I threw him off guard, so I had given him a few seconds to reciprocate. I wasn’t usually the rude type, but the substitute was interfering with the time that I had with Annette. That had upset me to a degree.

  Kids were starting to make their way around me so they could get into the classroom, and take their seats.

  “I’m following the teacher’s guidelines, Ms. Monroe. I’m only doing what Mr. Blanquette told me to do,” he said. His brow was puckered, and he had his hands settled on his hips.

  Wait a second…had he just said Mr. Blanquette?

  No one else had that last name. It wasn’t a common name at all. Wyatt had told me he was a teacher - Jesus - the man managed to be an asshole even where he wasn’t physically located.

  “So, Wyatt is responsible for this?” I exasperated. “Are you seriously telling me…” I paused, sighing. I wasn’t going to pull a Tessa. I just waited for the substitute to confirm what I already knew.

  “Yes, Wyatt Blanquette is the teacher I have been substituting for since the first day of school,” he answered. His expression was confused. He looked over his shoulder to check on the kids, but they were all behaving well, and were seated in their seats. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, miss, or are we done here?” he asked politely.

  I managed a stiff nod. “Yes, we’re done, thank you.”

  I forced a smile and waved goodbye to Annette before turning towards the exit.

  9:11a.m.

  “Good morning, Wyatt,” I smiled, his tray of food in my hands as I approached his bedside.

  He looked surprised at my abrupt entrance, but managed a small smile. He nodded as I placed the tray over his thighs.

  “Morning, Willow. You look chirpier than usual. Something happen?”

  His facial expression had told me that he was on to me somehow, but I brushed off his question.

  “Doctor Venice said you were doing well. You should be able to go home in the next day or two, correct?” I crossed my arms.

  I hadn’t spoken with Doctor Venice. I was instigating him, because I hadn’t believed he had to continue staying here. He seemed well enough to go out on his own. He hadn’t had IV’s in him for nearly a week, now. His broken arm had been in a cast for nearly a week, now, too. It was like Wyatt wanted to play house with me. I was his dog, though, and he hadn’t had a companion. Not that I’d play the part as his companion if he offered. He was the one I wanted on the leash, but if I had the chance to wrap something around his neck, I’d be dragging his ass out of here in an instant.

  “I’m still disabled, Willow,” he sighed, “Sit.” He patted the small vacant spot next to him, close to his right thigh.

  I hesitated. If I obliged, I’d definitely be his dog in this situation. I hadn’t wanted to be his dog anymore, so I stood up straighter, silently denying his request.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have to feed me, nurse. Please sit,” he muttered the words, patting the spot a little harder.

  He patted the spot again.

  Then again.

  He raised his eyebrows as I continued to shake my head no, like an errant child.

  “You have to learn to live with your disabled-ness. Grab your fork with your right hand, and eat your scrambled eggs yourself. No more feeding you,” I curled my lips.

  I was smirking at him as he processed my demand.

  “Why won’t you feed me?” he asked, his tone annoyed. His eyebrows were scrunched, and his nostrils were slightly flared as he grabbed the sheet with his right hand, and bunched it in his fist.

  I wanted to laugh at his defiance. He really hadn’t wanted to eat his eggs himself. The slight struggle of the act hadn’t sat well on his mind at all.

  “How old are you, Wyatt?”

  He sighed deeply, loudly. “You’re pulling that one again? Really? What am I here for if you’re not going to help me through this?” He tilted his chin up, his bottom lip puckered into a pout.

  The man was pouting. This twenty-eight-year-old man was seriously pouting at me, because I wouldn’t feed him his eggs.

  “I ask myself that every day, now. Why is Wyatt still here?” I tapped my temple with my index finger, and he rolled his eyes at that. “I thought you were going to stop being so needy?” I paused, and then stepped a foot closer to him.

  The tops of my thighs touched the very edge of his bed, and the way he looked up at me made me feel in control for the first time since we met.

  “So you want me to feed myself now? Seems kind of harsh of you, since I’ve gotten so used to being fed,” he mumbled.

  I wondered if he heard what came out of his mouth sometimes. Surely he wouldn’t act this way in front of his students. My Annette would be offended by his behavior, being his student.

  I did not want him to ever tell Annette what to do.

  “You want the luxuries of having a nurse that does what she’s asked to do, Wyatt?”

  He nodded. His deep features expressed confusion. He hadn’t known what to think, and I loved that.

  “Then let me ask you this,” I sighed, and then I sat on the edge of the bed where he previously told me to sit. “You’re a teacher, right?

  He nodded again, curious. “Yes. I told you this already.”

  “And I have a daughter,” I said, my eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell me you were a third grade teacher. I would have never guessed,” I muttered.

  He sighed. “Yes, I am. So your daughter is in my class I presume, and you have complaints?” He raised his eyebrows, expectant.

  “You’re an asshole,” I said simply, shaking my head.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” he smirked.

  I sighed. “Your eyes are nice, and your scruff is nice,” I jumbled flatly, raising my hand to his face, before plucking one of the hairs on his chin between my fingernails.

  He muttered an, “Ouch,” as I flicked the lonely hair to the ground, my eyes never leaving his face.

  “You’re giving a bunch of third graders too much homework while you’re not even there, Mr. Blanquette.”

  He groaned once I referred to him as a teacher, which he hadn’t liked at all. “And?” he shrugged.

  “And that’s not very nice of you,” I hissed. He was so frustrating.

  “So you’ll be my favorite little nurse if I stop assigning my students' homework? Be a little more realistic, Willow. I stick to my syllabus.” His eyes trained on mine, rather intensely.

 
; I wanted to choke him one good time. Just once, until he’d give up, and do whatever I’d ask him to do.

  “So you’re telling me you can’t tone it down?” I asked slowly.

  “Define ‘tone it down’,” he offered, his voice softening.

  I might have had an in. I was hoping for it.

  “I’m not asking for you to not give them any homework, I’m asking for you to stop giving them so much. My daughter doesn’t have time for other things, because of all the bullshit homework you’re making her do. They’re third graders, Wyatt. Let them be kids,” I explained.

  “You must really love your daughter,” he said.

  “I love her more than I love myself,” I replied sternly.

  “Okay,” he paused. “I’ll half it up, but you have to feed me, and let me be needy sometimes.”

  “Why the ‘needy’ addition?” I pointed at him accusingly.

  He cursed under his breath. He confused me.

  “I kind of like it when you take care of me,” he answered.

  He was the dog, technically. And I might have misunderstood Wyatt’s intentions, and I hated that.

  “You like it when I take care of you?” I whispered in disbelief.

  That sounded like something a porn star would say in a porno - like right before the sex.

  Wyatt and sex and porn stars in the same thought hadn’t mixed well, so I tossed the thought aside. I was thinking he might just have abandonment issues.

  I told myself that was all it was.

  “That’s what I said,” he confirmed. “I thought you knew that. Especially after the screaming your name and the refusing help from others,” he went on.

  I studied him for a second. “Your eggs are getting cold,” I said under my breath. I ripped his utensil packet open, and grabbed the fork before stabbing some of the egg with it. I shoved it in his mouth when he opened it.

  I was a bit harsh about it, and he noticed that.

  “Gentle,” he commented.

  “Here,” I shoved another fork full in his mouth, and he coughed that time.

  “You’re going to make me choke,” he said, his mouth full.

  That would be a goal met, but then again, I would be the one that’d have to help him if he choked.

  “That’s not my intention,” I answered honestly. I was just annoyed.

  “I said I’d half up the homework. You’re not satisfied with that compromise?” He chewed the rest of the egg in his mouth, and then swallowed.

  I watched his Adam’s apple as it moved, like it was something I liked watching, and I hated that.

  I looked at his eyes before answering. “I’ll settle with that. I’m just not looking forward to taking care of you.”

  He smiled, “I’m still going to be nice to you. I won’t ask for clean sheets when I don’t need them. I just want your attention. That’s what nurses do, right? They award attention to their patients.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Nothing,” he interrupted. “We have a deal.”

  “I guess so,” I said softly. I forked another piece of egg in his mouth. I wasn’t forceful with it that time.

  “Can you give me a shoulder-rub after breakfast? I’m feeling tense this morning,” he said.

  I gave him another piece of egg, my eyes squinted at him. “You’re really pushing it, Mr. Blan-”

  “Wyatt,” he interrupted me again. “Just Wyatt,” he said crisply.

  “Okay, just Wyatt. I suppose I can work a shoulder-rub into my schedule,” I sighed. “You’re lucky my daughter is in your class. Way too lucky.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her. I bet she’s just as sweet as you are,” he whispered the last sentence, teasing me.

  “I’m actually a really nice person,” I told him, rolling my eyes. “But Annette is my angel. I’m proud to call her my daughter.”

  I fed Wyatt the last of his breakfast, and opened his first carton of orange juice for him before he tipped the carton back once.

  He let out a deep breath, his eyes on me. “You can tell me about her. I want you to. I might not be the brightest patient you’ve cared for, but when it comes to my students, I’m the brightest. It sucks that I can’t be involved with them now, and you can probably tell that it has affected me,” he went on.

  “So, you see yourself as a good teacher?” I asked.

  “Definitely,” he answered immediately. “I love being a teacher, It’s my life. My students are my life. I’m actually really glad your daughter is one of my students.”

  “Okay…” I paused. “Why are you still here, then, Wyatt? You can teach in your condition,” I said slowly, my tone soft.

  He drank some more of his juice at that moment. “What’s your daughter’s name?” he asked, instead of answering my question.

  He found my weakness, and I hated that.

  “Annette,” I smiled. I couldn’t help but smile.

  He nodded, and for the first time ever, he smiled one of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen.

  Ever.

  “Tell me about her,” he said. He was almost begging to know her. I couldn’t help myself.

  I looked at Wyatt differently, so differently - ever since I told him about Annette. And I really, really, hated that.

  May 27th, 1997, 12:04a.m.

  Willow

  In chemistry class, Kennedy had told me to meet him at our home around midnight. He said he had something to tell me, and that it was important - that it was something he couldn’t say during class.

  He looked almost sad when he told me he had something to say to me, and that reminded me of what I failed to mention to him.

  I said maybe to Calvin Steelton when he asked me to go on a date with him, and I felt bad that I hadn’t told Kennedy as soon as I saw him in class. I hadn’t known what he’d think of it. I felt crazy for saying maybe.

  I also knew Kennedy would never think I was crazy, because he was Kennedy, my best friend. He always stood by my decisions, and I always stood by his. That was why I loved him so much.

  I knew I had to tell him as soon as he got to our home. I wouldn’t be able to think clearly until I just got it off my chest. I was sitting on my bean bag, next to the dimmed lantern I turned on so I wouldn’t be surrounded by darkness.

  Kennedy wouldn’t be upset. I never dated anyone, and it would surprise him that I told Calvin maybe - but he wouldn’t be upset. Hopefully he’d be hopeful for me.

  I did really like Calvin. He was a nice guy, he was funny. He was really sweet, and I really liked the way he talked to me.

  What I was looking for was Kennedy’s approval. His approval was what I needed. If he had said he hadn’t thought it was a good idea, then I’d turn Calvin down without hesitation. I would never jeopardize my friendship with Kennedy for a boy that was nothing but temporary.

  If he said yes, though, I’d be unprepared. If he said I told you so, and yes, you should go on a date with Calvin, then I wouldn’t know what to say as a response to that.

  I was afraid of the outcomes. I needed Kennedy’s ideas. His ideas would give me reassurance, I believed.

  When I heard a bicycle hit the dirt, my eyes darted to the opening doorway of our home, and I waited for him to come inside.

  But he hadn’t come inside.

  I stood up, grabbed the lantern by the handle, and I walked, because I couldn’t wait any longer. This was torture for me.

  “Kennedy?”

  Creeping up close to the doorway, I heard a shuffling noise. I popped my head out to look around outside at that moment. “Kennedy?” I called for him again.

  “Willow,” he said my name, out of breath. I couldn’t see him. “Will, you’re already here?” he asked faintly.

  I walked out through the doorway to find him standing there. His clothes were different from earlier, he had changed them.

  I don’t like the clothes he’s wearing, was the first thought that came to my mind. He had always referred to these clothes as his unhappy clothes. Bla
ck shirt, black-creamed pants, and black Reebok sneakers.

  He’d hardly ever wear them. I hadn’t remembered the last time he did.

  Before I questioned his attire, I blurted the words out of my mouth, “Calvin Steelton asked me out on a date, and I told him maybe.”

  I wished I asked him about his clothes first, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had it already planned in my head.

  He took a small step backward, his expression confused. “Wait, what? When?” he asked softly.

  “Second lunch,” I sighed. “He just sat at my table, and he was really sweet, and I just didn’t know how to say no, or if I wanted to say no,” I paused, mentally kicking myself in the gut.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I sounded desperate, and idiotic.

  “Slow down, Will,” he said in a low tone. He took two steps forward, closer to me. “Come here,” he muttered, his arms spread apart.

  He knew when I needed a hug from him.

  I dropped the lantern, and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist when he walked over to me. His arms were slung over my shoulders as I pressed my cheek to his chest.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I meant to tell you last period,” I explained in a whisper.

  “It’s okay that you didn’t,” he assured me. He pulled my hair out of the band, letting the thick mess fall around my face. He smoothed his hands over the back of my head. “Do you know him?” he asked casually, even though he knew the answer to the question. He was making this easier for me.

  “Not really,” I answered honestly.

  He sighed, and then exhaled sharply through his nose. “Do you want to know him?” he asked simply.

  I hesitated, but then looked up until he looked down to catch my gaze. “I kind of do,” I said, looking into his eyes.

  He blinked first, but then he smiled a small, tight smile.

  I could tell he forced it, and I hated that he forced it.

  “Then maybe you should tell him yes,” he whispered.

  I was confused. First he wore his unhappy clothes, then he forced a smile, and now he was telling me I should tell Calvin yes?

  I hadn’t thought this was an idea of Kennedy’s. I thought he was settling for an OK, as if I was giving him an ultimatum.