Rumors (A Lingering Echoes Prequel)

by Erica Kiefer

  ***

  “Where were you?” Tara asked as she pulled open her front door. She stood there in sports shorts and a tank top, with her fluorescent-pink sports bra peeking out from underneath her black top. In contrast, wearing jeans and a black sweater from school today, I slid past her scowl and sat down on her couch. She followed me in earnest, plopping down next to me in a huff. “Why did you skip out on practice today? Coach was livid!”

  I had no doubt Coach Robbins was indeed red faced and furious. You pretty much had to be lying in bed puking (and doing so while on the phone with him), for Coach to forgive a missed practice. Forgive was probably too generous a word though. It was more like he would be “forced to acknowledge illness,” and then you paid for it later with what could only be described as physical torment.

  “I know, I know,” I said, having already ignored the first phone call from him. I was not looking forward to that conversation.

  “Do you know how much it sucked to be yelled at in your place? I guess he thinks I was in on it or something—which I’m totally not, since I’ve hardly even seen you this week during school. Where’ve you been?”

  Knowing she wouldn’t understand my new library hideout, I hesitated with my explanation. It was Monday when Mr. Nordell first spoke to me in the library and invited me to his classroom. Tuesday was when he had mentioned his wife’s passing. I didn’t know why, but there was something about him that made me want to listen to what he had to say. Maybe it was the way he invited without pushing, or the genuine way in which he spoke from the heart, but I wanted to hear more about his wife.

  So today, Thursday, I had stepped into his classroom after school.

  “Ms. Collins,” he’d said, “What can I do for you?”

  I swallowed once, making up my mind to press forward with the conversation. “What do you miss most about your wife?”

  Mr. Nordell had immediately stopped erasing the white board and sat down with me. He talked about missing Cynthia’s companionship, hearing the music she played on the piano, and smelling the food she cooked wafting through the house and welcoming him home. He talked about the laughter and conversations they shared, and the memories of raising two kids together.

  I asked him if her death had changed him significantly. His response was, “You can’t get hit with an emotional sledgehammer without incurring some psychological scarring.” He told me to come back another day, and he would elaborate. Not once did he ask about Maddie’s death or my near drowning. For once, it was just refreshing to listen to someone else share their story of love and loss. But mostly the love.

  I tried to explain this to Tara, but the first thing she said from the couch was, “NERD-dell? You were hanging out with that old geezer?”

  “Tara, really? Ok, this is why I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  Tara’s dad happened to walk into the kitchen during our conversation. He poked his head out from behind the wall. “Did you say Nordell? As in Frank Nordell?’

  “Yeah, that dreary geek of a science teacher,” Tara answered. “Talk about snooze-fest during tenth grade biology.”

  “Oh come on, he wasn’t that bad. He was interesting if you were paying attention,” I defended.

  Mr. Davis chimed into the conversation. “Nordell is still there, huh? He was my teacher during senior year. You guys call him “NERD-dell” now? Well, that’s certainly a change.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mr. Davis hurried down into the basement. A few minutes later, he returned with an old yearbook from twenty years ago. It was from his senior year. “See, look here,” he continued, flipping through the pages. He paused at a full spread of pictures and an article highlighting Mr. Nordell. Aside from the contrast in age, I was surprised by the photos I saw, portraying a much younger Nordell with a wide smile and brightness to his eyes that made them seem larger than they actually were. Of course, that could have been due to his oversized glasses, too.

  “Nordell was all the rage,” Mr. Davis said, flipping a few pages to show more pictures of our teacher hanging out with students. Some of the pictures portrayed science experiments with students eagerly involved, while others were of a goofy nature with Mr. Nordell wearing a rainbow mullet wig or a ridiculous orange top hat. All of his pictures included students squeezing into the picture, eager to be a part of the memories.

  “Wow, I can’t believe so many kids are hanging on him, like he was cool or something,” Tara interjected.

  “He was,” Mr. Davis said, turning to a page dedicated to teacher superlatives. He pointed to a laughing Nordell, his jaw opened wide in what appeared to be a boisterous laugh. Underneath the picture were the words: Most likely to change the world, one laugh at a time!

  “He was well-liked by every student he encountered, and he could turn any bad day upside down. It’s too bad about his wife,” Mr. Davis added, closing the yearbook. “They didn’t find out about her cancer until it was stage four. She passed away within a few months of her diagnosis.” Tara’s dad shook his head sympathetically. “The interesting thing though, is that I didn’t even know Nordell had a wife until she became sick. Nordell was friendly and outgoing but not very open when it came to his personal life.”

  Considering the cherished memories and details that Mr. Nordell had shared with me already, this fact surprised me. So that was evidence of one thing that had changed about him. I continued to listen to Mr. Davis reminisce.

  “I had just graduated high school when she died, so I didn’t follow up with how Nordell faired after all that, though I heard back then that it hit him pretty hard. I can only imagine…” He put his arm around Tara’s shoulders. “Don’t know what I’d do if your mom died.”

  “Yeah, that would suck,” Tara agreed. “Well, I’m sure that won’t happen to us. That would be crazy.”

  I tried to ignore the bitter thoughts in my mind. I was envious of her naïve outlook on death—as if tragedy wouldn’t strike her family simply because everything seemed to go right for her. I used to be like that. I used to think my life was invincible, too.

  It wasn’t—and I wanted now, more than ever, to visit with Mr. Nordell again.