by Erica Kiefer
***
It felt so strange hearing the bell ring at the end of the school day and know I had nowhere to be. Out of years of habit, my feet took me a few steps towards the gym before I stopped myself. I stood for a moment, watching the athletes gather up their gym bag, the artists juggle their oversized portraits and canvases, and the drama crew waltzing their way to the auditorium for play rehearsal. Countless others linked arms with one another, moving with purpose. Everyone had a place to be, it seemed. However, I felt directionless. No basketball, no boyfriend, and I wasn’t even sure about my friends… How had I turned my life upside down so fast? I fumbled for the keys in my purse, stalling with indecision.
“Ms. Collins,” a familiar voice spoke beside me. I turned my head, finding Mr. Nordell at my side. His gentle eyes seemed to understand my stationary position. He glanced in the direction of the gym and then at my keys. “I hear you have some extra time on your hands.”
“You heard about that, huh?” With a weak smile, I said, “You know, for a biology teacher who seems to keep to himself, you always know what’s happening around this school.”
His quiet chuckle highlighted the crow’s feet around his eyes. “Well, staying out of the attention doesn’t mean not being involved or caring.”
His words reminded me of the yearbook Tara’s dad had shown us. I hesitated while he watched me, as if he knew something else was on my mind. “Can—can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“It’s about your life before Cynthia passed away.”
Mr. Nordell nodded, not saying a word for a few moments. “Ok, but how about I buy you a cup of hot chocolate? I wouldn’t mind warming up before braving that chilly weather outside.” Perhaps he could sense that my question would not be a simple “yes or no” answer.
“Sure, thanks.” We walked to the student-run café, its location close to the gym.
Seated at a small table with warm Styrofoam cups in our hands, Mr. Nordell prompted our discussion. “So, what is it you’d like to ask me?”
“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation when we talked about Yosemite and allowing change to run its course.” My decision to quit basketball and my argument with Taylor this morning still weighed on my mind. I was trying to let that natural change happen by letting go of things that didn’t seem to fit in my life anymore—including Shane, as bad as I felt about that—but what if my choices were wrong?
“Go on…”
“Well, not all change is good, right? What if life experiences change us in a bad way?”
“Ah,” Mr. Nordell said with a raise of his finger, as if I had said something wise and profound. (That was highly doubtful, but he seemed inspired to share his thoughts, at least). “Your question seems to suggest that you have no control over that change—that life will twist and turn you according to nature’s will alone. As foolish as it would be to say life doesn’t change us, it would be equally foolish to believe that we don’t have at least some say in how that change happens.”
I wondered if he would mind the personal question forming in my mind. I took a risk. “I came across a yearbook from twenty years ago—the year before your wife passed away.”
Mr. Nordell’s expression shifted slightly, but he waited for me to continue, prompting with a mild, “And?”
“And… you seemed different than you are now. Like you were more outgoing—like you laughed a lot more. The pictures made it seem like you were really social and involved in everything. You were all over the yearbook.” I had looked away shyly when I was offering my description of him. It was just an assumption. Now I returned my gaze to his, waiting for his confirmation.
Mr. Nordell nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that was a long time ago. You are right, of course. I was quite caught up with all the school events and loved knowing so many students.” He paused, a small smile on his face as though reliving some of the memories. “Times have certainly changed. I changed,” he emphasized. “But being less outgoing doesn’t mean I’ve changed in a bad way. I made a choice.”
“What choice was that?”
“I chose quality over quantity. I decided to focus on individuals rather than the large group as a whole. I used to be friends with all the students and teachers—yes, even with my bowties back then, too,” he joked. I smiled, noting the blue-and-grey bowtie he sported today and thinking that at least this one wasn’t as hideous as some of his others were. I was afraid to picture what they looked like twenty years ago.
Mr. Nordell continued after taking a sip of his drink. “It’s very hard to get personal with a crowd. Looking back, I have to admit there was a lot of superficial popularity behind it. Even as an adult.”
I nodded my head in thought, though I was content to listen.
“After my wife died, I knew my path had changed. I decided my limited energy was better spent connecting deeper with a few people, rather than trying to befriend the entire school. It’s what still works for me, ever since my sweet Cynthia died. What’s really on your mind, Allie?”
This man seemed to know me well. There was something about him that I respected and admired every time we spoke. Maybe I could trust him—soon. I didn’t want to go into details today, but I settled for, “I don’t feel confident in my decisions. Maybe quitting basketball is giving into my grief, rather than fighting it.”
Mr. Nordell took my hand in both of his with a tender squeeze. “My dear, grief isn’t a battle you fight. You must embrace it! It is a part of you now—it’s Yosemite forming inside you. Give it time. As for basketball, I can’t tell you what’s right or wrong. That is a personal decision. You’ll feel it in your heart what you need to do. Perhaps you already did.”
