Some things are so unexpected that no one is prepared for
them.
β Leo Rosten Friday 2:45 p.m.
"Hey, Miss Robinson, want to know how to figure out your
porn-star name?" asked Russell Clark, bouncing on the
balls of his feet toward the school bus.
"I think I'll make it through the day without that." Lily
Robinson put a hand on the boy's shoulder to keep him from
bouncing off the covered sidewalk and into the driving
rain.
"Aw, come on, it's easy. You just say the name of your
street and β"
"No, thank you, Russell," Lily said in her "enough's
enough" tone. She hoped he didn't really know what a porn
star was. "That's inappropriate, and you're supposed to be
line leader this afternoon."
"Oops." Reminded of the privilege, Russell stiffened his
spine and marched in a straight line, dutifully leading
twenty-three third-graders to the area under the awning by
the parking lot. "I'm going to Echo Ridge today," he said,
heading for Bus Number Four. "I have a golf lesson."
"In this rain?"
"It'll clear up, I bet. See you, Miss Robinson." Russell
went bounding toward the bus, hopscotching around puddles
in the parking lot.
Lily doled out goodbyes and have-a-good-days to the rest
of her students, watching them scatter like a flock of
startled ducklings to buses and carpools. Charlie Holloway
and her best friend, Lindsey Davenport, were last in line,
holding hands and chattering together while they waited
for Mrs. Davenport's car to pull forward.
When Charlie caught Lily's eye, she ducked her head and
looked away. Lily felt a beat of sympathy for the little
girl, who was painfully aware that her parents were coming
in for a conference after school. The child looked small
and fragile, trying to disappear into her yellow rain
slicker. Lily wanted to reassure her, to tell her not to
worry.
Charlie didn't give her a chance. "There's your mom," she
said, giving Lindsey's hand a tug. "Bye, have a good
weekend," she called to Lily, and the girls dashed for the
blue Volvo station wagon.
Lily smiled and waved, making an effort not to appear
troubled, but seeing them like that, best friends skipping
off together, reminded her of her own childhood best
friend β Charlie's mother, Crystal. This was not going to
be an easy conference.
"Hey, what's the matter?" asked Greg Duncan, the PE
teacher. After school, he coached the high school golf
team, though he was known to be a full-time flirt.
"You're not supposed to notice that anything's the
matter," Lily told him.
He grinned and loped to her side, a big, friendly Saint
Bernard of a guy, all velvet brown eyes, giant paws, a
silver whistle on a lanyard around his neck. "I know
exactly what's wrong," he said. "You don't have a date
tonight."
Here we go again, thought Lily. She liked Greg a lot, she
really did, but he exhausted her with his need for
attention. He was too much guy, the way a Saint Bernard is
too much dog. Twice divorced, he had dated most of the
women she knew and had recently set his sights on
her. "Wrong," she said, grinning back. "I've got plans."
"Liar. You're just trying to spare my feelings."
Guilty as charged, Lily thought.
"Is he hitting on you again?" Edna Klein, the school
principal, joined them under the awning. In her sixties,
with waist-length silver hair and intense blue eyes, Edna
resembled a Woodstock grandmother. She wore Birkenstocks
with socks and turquoise-and-silver jewelry, and she lived
at a commune called Cloud Mountain. Yet no one failed to
take her seriously. Along with her earth-mother looks, she
possessed a Ph.D. from Berkeley, three ex-husbands, four
grown children and ten years of sobriety in AA. When it
came to running a school, she was a consummate
professional, supportive of teachers, encouraging to
students, inspiring confidence in parents.
"Harassment in the workplace," Lily stated. "I'm thinking
of filing a complaint."
"I'm the one with the complaint," Greg said. "I've been
hitting on this woman since Valentine's Day, and all I get
from her is a movie once a month."
"At least I let you pick the movie. Hell on Earth was a
real high point for me."
"You're a heartless wench, Lily Robinson," he said,
heading for the gym. "Have a nice weekend, ladies."
"He's barking up the wrong tree," Lily said to Edna.
"Are you this negative about all men or just Coach Duncan?"
Lily laughed. "What is it about turning thirty? Suddenly
my love life is everyone's business."
"Of course it is, hon. Because we all want you to have
one." People were always asking Lily if she was seeing
anyone special or if she intended to have children.
Everyone seemed to want to know when she was going to
settle down. They didn't understand. She was settled. Her
life was exactly the way she wanted it. Relationships were
scary things to Lily. Getting into an emotional
relationship was like getting into a car with a drunk
driver. You were in for a wild ride, and it was bound to
end with someone getting hurt.
"I'm meddling, aren't I?" Edna admitted.
"Definitely."
"I can't help myself. I'd love to see you with someone
special, Lily."
Lily took off her glasses and polished the lenses on a
corner of her sweater. The world turned to a smear of rain-
soaked gray and green, the principal palette of an Oregon
spring. "Why won't anyone believe that I'm satisfied with
things just the way they are?"
"Satisfaction and happiness are two different matters."
Lily put her glasses on and the world came back into focus.
"Feeling satisfied makes me happy."
"One of these days, my friend, you'll find yourself
wanting more," said Edna.
"Not today," Lily said, thinking of the upcoming
conference. A group of students clustered around to tell
her goodbye. Edna took the time to speak to each child
personally, and each turned away with a big smile on his
or her face.
Lily felt a small nudge of discontent. Satisfaction and
happiness are two different matters. It was hard enough to
make herself happy, let alone another person, she thought.
Yet when she looked around, she had to admit that she saw
people do it every day. A mother coaxed laughter from her
baby, a man brought flowers to his wife, a child opened a
school lunch box to find a love note from home.
But the happiness never lasted. Lily knew that.
She lingered for a few minutes more while the children
were set free for the weekend. They ran to their mothers,
getting hugs, showing off papers or artwork, their happy
chatter earning fond smiles. Watching them, Lily felt like
a tourist observing a different culture. These people
weren't like her. They knew what it was like to be
connected. By contrast, Lily felt curiously distant and
unencumbered, so light she could float away.
While waiting for the Holloways to arrive, Lily checked
the conference table, low and round and gleaming,
surrounded by pint-size chairs.
The desks were aligned in neat rows, the chairs put up so
the night crew could vacuum. The smells of chalk dust,
cleaning fluid and the dry aroma of oft-used books mingled
with the ineffable burnt-sugar smell of small children.
She set out two things on the table β a manila folder,
thick with samples of Charlie's work, and the requisite
box of tissues, Puffs with lotion, which Lily bought by
the case at Costco. A roomful of eight- and nine-year-olds
tended to go through them fast.
She moved along the bank of windows, adjusting the shades
so they were all even at half mast. The glass panes were
decorated with the children's cutout ducks in galoshes,
each bearing the day's penmanship practice: "April showers
bring May flowers." Outside, a jagged bolt of lightning
raked across the sky, punctuating the old adage.
With a grimace, she turned to the calendar display on the
bulletin board and silently counted down the column of
Fridays. Nine weeks left until the end of school. Nine
weeks to go, and then it would be sunshine and blue skies
and the trip she'd been planning for months. Going to
Europe had always seemed such a lofty, barely reasonable
goal for a school-teacher in a small Oregon town, but
maybe that was what made it so appealing. Each year, Lily
saved her money and headed off to a new land, and this
would be her most ambitious trip yet.
She tugged her mind away from thoughts of summer and
concentrated instead on preparing for a difficult meeting.
She inspected the classroom as she always did before
conferences. Lily believed it was important for people to
see that their children spent the day in a neat,
organized, attractive environment.
At the center of the front of the room was a dark slate
blackboard. She'd been offered a whiteboard but declined.
She preferred the crisp, controlled quality of her Palmer-
method script on the smooth, timeless surface. She liked
the coolness of the slate against her hand when she
touched it, and the way her fingertips left a moist
impression, before evaporating into nothingness. The sound
of chalk on an old-fashioned blackboard always reminded
her of the one place she had always felt safe as a child β
in a schoolroom.
This was her world, the place she best belonged. She
couldn't imagine another life for herself.
Glancing at the clock, she went to the door and opened it.
Her nameplate read "Ms. Robinson β Room 105" and was
surrounded by each child's name, neatly printed with a
photo on a yellow tagboard star.
Lily adored children β other people's children. For one
special year of their lives, they were hers to care for
and nurture, and she put all of her heart into it. Thanks
to her job, she was able to tell people she did have
children, twenty-four of them. And in the fall, she would
get twenty-four different ones. They gave her everything
she could ever want from a family of her own β joy and
laughter, pathos and tears, triumph and pride. Sometimes
they broke her heart, but most of the time, they gave her
a reason for living.
She loved her students from September to June, and when
school ended, she sent them out the door, giving them back
to their families, pounds heavier, inches taller, drilled
in their multiplication and division tables, reading at
grade level or better. In the fall, she shifted her
attention to the next crop of students. And so it went,
year after year. It was the most satisfying feeling in the
world, and best of all, it was safe.
Having children of your own β now, that was not so safe.
Kids were part of you forever, subjecting you to crazed
heights of joy and bitter depths of sorrow. Some people
were cut out for that, others weren't. A good number
weren't cut out for it but fell in love and had kids,
anyway. Then they usually fell out of love and everyone
within shouting distance got hurt. Charlie Holloway's
parents were a case in point, Lily reflected.
"My Favorite Things" had been today's creative writing
lesson. The children had three minutes to write down as
many of their favorite things as possible. Lily always did
the exercises right alongside her students, and she always
took them seriously. The kids stayed more interested and
involved that way. Her list, written hastily but neatly on
a large flip chart, included:
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