Instead of You (7 page)

   Fuck that. 

   The last two weeks were exhausting.  But yesterday was the most draining day of my life.

   I’d led a pretty low-key life.  I wasn’t high maintenance by any means.  I was focused and driven.  I set a goal and I went after it.  Well, most of the time.  The last four years of my life had been so incredibly concentrated on getting my degree and moving on to my master’s program, I’d barely had time to live the normal college life.

   It was only now, in the midst of the biggest mind fuck of my life, that I’ve realized I wasn’t just focused, or concentrating on life, I was avoiding things.

   When Edward Harris had called me late that night, the night my father and brother were killed, he tried not to freak me out.  He didn’t want me panicking as I made the two-hour drive, so he just told me there was an emergency and that I needed to come home.  But I’d known something was wrong.  I never could have imagined everything that had happened.  But since the moment I walked in that door, I’d been bombarded with every single thing I’d been trying to run away from since I left town.

   Oh, and the murder of my dad and brother.  That happened.

   So even though I’d been exhausted, even though it was all I could do at the end of the night to strip to my underwear and crawl into bed, I never found sleep.  Instead, I’d lain in my bed listening to my mother cry through the walls.  Or when she’d managed to fall asleep, I’d lain in my bed and thought about Kenzie.  But then, like I always had, I’d push thoughts of her away and I’d think about school, wondering how everything was ever going to be okay again.  In the midst of all the rambling of my mind, my mom would wake up again, and I’d listen to her crying through the walls.

   It was an endless cycle.

   When I noticed the sky becoming lighter, I knew I’d been awake all night.

   I sat up, reaching for my phone and disabling the alarm that was set to go off in another hour, and headed into the hallway.  I stopped outside my mother’s door, leaning in, trying to see if I could hear her crying.  I could hear her breathing, but there were no cries.

   Even if I couldn’t sleep, I was glad she could.  Although, she’d been put on medication just days after the murder.  I made a mental note to e-mail her doctor as obviously she needed a stronger prescription.  I didn’t want her to cry every night.  She needed rest.  Pieces of her mind were slipping away all the time.  The sleepless nights, the worrying, the paranoia, simply dealing with something a mother and wife should never have to deal with, each of those things were slowly robbing her of her sanity, and I knew she’d never get better if she didn’t get any rest.

   I continued down the hall, holding my breath as I passed Cory’s room.

   I hadn’t been able to even open the door since I’d been home.  I was terrified of what would happen if I did.  So far, aside from kind of losing it at the funeral, I was the only person in my family who wasn’t in the midst of a mental breakdown, and I didn’t want to take any chances in that department.  So Cory’s door stayed closed. 

   I locked myself in the bathroom and prepared myself for another day.  Another day where I avoided all the emotions clawing away at my insides, fighting their hardest to break their way free of me. 

   When I went downstairs thirty minutes later, Lucia was standing at our kitchen sink washing dishes.  I’d asked her the day before, sometime during the wake, when forty or fifty people were in our house sharing memories with each other about Dad and Cory, to come and sit with my mother.

   She’d given me the same response she had for the last two weeks anytime I asked anything of her.

   “Of course, sweetheart.  Anything you need.”  That was always coupled with a gentle squeeze on my shoulder and the saddest eyes on anyone I’d ever seen. 

   I was so thankful for the Harris family.  Lucia and Edward had done so much for my mom and me since the murder, but I needed things to start getting back to normal if I was going to continue to avoid the feelings I was constantly aware of, just in the periphery. 

   That was also why I was glad it was Lucia in my kitchen, and not McKenzie.

   “Good morning, Hayes,” she said quietly just after turning off the faucet.

   “Morning.”

   “Sweetie, you look terrible,” she said, that gentle yet worried tone in her voice.

   “I didn’t sleep much last night.  Mom was crying a lot.”

   “I see,” she said softly, her eyes moving all along my face, trying to find the part of me that worried her the most.  Was it the dark bags under my eyes?  My sunken-in cheeks?  The red veins in the whites of my eyes?  “Whatever you’ve got going on this morning, can it wait?  Maybe you should go upstairs and try to get some sleep.  I’ll listen for your mom.”

   I gave her the best smile I could muster.  “Thank you, but this really can’t wait.”

   Thirty minutes later I found myself in a situation I never could have
ever
seen coming.

   “Hayes, it’s good to see you.  Please, take a seat.”

   I shook the hand of my high school principal and took the seat she offered me across the table from her at the only coffee shop in town.

   “Mrs. Anderson, thank you so much for meeting with me on a Sunday.  I know it’s a hassle, but it’s the only time I could make this happen.  Life’s been, well, a little hectic.”

   “I am so sorry for your loss, Hayes.  Everyone at the school has been reeling from the loss of Cory, and we all extend our deepest sympathies.”

   “Thank you,” I said with a nod, the words practiced and rehearsed to perfection in the last two weeks.  I could take a condolence like a champ.  “I don’t want to take up too much of your Sunday.”  That was my subtle hint to Mrs. Anderson to move off the topic of my brother’s death, and on to the real issue at hand.

   “Yes, well, I think I have all the information I need.  I’ve been communicating with your supervisor at your university and it looks like we’ve ironed out all the details.  But, first, why don’t you tell me a little bit about what you’ve accomplished academically in the four years since you’ve graduated from my high school.”

   The smile she gave me then was one of pride, which I welcomed.  I could talk about school all day long—it had been my focus every day since I left this town.  Talking about it now was the most welcome distraction I could have asked for.

   “Well, I went into the university knowing exactly what I wanted to do and I didn’t waste any time.  All my elective courses were either related to my major, or in my area of study.  I took courses all summer every year.  I took night classes and at least twenty credits a term and I graduated at the end of my third year with a major in History.  I applied to the graduate school of education, was accepted, and now I’m working on my master’s.  At the end of the year I hope to have my degree and my teaching certificate.”

   Mrs. Anderson looked at me, a smile still wide on her face.  “That’s a lot of work, Mr. Wallace.”

   I shrugged.  “It’s what I wanted.”

   “And how has the year progressed for you, academically, up until this point?”

   “So far, it’s been great.  The graduate program started over the summer, so for two terms they really pile on the classes.  Then in the fall I was assigned to a classroom and a teacher, and I shadowed.  This semester I was supposed to take that class over to get my student teacher practicum completed.  It’s one of the last steps in the licensure program.  I can’t get my teaching license without it.”  I took in a deep breath, knowing we were getting to the point in the conversation where I was going to find out whether or not four years of hard work was getting thrown away.  “But, obviously, the high school I was assigned to is two hours from here.  And I’m not in a position to leave my mother right now.”

   “No, I can’t imagine you are.”  Again with the sad voice.

   “So, I reached out to my advisor and asked her if there was anything I could do, any way I could finish my practicum here.  I believe that’s when my university contacted you.”

   Mrs. Anderson was quiet for a moment, a long moment, but then she spoke, her tone no longer sad.  She sounded like a principal.  Like someone’s boss.

   “I called a small meeting with all the social science teachers at the high school.  I explained your situation and asked if any of them were in a position to host a student teacher.  As you know, since we’re so far from the university, we’ve never hosted any, not since I’ve been here.”

   “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I wouldn’t normally, but—ˮ

   “But you’ve got extenuating circumstances, and we all understand that, and we want to help.  Mr. White was planning on starting a new unit this Monday with his senior World History class.  The other three teachers are in the middle of units and don’t feel like it would be fair to ask you to step in.  Mr. White is excited to have you, though.”

   I felt a rush of tension leave my body as my shoulders slumped forward.  She was giving me a chance.  There was not one tiny molecule in my body that didn’t understand how much I was asking of everyone—of the high school, of my university, of my advisors.  They were all bending over backward for me, and I knew it was mostly out of sympathy, but I didn’t care.  I’d worked so hard to get where I was and I had been so close to the end, just to have it all teetering on the edge of disaster.  I couldn’t leave my mom.  And if there was nothing to be done but postpone my work, then I would have done that, but at least now I can still finish my degree and be there for my mom every night.  “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson.  You have no idea how much this means to me.”

   “We’re glad to have you.  We just wish it were under better circumstances.”  Sad voice again.  “There are just a few things we need to go over still.  Then I will let you get back to your Sunday.”

   “Great.  I’m all ears.”  And I was.  I couldn’t say I was excited, as that level of emotion was numb to me.  But finally, for the first time in two weeks, something
good
was happening, something that could take away just a little bit of the heaviness I’d been carrying around since the night I got that phone call.

   “I should tell you that Cory was enrolled in this particular class.”  Her words were like a bucket of ice water thrown over me.  Any lightness I had felt just moments before was pushed back down by her words.  “Unfortunately, this was the only class we could assign you.  Obviously, I completely understand if you’d like to pass.”

   I thought about her offer, thought about what it would mean to turn her down.  It would mean not being able to complete my practicum until the fall of the following school year.  It would mean missing out on one entire season of hiring.  I would be sitting for months with no real hope of finding a job. 

   “If I can be completely frank with you, Mrs. Anderson,” I said, leaning toward her slightly.

   “Of course.”

   “I have to spend every evening in the house I grew up in with him.  I walk past his bedroom door at least ten times a day.  I see his picture hanging on the wall.  I see his car in the driveway.  There’s no way to escape his memory, and I wouldn’t if I could.  I’m already dealing with his loss, so this is just another log on the fire.”

   “I understand.  I wish it were different—ˮ

   “But it’s not.”

   “No, it isn’t.”  She was quiet for a moment, but then she continued on.  “That all being said, your advisor, Mr. White, and I have all decided that if you begin the term, but find it to be too overwhelming, you can choose to end your practicum with no repercussions.  We want you to succeed, but we don’t want your circumstances to hold you back should you find yourself in a situation where you need time to heal.”

   She was giving me a safety net.  I didn’t like special treatment, but I knew I was basically asking for it.  Besides, I knew she was just being a decent human being.  This was such a fucked-up situation, I couldn’t fault her for trying to help me.

   “Thank you.  I’m going to try my best to be just like any other student teacher, Mrs. Anderson.”

   “I don’t have any doubt you will.  Your university advisor wants me to let you know that you’re still required to attend the biweekly meetings with your cohorts.”

   “I am pretty confident I can find someone to be with my mom one night every other week.  The Harrises have been very helpful.”

   “That leads me to my final discussion point.”  My brows drew together in confusion.  I didn’t know how the Harris family fit into this conversation at all.  “The staff at the high school was not blind to the relationship between Cory and McKenzie Harris.  And some of the staff has made me aware of the closeness of your two families, which I am so thankful you have in this difficult time.”

   “Okay,” I said, drawing the word out to emphasize my confusion.

   “McKenzie Harris is a student in the class Mr. White has offered to you for your practicum.”

  
Shit.

   “Now, normally, it would be unethical for us to allow you to be her teacher, Mr. Wallace.  But we’re aware, once again, of the extenuating circumstances you find yourself in, and we are compelled to help.  I’ve made your university advisor aware of the conflict of interest, and she has made it clear that she trusts me to make the final determination as to whether or not this particular, uh, conflict, is dire enough to prevent you from finishing your degree at my high school.  After looking at your college transcripts, and talking with you today, I think you’re determined enough, and levelheaded enough, to not let your connection with McKenzie Harris cloud your ability to teach her.”

   “Uh, Mrs. Anderson, it never crossed my mind that she might be in my class.”  Why would it have?  Surely the universe didn’t hate me this much, right?

   “Will it be an issue?” she asked, not unkindly.  It was very obvious she was trying to help me in any way she could.  And I needed her help.  I needed this opportunity.  This practicum was one of the few things I had that was keeping me from losing my mind every day.

   “No,” I answered, hoping she couldn’t see past my blatant lie.  “It won’t be an issue.”