The Time of Change

BOLLOCKS!

For the next couple of hours as the other teachers meander their way home, I sit at my desk, going over the last exam my students took. I'm almost finished with the second class's papers when there's a tentative knock at my classroom door. I raise my eyes to see another English teacher on this hall, Mrs. Story. She is a kindly older woman with gray hair and a wrinkled, apple-doll face. Her height isn't much more than Victor's, but she is rather wider than him. "Annie, what're you still doing here?" she asks.

I smile at her. "Just some last-minute grading."

"Wow, you're dedicated. I just put it off until I have to do it." She gives a tinkling laugh that compliments her Southern accent well.

I shake my head with a chuckle of my own. "No," I reply. "I just don't want to do it over the break. Might as well get it out of the way now." Mrs. Story nods understandingly, and a beat of slightly uncomfortable silence consumes us.

"You are an angel with those kids you know," she adds randomly. "In all my years, I have never seen a classroom so captivated by the teacher as they are when I evaluate your lessons every semester. You just speak to them in a way that nobody else does." I start to say something—though what, I'm not sure—, but she raises a hand to stop me, nodding with a knowing smirk. Suddenly her expression becomes somber. "Annie, do you have somewhere to go tonight?"

A serious note of concern laces the question. My face flushes, but thankfully it's growing rather dark outside and the lamp in here is dim, so she can't see my blush. "Of course I do, Mrs. Story," I reply.

"Madeline," she corrects me kindly.

"I'm going home after this, Madeline," I say, inclining my head her way with the use of her first name.

"I know you have a home," she continues, "but I just mean... do you have anyone to spend Christmas with? Or even supper tonight? My husband is cooking, and he's extremely proud of himself." She chuckles. "We would both love if you'd have a meal with us."

The corners of my mouth quirk upward slightly, a warm rush of gratitude filling my chest. "You're too kind. I appreciate the offer so much, truly, but I'm really sorry, I can't tonight. I just have so many papers to revise and probably won't be done until late."

Mrs. Story sighs but gives me a small, friendly smile. "Another time, then. Merry Christmas, Annie, darlin'," she says, then walks away, straightening her jacket as she goes. I listen for the echoing clack of her stout heels on the tile to recede, then feeling like a terrible person, I go back to my grading.

The time passes in a mindless blur of red pen and circled numbers, and all the while the only thing I can think of is Mrs. Story's kindness. I know that most of my colleagues are aware that I live alone. It's not necessarily a fact I hide. When I went to college, I commuted from my modest home to campus every day, so I've never been anywhere but here since I arrived. The same people who know me now surely knew me then. This is a stupidly miniscule town; everyone is either related or Facebook friends, in some cases both. Small minds and small towns seem to go hand-in-hand, as well, so I suppose it's not entirely out of the ordinary for people to worry for me because I live by myself.

By myself. I used to love those words. They had a nice ring to them, a casual taste. By myself, because it's easier that way. By myself, because I don't need to be around others. By myself, because why would I choose to get hurt?

It's different now. It's by myself, because no one will have me.

When the last page is finished, I sigh and lean back in my chair for a brief few seconds. My hand twitches in pre-cramp irritation, and I rub the space of skin between my thumb and index finger. In a stupor I check the time on my iPhone. 7:34 PM it yells at me in big, bold white lettering. I am so tired, more so than I usually am at the end of the day. Maybe it's because the holidays start now. I'm sure I just need a break for a while. Rubbing my eyes under my glasses, I begin to pile the cards my students gave me into my bag. In the back of my mind I realize I completely covered my car keys and curse myself for making myself suffer in a few minutes, but stand either way and click off the lamp. Darkness enfolds me instantaneously. Out of instinct, I hurry out of the room before the hypothetical monster can get me, and I press the lock on the inside of the door before I shut it, trapping the creature inside for the duration of the break.