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It almost convinces me I could be open with them as well.
Ha. Yeah. That’s not happening. I could never be like Chloe and her staff. For one thing, Chloe and the others don’t have to deal with crazy parents. I’ve heard of parentspulling their kids out of classes because they found out the teacher was queer. I’ve heard of them making a whole stink about it at PTA meetings, grumbling about “indoctrination” and “gender ideology,” as though you can’t teach math and be gay at the same time without those two worlds overlapping. It’s not a contagious disease, but try telling that to some of the wackier parents out there.
I know in my heart that all of that isn’t even the real issue for me, however. Sure, there could be some grumbling if I came out at school, but Virginia would have my back. She’s supported other teachers. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but I wouldn’t lose my job.
No, the real issue is what I saw as a teenager, what I promised myself I wouldn’t go through myself, what I shrank away from and locked myself up to avoid. That old fear has festered over the years, and now it’s so big I’m not sure how to overcome it. Could I really conquer something that has kept me in the closet for half my life?
The lecture ends, and I’m forced to stop musing as the kids get up and scatter throughout the café. From the corner of my eye, I notice Henry and Sebastian instantly swinging into action. They’re ready for the barrage of drink and snack orders, as well as the kids bothering the cats. They’re so professional about it all, so unruffled.
I do my best to help where I can, encouraging the kids to sit and relax. I don’t care if they get on their phones, even though that wouldn’t be allowed at school. Theylistened politely and attentively while Chloe spoke, and that’s what this was really about. I’m fine with giving them a little break to be on their phones when they’ve done everything I asked of them today.
Most of them settle down with a snack. I try to keep everything orderly, and soon even the troublemakers are enjoying the break from their normal school day. I keep an eye on the trio responsible for the window, but they’re behaving. They crouch in a corner playing with some kittens who are more than happy to match their rambunctious energy.
Everything is fine, I tell myself. Everything went smoothly. My shoulders aren’t going to relax away from my ears until we’re back on the bus and leaving this place behind, but objectively, I have to call this day a success. No trouble from the graffiti artists; no weirdness with Sebastian. Everything played out better than I could have asked for.
That doesn’t make it any easier to look up and find Sebastian watching me.
His dark eyes lock onto mine for a moment, and in those expressive depths I find questions, I find concern, I find warmth like the shared heat of two bodies that have spent all night in the same bed. With a single look, he assures me that everything is okay, but my body isn’t ready to believe him. I clench my hands in my pockets, nails digging into my palms, but the anxiety has nowhere to go in an environmentlike this. There’s so much I should say to him, and if I wasn’t a coward I would say it. I would walk over there and chat with him and reveal that we aren’t strangers, and everything would befine. The only people here to see the interaction are the café’s staff and my students, and who are either of those groups going to tell? What would they even say? “Mr. Richardson talked to the barista at the cat café.” Not exactly the scandal of the century.
I look away regardless, the fear chasing my gaze back to something safer. When I cross the room, it’s not to speak with Sebastian, but rather with his boss, Chloe.
“Thank you for this,” I say to her. “You were great.”
“It was fun,” she says. “I didn’t know I liked lecturing teenagers, but I enjoyed it. You have some good kids.”
“I do,” I agree. “Despite the ones who…” I wave vaguely in the direction of the front window.
Chloe shrugs. “It’s fine. It hasn’t happened again. Whoever did it, they didn’t come back to bother us more. Stuff happens, you know?”
“Well, I appreciate you doing all this. You had every right to turn us down after what happened.”
“It’s okay. And it’s been good for the café. We’re usually slow in the middle of the day. It’s nice to get some kids in here for something like this. We participate in some of the Pride festivities that happen on Main Street here, but I’m starting to think that in the future we should host some events like this for the general public.”
She stops, as though seeking my approval for her tentative plans, and I’m left at a loss. It isn’t my café, and I don’t participate in Pride events generally. If I ran into a student or co-worker, I’d have no good excuse for why I was there alone. It’s been easier to avoid all that stuff instead.
“That sounds … nice,” I offer tepidly.
Chloe lets it drop, and we discuss a couple last logistics. I assure her we’ll be out of her hair soon, after the kids get a break. We don’t want to run them ragged, and it seems better to get back to school close to the end of the day so there isn’t an awkward gap in their schedules.
Then it’s … it’s over. I have survived. Nothing weird happened. Nothing unpleasant happened. This field trip I’ve been so stressed out about went off without a hitch. It was pretty uneventful, all things considered, which should be a good thing. It should be exactly what I’ve been hoping for. But as I start getting the kids grouped up to head back to the bus, a little ache of disappointment settles in my chest. I glance over my shoulder one last time, and Sebastian is watching me from behind the coffee bar, his cute co-worker beside him. I give him the slightest of nods, and a smile flickers briefly across his lips.
I don’t even watch long enough to see the expression fade. Almost immediately, I look away and usher my class out of the café, taking all our noise and commotion with us.
The kids get back on the bus with a renewed burst of energy. They’re rowdy, eager for the end of their school day. This hasn’t been a normal day, which has them all riled up. I let them chatter as long as they don’t get too rambunctious, taking my seat near the front of the bus and letting the driver know we can head out. He pulls away from the curb, and we make a huge K-turn in front of the café, which gives me way too much time to try to peer through the windows for one last look at Sebastian. I shouldn’t do stuff like that, though. If I’m going to be cruel to him, I should at least leave him alone.
The bus straightens out, and I get up to march down the center row and do one last headcount to be extra sure we didn’t leave anyone in the café. The kids barely deign to notice my passing. I count heads in groups of two, hoping I hit twenty-four by the time I get to the back of the bus.
I get all the way to twenty-one before the graffiti trio strikes again.
They’re sitting in the far back of the bus, huddled together giggling about something. I’m perfectly fine ignoring them. I very nearly count them and move on, reassured that all my students made it back onto the bus, but then a few words of their conversation bubble free.
“…gay as fuck, man.”
“You think they fuck?”
“Ew, dude, gross.”
“Maybe they’re doing it right now.”
