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I step inside City Hall, the only sound the humid stickiness of my soles against the marble floors. Flyers line the bulletin boards along the walls. A neon yellow paper stands out from the rest. Large black block letters warn about the dangers of not knowing CPR. Ironic.
The front desk is flanked by two ropes. A makeshift paper sign is taped to the edge of the counter and captures my attention: an illustration of a bandage covering a heart paired with instructions to find the first-aid class on the lower level.
I make my way downstairs, being careful not to trip within the dimly lit corridor. I peek through each windowed door until I spot a group of others filling up the college-style desks inside.
The class seems sparse considering I’m only a few minutes early. The half dozen others occupying the scattered desks show a similar lack of enthusiasm. I prefer the front and take a seatin the second row toward the middle—just close enough to be noticed.
“Welcome,” a twenty-something-year-old man from behind the podium says. “What’s your name?”
“Haley Vaughn,” I say, draping my bag on the back of my chair.
“Perfect. Could you fill out one of these nametags?” He strides over, scuffing his dress shoes against the cement floor and sets a sticker and marker down. He takes the next minute to scribble his name on the whiteboard, “Ron,” beside his podium, then begins to bullet out a list of discussion topics. I avoid looking up at the clock, knowing I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes and I’m ready to leave. The crowd isn’t vivacious except for sniffling and a few dry coughs.
“What are you here for?” the woman behind me asks. She asks the question like we’re in prison, which probably doesn’t feel too different from a musty windowless basement standpoint.
I twist in my seat to give her a quick smile. “Oh, just a requirement for a job I’m taking. How about you?”
She squints at my nametag. “Haley, what a pretty name.” She sweeps her long dark hair off her shoulders, exposing her nametag. “I’m Roberta, and same. I’m an elderly caregiver. I can’t believe it’s already been two years since I took this course last.” I didn’t realize a certification only lasted that long.
“Oh really? That’s good to know. I had no idea. This is the first time I’ve taken the course.”
“I would just drop it in your calendar now so you don’t have to think about it until it’s time again,” she says, tapping her fingernail against her temple.
“Great idea. Thank you,” I say with a smile.
“What about you over there?” she continues, asking a younger man two seats away. “Jack, is that what your nametagsays?” I turn back toward the front of the class, watching the instructor try to organize his papers.
“Yeah, Jack. I’m an assistant coach for youth sports,” I hear from behind me.
“Oh, how exciting,” the woman says.
Another person jogs into the room as if trying to make it in time before a school bell rings. “Traffic, sorry about that,” he says to the instructor.
“You must be Liam Gellar, hopefully? Last one on my list for the night,” the instructor says.
“Present,” the man says, taking the seat beside me.
Ron tosses a sticker onto Liam’s desk, and I offer the marker I still needed to return. “Thanks,” Liam whispers.
I can’t stop myself from trying to figuring out everyone’s stories and reasons for being where they are. So naturally, I silently speculate that Liam is fulfilling an obligation like I am for work. Although he doesn’t look like he just came from work judging by his worn jeans, a navy-blue Red Sox T-shirt over a long sleeve white tee, and complementary Converse chucks. Despite the wild mess of dark curls on his head, he still looks well put-together—typical for this town.
At five o’clock on the dot, the instructor dives right into the first topic of resuscitation. I pull my notebook out of my purse and unclip my pen from the binding coil. Only some people are taking notes, but I know I won’t be able to retain everything without writing it down.
“I heard there’s a manual,” Liam whispers as the instructor turns his back to us to notate the differences between adult CPR and pediatric CPR. I glance at him, finding a cute smirk as he points to the table along the side of the room with stacks of manuals. “Excuse me, Ron, would it be possible to access the manuals before we go too far? I find underlining important facts is most helpful.”
Ron spins around on his heels and tosses his head back. “Thank you,” he says, leaning in Liam’s direction to read his name. It’s been less than two minutes since he asked him for his name, but I won’t judge with how many new students he must encounter regularly. “Liam. I can’t believe I forgot to hand those out. Let’s pass these down the rows and we’ll pick up where we left off.”
“I’ll second that thank you,” I utter, closing my notebook. “I’ve already taken down a half dozen pages of notes at school earlier today and my hand is sore.”
“Oh yeah, what for? Are you a student?”
“I am,” I say, slipping my notebook back into my bag. “I’m in the doctorates program at East Sail. What about you?”
“Ah, my alma mater’s archrival. I graduated from Skybrook three years ago with my teaching degree, thus my reason for being here tonight.”
I shake my head and smile. I never thought about the certifications teachers must need to maintain their positions. “What grade do you teach?”
“Ninth grade English.”
