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“No way, really? That was one of my favorite years of English class.Romeo and Juliet?” I sigh and press my hand to my chest. “Is that still part of the curriculum?”
Liam chuckles. “You’ve got a good memory. It sure is. We finished the riveting world of literary devices among Shakespeare’s most tragic love stories.”
“I bet that’s why you’ve chosen to teach ninth grade,” I tease as the instructor returns to the whiteboard.
“Absolutely,” he says, his eyes dancing with a smile.
I glance up at the clock, finding the one-hour mark approaching. Almost halfway through. I can do this—if only my eyelids didn’t feel so heavy after a long day. I’m about to grab my soda from my bag, desperate for the caffeine.
“I’m going to stop here for a short ten-minute break. There’s a vending machine down the hall toward the stairwell, restrooms to the right just outside the door and a water fountain to the left,” Ron says, his hands pointing in various directions while keeping his eyes on the clock.
Just as we’re all standing from our seats, a heavy crash bellows from the hallway, making the overhead lights and whiteboard vibrate. The shock holds me frozen, ironically the opposite of what we’ve been learning tonight.
“What was—” I utter.
A deflated sigh echoes from the front of the classroom. “Okay, change of plans,” Ron says, holding on to the last syllable of his word while moving toward the door. “Everyone, stay here for a moment.”
The lights flicker with static buzzing above our heads before going completely dark for fifteen long, quiet seconds.
“Um. I swear if the power goes out…I’ll be out of this building faster than anyone can blink. No thank you. Not sitting in the dark beneath this ancient building,” Roberta says.
In a silent response to Roberta, my pulse quickens at the thought of sitting here in the basement.
“The building is old. It probably blew a fuse,” Liam speaks up. That was too loud to be a blown fuse. If it was, Ron has likely heard the noise before.
The longer we wait, the clammier my hands become. The classroom full of adults is startlingly quiet, considering the sudden commotion, and they don’t seem as frazzled as I feel. I should sit down and breathe. Everything is fine. It’s six o’clock on a Wednesday night.
Where did this guy go? Liam checks his watch and refocuses on the door. There’s nothing to see. We don’t even hear any activity in the hallway. Liam makes his way to the door and peeks out of the narrow rectangle window.
“Nothing is going on out there, but I’m not sure where the instructor went,” Liam says, returning to his desk.
So much for our break… By the time Ron returns, the ten minutes will be up and I’m sure none of us want to stay later than we need to tonight.
“Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale,” Liam says, sliding his desk closer to mine. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
This is why I don’t read or watch the news, or at least I try to avoid doing so. Rather than accept reality, I try to debunk stories like the one Willa was rehashing about the nanny murderer. Not to prove her wrong, but to settle my nerves. Each day seems like we’re scooting toward the disaster that will have our state and our town in the headlines. I question how often I can assure myself that the rampant violence escalating across the country isn’t close to home and that I’m safe. I still see plenty of clips on the news. I feel the pain of people telling their stories to reporters. They weren’t expecting the unexpected. They were all taken by surprise like we are right now. What if it isn’t nothing?
“I know.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m numb to these types of alarms and drills. We practice them so much in the classroom that it’s beginning to feel normal. The generation I’m teaching is being raised differently from how we were. They’re tougher and more durable. It’s both disturbing and beneficial for them. Everythingmust be treated with seriousness. Although I’m not sure that explains why the instructor hasn’t returned yet.” As Liam tries to ease my nerves, I can’t help but notice a hint of apprehension as he bounces his knee.
“Sorry about that, everyone,” Ron says, hustling back toward the front of the room. “A storm passed through and hit a transformer outside of the building. We lost power but the generator kicked in, so we’re all fine. I apologize for that… If anyone needs to use the restroom, please feel free.”
I didn’t know we were supposed to get a storm tonight. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when I arrived.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Liam casually thumbing through the manual. I’m not sure I could be calm and alert like he is every day in a classroom full of kids. Yet, here I am, learning how to save someone if they’re hurt. This world has weakened us all.
Ron speeds up the lesson as we’re creeping toward seven o’clock, and it looks like we have one last topic to cover.
Burns and scalds—just as bad as blood. God, I hope these kiddos don’t get hurt on my watch.
When the longest two hours ends, Ron calls each person up alphabetically to receive their certification before leaving. As usual, I’m one of the last, with a name beginning with the letter V.
I walk out of the classroom and pull out my phone to text Willa, wondering if the electricity is still intact at our apartment. Right as I hit send on the message, I spot Liam standing against the wall in front of a set of metal doors. Our height difference seems much more significant now that we’re standing face to face. He must be close to six feet while I’m closer to five. “Well, at least we got what we came for, right?” he asks, holding up his certification.
“Yes, now I can pursue the job I’m after for this summer, watching two little girls who hopefully chew twenty times before swallowing a bite of food and don’t like dangerous physical activity.” We both share a laugh.
“Good luck with that one. My ninth graders get themselves hurt at a desk, sitting still. Kids, I tell ya.”
