Margo’s reply came much, much later. They had burrowed deeper into their separate sleeping bags. The moonlight tried its best but couldn’t make it through the filthy windows. It was very quiet in the house. It was a breezeless night.
Just one word floated over into the darkness, reaching Alvin at the very edge of sleep. It would follow him into his dreams: “Liar.”
—from Alvin Hatter and the Return of the Overcoat Man
13
Monday marked three weeks left of school. It didn’t seem possible—both that I was about to graduate and that Aunt Helen wouldn’t be there to see me get my diploma. She had always been such a supporter of education, and she was part of the reason I was working as hard as I was to become a teacher. Just a little while longer and I’d be there. The University of Connecticut’s program was a five-year combined bachelor’s and master’s degree. For some reason, after four years of high school and three years of middle school and six years of elementary school, that seemed like nothing.
I opened her next envelope before school.
Lottie,
As I sit here writing these, I try to imagine you going through the motions, answering my every whim. Of course I have no control over anything, just the knowledge that you’ve always been so reliable. It’s almost like a form of immortality, isn’t it? That the things I want are being completed even after my time has run out, even past the expiration date my doctors stamped on my extensive medical chart.
I wish I could have made it through another summer. It was always my favorite time of year. To have another healthy summer . . . I wish that wasn’t too much to ask. But I guess it is, because you’re reading this, and if you’re reading this, it means they were right and I’m gone, and all the rest of my summers are gone with me. But you still have so many, Lottie, so many summers in front of you, and that’s something I’m so grateful for, so happy for. I know you will make the most of them.
Speaking of summer, my last class at the college is coming up. I let them know that, should I not be around to complete this year, they may find a substitute for the remainder of my classes except the very last one. I would provide a substitute for my last class, and that substitute is you, Lottie. The information is on my calendar on my computer.
You will find no syllabus, no lesson plan. The students will, I’m sure, be absolutely lucky to hear whatever you decide to tell them. You are a marvel, Lottie, like all born teachers are marvels, all those who dedicate their days and nights to imparting knowledge on the youths of our society. You will be one of them one day; here is your first chance to prove yourself.
Love, H.
My heart started beating faster at the thought of teaching a class. What was the point? Did she want me to embarrass myself in front of a classroom of students all older than I was? Did she want me to have a heart attack and die?
Death by heart attack didn’t seem so bad. It was probably painful, but it only lasted a minute or two, and there were a lot of worse ways to go.
But I was sure Aunt Helen wasn’t actually trying to give me a heart attack. She probably looked at this like a nice opportunity, a chance for me to get some practice at the thing I wanted to do. I looked at it as absolutely terrifying.
It was Abe’s turn to drive to school that morning; I met him downstairs and ate a bowl of cereal at rapid speed while he started at me curiously.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“Aunt Helen wants me to teach a class,” I said, mouth full of food, words completely garbled.
“What?” he said.
I swallowed. “Aunt Helen. She’s having me teach her last class of the year.”
“Wow. At the university? Wow.”
“I know.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“I know.”
“You look kind of pale.”
“I know.”
“Come on, we gotta pick up Amy. We’re gonna be late.”
We drove in relative silence to Amy’s house. Every time Abe tried to say something, I put my head in my hands and groaned. Eventually he got the hint and stopped talking.
Amy was waiting for us at the end of her driveway.
“It is hot,” she said, climbing into the backseat. Abe and I were silent, lost in thought. And then, after a minute of silence: “What did I miss?”
“Lottie is going to teach Aunt Helen’s last class at the university.”
“Wow,” Amy said, echoing Abe in a way that made me smile. “Lottie, you’re going to do it? Teach a whole class?”
“I think I have to,” I said. “She already set the whole thing up.”
“I would freak out,” she said.
“Your band performs in front of hundreds of people,” Abe pointed out.
She reached up and rubbed his shoulders as he drove. “Yes, but this is different. This is so much more intimate. When I’m onstage, I can pretend it’s just me and the music. You know?”
“Right on, man,” Abe said, making the rock and roll sign with his hand.
“Shut up,” she said. “Lottie, you’re braver than I am.”
I didn’t think I was very brave. I wanted to teach elementary school kids, not college students. I wanted to teach one plus one is two. I wanted to read early chapter books and have kids dress up as their favorite historical figures. I’d never been interested in teaching at a higher level—it had always been about younger students, still so wide-eyed and receptive to new ideas. That was what drew me to elementary school: the chance to really make a difference in a younger student’s life. I had no idea what I could possibly say to a group of college students that wouldn’t make them do anything other than fall asleep.
I checked Aunt Helen’s computer that night. Her last class was scheduled for Friday, just five days away. Okay. I could make a lesson plan in five days, right? Wait . . . I didn’t even know what they were studying. Fiction? Short stories? Classic literature?
Then I remembered Sam. He had taken my aunt’s class; he would at least know the basics. I sent him a message before I went to bed.
Have to teach my aunt’s class on Friday. Absolutely terrified. Do you think you could help me?
I brushed my teeth and washed my face while I waited for his reply. It came just as I was falling asleep, bringing me gently back to consciousness.
Of course. I think I have an idea. What time is the class?
Four. I get out of school at noon.
The university was close to Mystic; Sam could probably even ride his bike.
Let’s meet outside the library at one? Do you need more time to get here?
One works. I really appreciate it.
I wanted to see you again anyway, so this works out for both of us.
I put my phone on silent and set my alarm for tomorrow. This was going to be the longest five days in history.