Chapter 9
NINE
Elle
“We have a very special guest today, class,” Ruthie announced to her middle schoolers.
My own beautiful, black-haired Ms. Frizzle had only been teaching for one year. In that time, however, she’d flourished into her version of the eccentric teacher with a modern touch. Her students were lucky to have her.
She’d begged me to come in and talk to her final class period of the day for career week, likely only because she wanted to grab drinks with me afterward. I had taken it as a compliment, knowing a bestie night would do us both some good.
“Hello, everyone. It’s exciting to be here today. I’m Elle, but you can call me the emotion whisperer!” I chirped, fanning my hands like an overly enthusiastic birthday party magician.
Heat immediately engulfed my face. My attempt at grabbing her class’s attention fell so hard that even Ruthie’s look of empathy couldn’t cushion the blow. Good thing half of her students were asleep.
Reddened blotches of embarrassment peppered my chest as I pushed through. “I’m in my final year of the mental health counseling program at CPC, and I want to share a bit about why I chose to pursue counseling as a career.”
“Sebastian, wake up!” Ruthie tapped her long burgundy fingernails on a student’s desk, directly beside his head, which lay still against the small surface.
How could that be comfortable?
The boy shot upright and coughed. He adjusted his chest toward the whiteboard I stood next to.
“Like Ms. Ruthie here, one of my biggest aspirations is to teach people. I like to think of a counselor as a teacher, but for behaviors and emotions,” I added, pointing to their beloved teacher, whose expression was growing increasingly frantic by the minute.
It was fun seeing her in her work element—a huge departure from the Ruthie I knew and loved.
“My dad says counselors and therapists are quacks,” another student barked.
His comment pulled a few laughs from the sea of bored pupils, but not enough to sting me. The term was one I’d heard before.
“Well, tell your dad he can come talk to me in the parent pickup line if he’d like some clarification,” my best friend sassed. She flipped her hair over one shoulder before softly smirking at the redheaded boy sitting next to Sebastian.
You tell him, Ruths.
“As I was saying, there are many concentrations to pick from in the mental health field. I, for one, chose to focus on helping people with addictions. I show them how to cope with their circumstances in healthy ways. How to heal and how to give power to things that can help them live their lives to the fullest.”
“Have you ever been addicted to anything? How can you teach others how to navigate those things if you haven’t?” a blonde girl sitting in the back row asked.
She reminded me of myself—asking too many questions before she was ready to learn the answers.
I’ve been addicted to Jesse’s words, the quest for real orgasms, Jewel’s angelic voice, studying to escape the anxieties of everyday life … I thought.
“That’s a great question,” I replied through my intrusive thoughts.
“My clients and I form an understanding, and I love helping them better themselves regardless of their situations. Although I haven’t personally struggled with addiction, I’ve worked with a lot of people who have.
And they’ve taught me things about life that school never could. ”
“Like what?!” Ruthie probed, helping my discussion progress since the awake half of her students were doodling or texting under their desks during my failed attempt to educate them.
Tough crowd.
“Like how sometimes, the only reason people become addicted to something is because it’s easy to access or it makes them feel good for a short moment.
It’s comfortable. But comfort isn’t always the thing to strive for.
Uncomfortable, out-of-reach things often give the better outcome, even if they’re harder to get to.
Even if those things seem so far out of reach that you can’t even imagine them.
” More than just the words left my lips. Heavy realization accompanied them.
Were Jesse and I only holding on because it was comfortable for us?
Because my personality, affection, and accessibility were easy for him to latch on to, and vice versa?
Was I addicted to our past yet afraid of our future?
One where I’d be forced to support his career and scatter mine in whatever direction the Navy took us?
My train of thought sped south at a rate that was sure to spiral out.
Ruthie’s interruption was my North Star.
“Speaking of addictions, if I see one more of you little heathens on your cell phone, I will be canceling the pizza party next week,” she warned.
Her threat snapped every single student out of their trance.
“Now that I have your full attention, can we please thank our guest speaker for her time today?”
“Thank youuuu,” they called in unison.
“You’re all very welcome. And remember, each one of you has the power to choose a job that will fuel you one day. Try to pick one that will make a difference,” I urged.
Suddenly, a bell rang, dismissing the class from their seats. I walked over to Ruthie and sat my clearly-not-meant-to-be-a-middle-school-teacher ass on the edge of her desk.
“How the hell do you do that every day?”
“As much as these kids drive me up the wall every now and again … every single one has my heart. I like showing them they’ve got someone tough in their corner because some of them don’t get that at home.” Ruthie’s pride overflowed from her sentiment.
She was meant to be a teacher.
I was meant to be a counselor.
Jesse was meant to be in the Navy.
But were Jesse and I meant to be those things together?
“Let’s get out of here. Driptini’s starts serving booze at four, and I would kill for an espresso martini right now.” Ruthie swatted several fallen curls out of her face. Her faded makeup gripped her skin for dear life.
She was tired, but she was never too tired for a good cocktail or gossip session. Now I could understand why.
“Shit, me too. No dick for over a month is keeping me from thinking straight,” I joked. But it wasn’t a joke. It was my reality.
“Girl, I can’t say I feel too bad for you. Since graduating and starting this teaching job, I haven’t been on one date. Not one! If I can forgo dick for almost a year, you can certainly handle going without for a few months. I wish I had a sexy sailor sending me love letters, you lucky duck.”
God, she made me laugh. My teeth met the air through a wide smile I couldn’t slow.
“You’re right,” I agreed, vowing to leave my self-thrown pity party behind in her classroom. “I still couldn’t do this without your support though, so thank you …”
“No, thank you for giving us an excuse to spend more girl time together. Besides, it’s freaking Valentine’s Day!
Let’s get going. I need a full rundown of what you and Jesse have been writing about in your letters.
I want every sexy detail so I can live vicariously through you.
Has he mentioned any lonely friends in boot camp?
I’d love to be someone’s new pen pal …” she rambled on, as if convincing herself she’d just spouted the best idea of all time.
Thirty minutes later, we pulled into Driptini’s as raindrops drizzled down the windows of Ruthie’s convertible.
Maybe my place of employment was helpful for something other than discounted lattes and saving up for a flight to see Jesse after all. Like girls’ night.
And overthinking just about everything.