Chapter 34
Jill: Where the hell are you?
Marvin: My car is out of gas FFS. I’ll walk.
Jill: I’ll sneak out and come get you.
Marvin: No, it’s only a mile. I can walk.
Jill: No fool. RUN.
And somehow, on a warmer than typical May evening, I find myself jogging to the Teacher of the Year ceremony. Kristi would be so pleased right now. Except, I’m not dressed for it. To be fair, I don’t really own any clothes for running. No, instead, I’m dressed up to potentially accept a distinguished award. I kind of hope I don’t win the damn thing because, by the time I arrive, I’m going to be a complete sopping mess.
Because, apparently, in addition to the rest of my horrible life choices, I’m completely out of shape, I vacillate between actual running, jogging, walking fast, and something in between I’ll call wogging. One mile can’t take that long, even for a shlub like me. Every damn traffic signal turns to Don’t Walk as I approach, and I wonder if someone put a Kinahora on me. I find myself playing chicken, running across intersections, attempting to make it to the hotel as quickly as possible without being turned into roadkill, Frogger style.
Only two blocks away, a woman in a maroon mom-van careens around the corner, slamming on her brakes, barely avoiding flattening me into a latke.
“Watch it!” she shouts out her window.
“Hey, I’m trying to win a prestigious award here!” I scream back, pointing in the general direction of the ceremony.
Cresting the hill, I finally glimpse the hotel, taller than most buildings downtown, a horrible Eighties beige stucco high rise. I bolt over, and giant glass doors slide open for me. Spotting the letterboard sign directing to the ceremony, I hurry as fast as my tired legs will carry me to the ballroom. Completely out of breath, I throw the doors open, and the murmur of the reception hums low. Folks are sitting, chatting, eating, and nobody seems to notice me. I should have made a pitstop in the bathroom to freshen up. Dripping with sweat from the impromptu and unwelcome exercise, I resemble a wet rat.
Dr. Knorse stands behind a lectern on the makeshift stage, speaking. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes. As principal of Pelletier Elementary, I’m honored to accept this award on Mr. Block’s behalf. He should be here momentarily.”
Oh my god. I won. Oh my god. I’m late. For my crowning. Technically, there’s no crown, but this is the closest I’ll ever get, so I’m going with it. I can’t decide if I should turn around and dash to the bathroom to hide, perhaps cooling off my entire head in the toilet or fly up to the stage in my current state of disarray. But holy crap, I won. As reality sinks in, I think about what this means. Yes, it’s an honor to be recognized, but more importantly, Dr. Knorse should have no problem securing the funding we need to keep the current staff and programming in place. With the staffing secured to make Pelletier Elementary the best place possible for kids, I heave a big sigh. Clearly, that’s the more significant win. My chest swells with pride.
“I actually have someone here who asked to say a few words about Mr. Block,” Dr. Knorse continues. “We’re so lucky to have a parent of one of his students here tonight. Mr. Stone, would you please come up.”
My mouth drops to the floor as Olan stands. He’s sitting at a table near the front with Jill and Kristi, and he glides up to the stage. Butterflies overtake my stomach. Winged friends, now more than ever, I’m going to need you to soar in formation. He’s wearing a short-sleeved teal button-down shirt, his skin glowing against it. Of course he’s dressed up, and while not prudent, part of me wants to run up and tackle him in a hug. Fuck, he looks tasty.
Trying to go unnoticed, I duck into an empty seat at a table near the back with a group of people I don’t know. They all turn and stare, and I push damp hair out of my face.
“Mind if I sit for a sec?”
“Good evening. My name is Olan Stone, and my daughter, Illona, is lucky enough to be in Mr. Block’s kindergarten class at Pelletier Elementary. I reached out to Dr. Knorse and asked her if I could say a few words in the event he won, and I’m beyond thrilled to be able to share a little with you about the amazing teacher Mr. Block has been for not only my daughter and her classmates but the hundreds of students he’s taught over his career.”
He’s here. I can’t believe he’s here. For me. I suck in an impending sob and the strangers around the table glare at me.
“Sorry, these things always make me verklempt.”
Olan continues and we all return our attention to him.
“I myself know the power of a great teacher. Growing up, I never really fit in. My family didn’t know what to do with a nerdy Black boy, his face constantly buried in books about how planes fly. Rather than going outside and riding my bike or playing basketball with the neighborhood kids, I was always at the library. Nobody knew what to make of me. Until high school, when, freshman year, my math teacher, Mrs. Williams, asked me if I’d ever considered joining the math club. I was finally with other people, well, nerds like me, and it was all because of Mrs. Williams. She took the time to get to know me. Understand what made me tick. Why I was struggling.”
As he talks, my eyes lock on him, and wetness stings my eyes.
“Mr. Block does that with his students. He sits and listens. He asks questions. He learns about them and uses that information to make connections. Those deep connections help him be the best teacher for his students and that extends to their families. This year, I relocated to Portland with my daughter. Mr. Block was patient, understanding, and, most of all, caring with both her and me while we adjusted. He views his relationships with his students as the core of his role as their teacher. He doesn’t simply care. He loves them. Deeply. He’s taught me that teaching is an act of love. There’s nobody more deserving of this award than Marvin Block, who loves with his whole, big, beautiful heart.”
Even as my heart aches with affection, I slink down in my seat a little, attempting to hide from what I’m afraid he might say next.
“Marvin, are you here?” he asks.
The room begins to gurgle with noise, and I slowly raise my shoulders to sit up in my seat and stand. The entire crowd turns and peers at me as I keep my arms glued at my side to conceal my sweat, and I’m, once again, flinging my head to move hair out of my face.
I turn toward him, our eyes meet, and he smiles so enormously, that glorious gap tempting me from across the room. Already a sweaty mess, I’m inclined to sprint up and wrap my arms around him. But I don’t. I walk up, calm, cool, and collected, attempting to resemble a person worthy of winning.
Arriving at the long, metal steps up to the stage, I pause, stare down, and take each one slowly. This is not the time to trip and fall. As I approach, I’m not sure how to greet him. He opens his arms, and I launch myself into him, gathering him up in my arms, squeezing tighter than decorum probably advises.
“I went to your meeting. What, why…” I stammer in his ear.
“We’ll talk. After,” he whispers back.
“Okay.”
I pull away because Dr. Knorse is only a few feet away watching, and well, the whole room is waiting. He pulls me back quickly, holds me close, and whispers, “I love you.”
Now would not be the time to be speechless, but my breath has temporarily been stolen by Olan’s “I love you.” Closing my eyes, I attempt to catch myself. With Olan’s rousing endorsement, there’s not much left for me to say. Plus, I’m currently two things I detest – sweaty and starving. I thank the committee, Dr. Knorse, and the entire community. Dr. Hayes presents me with a huge plaque, and I head to the table where Jill and Kristi sit awaiting us.
“You really love cutting things close, don’t you?” Jill asks as we sit. Her stomach barely bumps out against her stunning orange and yellow floral dress.
“I mean, it wasn’t intentional.”
“Well, you made it. That’s all that matters,” Dr. Knorse says, and Lord, she’s smiling. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing a grin on her face.
“We were happy to vamp a little until you arrived,” Olan says, patting my leg under the table.
I want to kiss him so badly, but we still need to talk.
“I need to use the bathroom. And by use the bathroom, I mean give myself a bath in the sink,” I say, gripping Olan’s knee tightly under the table and rising to my feet.
“I’ll help,” he says, standing, and we briskly head to the men’s room, the table resuming their chatter.
The moment the men’s room door swings closed, I smash Olan against the wall and kiss him with all my pent-up emotions from the last few weeks. He places his hands on my waist and pulls me into him, and god, I’ve missed being this close. We share a too-brief kiss, I pull away, remembering.
“I went to your AA meeting. Your one-year anniversary… what happened?”
“Oops. I mean, I needed to be here. To support you. You’re so deserving and have worked so hard. And I was wrong. About you working too much. Too hard. I get it now. But I still want you to take care of yourself. And I want to help. Take care of you. You can’t be the amazing human you are for those kids if you’re not okay yourself.”
I lean in, about to kiss him again, but ask, “But you missed your anniversary.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He pulls a shimmering bronze chip from his pocket and holds it out. The words “To Thine Own Self Be True” are etched around a triangle with a beautiful number one in the center.
“Ralph delivered it this morning. We’ll celebrate my anniversary next month. We can go together. But thank you for going. That means a lot. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I mean, the anniversary is a big deal, but celebrating it next month isn’t. Really, people do it all the time. This was only happening once, and I wasn’t going to miss it. Although you almost did.”
“Every time I almost run out of gas, I tell myself, never again, but, well, it always happens again.”
“So, you ran here?”
I lift my arms, and the full horror of my sweaty mess of a shirt reveals itself.
“Yup.”
“God, you’re adorable.”
“And you, you’re, well, here. How did you know when…”
“Dr. Knorse. I called her. She told me about your chat. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I’m tired of keeping this a secret.”
His lips turn up slightly for a moment, and the tiny gap between his teeth peeks out at me. I move in and give him the briefest of kisses because I need encouragement for what I’m about to say.
“Olan, I know what you said about us not being right for each other, and if that’s truly how you feel, I’ll understand, but there’s a reason you picked up your life and moved across the country. There’s a reason you picked Portland. There’s a reason your daughter was put in my classroom. Maybe part of the reason was so we could meet. None of this” – I motion between us – “happened accidentally. Someone wanted us to, well, be an us. I know meeting you has shown me how beautiful it can be to open up my heart.”
He takes a small step back. This is it. His answer. My stomach gurgles with uncertainty about what will come out of his beautiful mouth.
“You’re amazing,” he says. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Maybe I can help you with that.”
“I’d like that.”
“And you’ve shown me it’s okay to love what you do and have a personal life too. A work-life balance is attainable.”
I grimace. “I mean, I need to work on that too.”
“Sure, we all can, I know that. But this running away thing you do worries me. What’s going to happen when my past comes up? Because it probably will at some point. Or what if I have another relapse? To be clear, I have no intention of that ever happening, but I can’t guarantee it. I can’t guarantee anything. Every morning, I get up and pray. I pray to stay sober, and I take that prayer and tuck it away so it stays with me all day. All I can do is promise you today I won’t drink. Each day, I make that promise to myself. For me first, but also Illona, and I’ll make it for you, too.”
My hand reaches for his, and he lets me take it, hold it, cherish it. With my other hand, I gently stroke the one I’m holding because touching him, his skin on mine, makes my soul sing.
“I can’t promise anything either, but I won’t run away again. I won’t. I’m going to start therapy. I need to continue unpacking why my childhood keeps impacting me as an almost thirty-year-old man. I promise to try every day, with you, to be the best version of myself. For you. For Illona. But mostly, for me.”
Olan’s free hand comes up to my cheek. His fingers find their way into my hair because they always do.
“You missed my mop?”
“I so fucking did.”
I laugh at this, and his hands, still in my hair, pull my face toward him, and heat radiates from his skin, the familiar smell of his ChapStick instantly soothing me.
“You won. How does it feel?”
“I’m happy. Mostly for the school, but sure, it feels good. But this feels better,” I say, placing my hand on his chest.
“Marvin, whether you won or not, you’re still always teacher of the year to your students. They adore you. And so do I. You’re my teacher of the year. Always.”
Not knowing what to say, I softly place my lips on his. He smiles, making the kiss a little more challenging, but I’m up for it.
“You know we first met in the bathroom. At school,” he says, pulling back.
“We did?”
“We did. You peed all over yourself.”
“Oh my god, no, I didn’t. It was water from those damn sinks.”
“Well, whatever it was, your pants were soaked. And now we’re in a bathroom again.”
“Let’s finish dinner and go home,” I say, leaning in. My mouth makes contact, and this time, he holds me close, and we kiss with intention in a way that lets me know he’s present, ready, and we’re in this together.
“I love you, Olan Stone,” I say on his lips as I pull back.
“I love you, Mr. Block.”
And he does. And I do.