Chapter 7
Miles
Noah is fast asleep, and I’m nodding off on the couch, the TV on but muted when Audrey walks in later than usual. Whatever is on isn’t what I was watching a minute ago…
“Hey, how was he?” she asks softly, closing the door and hanging up her keys.
“Great, as usual.” I stand and stretch, my back popping in a few spots.
“You can stay if you want.”
“I’m right upstairs, Audrey. It’s fine.” I kiss her cheek and pull open the door. “See you in the morning.”
Upstairs, I take a shower and get into bed. I’m just drifting to sleep when my phone rings and wakes me. I reach for it blindly, assuming it’s Audrey. I slide the bar to answer.
“What’d I forget?” I mutter into the phone. It’s silent on the other end. “Hello?”
“Is this Miles?”
I recognize the voice instantly and shoot upwards.
JJ.
“Hey, sorry.” I clear my throat. “I thought you were my sister.”
“You were sleeping. I’ll—”
“I wasn’t,” I say quickly.
It’s silent for a moment, then he says, “Okay.”
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound wide awake. I don’t want him to feel bad. I told him to call at any time if he needed to talk, and maybe he does. But if he thinks he’s bothering me, he won’t.
When I started college, I went back and forth on being a teacher or a therapist. Obviously I went with teaching, but sometimes I wonder how my life would be different had I gone in the other direction.
I love helping people, and I’m not bothered when people unload their problems on me.
If it makes them feel better, I feel better.
“Can’t sleep,” he mutters.
“Ah, yeah. Same.”
He huffs a laugh. “You could just admit you were sleeping.”
“But if I did that, you’d want to get off the phone.”
“I don’t know that I want to be on the phone, anyway.”
“You called. That has to mean something.”
It falls silent again, and I hear him softly breathing on the other side.
“My house is too quiet,” he says.
“Put the TV on.”
“None of them are set up, and I don’t feel like doing that right now.”
“Did you just move in?”
“Yeah… seven years ago.”
Seven years ago, and he hasn’t set up the TVs?
That sounds like something he won’t want to talk about, so I don’t ask.
“I have this really cool app that plays calming sounds that help you sleep. I can text it to you, if you’d like to check it out.
I know it sounds silly, like something for a kid, but I swear when I can’t sleep, it’s a huge help.
And it has a timer, so it doesn’t play all night and mess with your phone battery. ”
“Like lullabies?”
“Some of them are, but there’s other stuff too. Like waves or rain. Thunder. Birds. There’s a lot to choose from.”
“Okay, sure. Send it over. I’ll check it out.”
I put the phone on speaker to go through my apps and share it with him so he can download it if he wants.
“They give you a free trial. I think it’s a week, unless it changed. I don’t remember it being expensive after that, but to me it’s worth it.”
“Thank you, Miles.”
“You’re welcome.”
I stare into the darkness of my room, waiting for him to say something else.
I don’t know what this phone call is for.
Maybe he’s just lonely. I think sometimes the only reason I don’t feel lonely is because Audrey and Noah are right downstairs.
If I lived in a house all by myself, would I be okay with that?
Maybe JJ wants to talk but doesn’t know where to start, or how to explain what he’s feeling. I don’t want to push him, but if he wants to talk, I’m here. He could just need to know that someone is here…
I open my mouth to ask if he’s okay, when he says, “I should get to bed. It’s been a long day, and I have work in the morning.”
The disappointment lands hard.
“Yeah, me too. Have a good night.”
“Thanks for talking.”
“Any time.”
“Good night, Miles.”
“Night, JJ.”
He ends the call, and I stare at my phone, at the number he called from. Is it worth saving? Is he going to call again? Is this a one off? I guess I should save it just in case he calls again. At least I’ll know it’s him.
I quickly save the number, plug in my cell, and drift to sleep listening to the low roll of thunder coming from my phone.
I have a lingering headache for reasons I can’t figure out. I got as much sleep as I normally do. Had the same amount of caffeine as usual. I ate breakfast. Noah was a little louder than usual this morning, and come to think of it, so is this classroom of kids. Thank God it’s almost nap time.
“All right, kiddos, it’s time to clean up our messes and put our stuff away,” I call out as I move between the little desks and chairs.
The room is set up with four large circle tables, each with four students. The walls are covered in colorful educational posters and artwork from the kids.
Greenley Elementary is small, one of the oldest in the area.
Bigger schools have been built, and the majority of the kids in the area go to those, but there is still a small portion who come here.
Mostly, parents choose to send their kids here because it’s where they went.
We’re just as good as the others. Each grade has two classrooms with fifteen to twenty kids.
There is one teacher per class, and every grade shares a helper.
We get her in the afternoon, after nap time.
“Don’t throw your fork at friends, Dante,” I say, shaking my head. He smiles and puts his hand down, but I don’t trust that he won’t do it again. He’s a sneaky one.
“Annalee, that milk carton goes in the trash, not in your backpack. Stewart, please swallow that before you take the last bite. Marie, you do not eat the peel of the banana.” I sigh, going over to help her take off that last bit of peel, which has a bite taken out of it. I toss in the trash for her.
“Is everything cleaned up?” I ask a moment later, looking around the tables.
“Yes, Mr. Montgomery,” they all say, my name coming out slowly and in a sing-song tone. A few of them still can’t get it right.
“Great. Everyone, go wash your hands while I wipe down the tables.”
They scurry over to the two small sinks by the windows and wash their hands, shoving and pushing each other. It doesn’t get out of control, so I let them figure it out while I wipe the ketchup and milk spills off their tables with paper towels, then again with anti-bacterial wipes.
The kids hurry to their cubbies when they’re done cleaning their hands, pulling out their blankets and pillows for nap time, while others run to get their mats first. They’re good at figuring out what they need to do, it’s just a little chaotic.
But it’s kindergarten. That’s how they are, and it’s important for them to learn how to handle things themselves.
I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker that’s colorful and shaped like a flower and open the app I told JJ about. I put on the beach sounds with waves for the kids to fall asleep to.
“I want the rain!” Callie shouts.
“No, I want the lamb song,” Asher whines.
“Today is beach day,” I say. “It’s on the schedule, remember? Rain is on Monday, and the lamb song isn’t even for nap time, Asher.”
The kids start to settle after a few moments, some of them covering their heads with their blankets, while others hug their stuffies.
Some sprawl sideways, some lay on their stomachs, and others on their backs.
They’re a great group of little humans. I love my job, I truly do.
This is such a fun age for kids, when they’re learning and exploring, testing boundaries in a way that is adorable.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, wishing I had some pain relievers, but I know I don’t. I meant to pick some up a few weeks ago and forgot. Plus, we aren’t supposed to leave them in the desk because of the kids. I could go to the nurse. Maybe I’ll do that once they all fall asleep.
The room grows calm as kids start to fall asleep. My eyes fall closed, and my headache starts to ease just the slightest—until the fire alarms blare and all the kids start to scream and cry. My head pounds so hard I see spots.
“Okay, okay. It’s just a fire drill. What do we do during a fire drill?” I call out loud enough they can hear me over the blaring alarm and screams.
Pure chaos ensues, as it always does with a fire drill. The kids run around. Fall. Cry. Scream. Sort of like that scene from Kindergarten Cop. I look at the kids who are more put together—or more likely still half asleep—and ask them to take their partner’s hand and line up at the door.
Not that kids are responsible at the tender age of five and six, but some of these kids give off calm energy, and I paired them with those who can be a little more anxious with fire alarms. They work together, and eventually there are only three kids who aren’t lined up.
“Harrison, where is your partner?”
“I don’t know,” he cries, his face wet with tears.
“Come on, then.” I offer him my hand. “Brian and Samantha, you too. Come on.”
I walk them over to the line quickly, they find their partners already waiting, and out we go, with Tyler leading the way, his head held high. It feels like it took forever, but really, they handled this all very quickly.
The halls are filled with students, the alarms still going off.
My headache has gone from a four to an eight.
I’m getting nauseous. We make our way to the safe spot, which is the open grassy area beyond the parking lot in front, by the flagpole.
The sunlight is doing me no favors with this headache.
We take our designated spot, and I watch out for Noah. He hasn’t built a great relationship with his teacher yet, so I still chat with him sometimes when he needs extra help. I try not to step on toes or stunt his relationship-building skills, but it’s hard not to when he’s my nephew.
There’s no doubt he’s thrilled he’s going to see fire trucks, and because of that, he’s probably buzzing with energy.
Only if this is a drill, which I think it is, because I didn’t smell smoke, there won’t be any trucks.
That may upset him a little. Usually, we know when the drills are scheduled, but now and then, there will be a surprise one to make sure the teachers are on their game.
The last of the students are filing out, Noah amongst them, and the fire truck sirens can be heard in the distance.
“I thought it was a drill,” Sheila, the kindergarten helper, says, standing between my line and the other kindergarten line.
“So did I,” I say. “I hope everything is okay—Asher, don’t eat grass.”
“Sorry, Mr. Montgomery,” he says, spitting it out.
“Maybe it’s just wiring. I didn’t see smoke,” Eloise, the other kindergarten teacher, says.
“Do you hear them, Uncle Miles? Do you hear the trucks?” Noah shouts, jumping up and down as his class takes up their safe spot behind us.
“I hear them, Noey. Make sure you stay safe, right?”
“I am being safe!” he says, his eyes wide as saucers as he watches the entrance, waiting for them to show.
Two trucks make their way in, causing most of the kids to get excited.
The teachers and staff work together to make sure the kids stay where they belong.
If there is an actual fire, and the trucks need to work, we may have to move to our other location, which is a small shopping plaza a few blocks away.
Since I’ve been here, we’ve only had to go there once.
It was before Noah started school. We do that only if necessary, because walking with all these kids across streets is a lot of work and can be dangerous.
“Mr. Montgomery!” someone calls. I look around and see Mr. Carpenter, Noah’s teacher, pointing at him. “Is it okay if he goes over there with you?”
“Of course.”
Mr. Carpenter whispers something to Noah. He nods eagerly, then dashes for me. He grabs onto my arm, shaking it violently.
“Do you see the trucks? Do you see them, Uncle Miles?”
“I see them.” I laugh. “They’re right there.”
“Do you think they’re going to use the hoses?” he asks eagerly.
“I hope not.”
The firefighters get out of the trucks, dressed in full gear. A few go inside, while others wait outside. One of them holds an ax.
Our principal, Thomas Kooley, waits at the front of our group to speak with them and see what’s going on. It’s only a few minutes before someone comes out of the school, and in no rush. Mr. Kooley waves them down, and two firefighters walk over.
“Look at them, Uncle Miles. They’re so cool! Look at their jackets and their boots!”
“So cool, Noah. Seriously, super cool.”
I love his enthusiasm, but it’s also getting to be a little much. Will he ever grow out of this obsession?
The firefighters speak with Mr. Kooley. One of them looks this way, giving a small wave to Noah.
“He waved! Uncle Miles, oh my God, he waved at me!”
My head is hurting even more as the loud trucks rumble, and the kids shout and talk loudly. Plus, my anxiety is spiking as I make sure all my students are safe and where they should be while also making sure Noah doesn’t try to hijack one of these trucks. I wouldn’t put it past him.
The principal shakes both of the firefighters’ hands, and they move to leave. One of them stops and turns toward us. It’s the one who waved at Noah.
“He’s coming. He’s coming!” Noah yanks on my shirt.
I laugh as I smooth my shirt down. “I can see that. Make sure you shake his hand and tell him thank you.”
The firefighter gets closer, and only when he’s standing in front of us and pulling his hat off, do I realize why.
It’s JJ.