Absence

A Story by Kya

My friend and I commented on one of my favorite teacher's behaviors at my school, and it inspired me to write this story. Name changed for obvious reasons.

He walked around the cafeteria, arms crossed, face relaxed. Mr. McCann's demeanor was that of a bored man with no one to talk to. His eyes would scan the teenage faces, smiling as he would see a group of girls laughing, cringing when he heard the boys insulting each other. He took slow strides around the area, watching. Every now and then he'd see a familiar face and strike up a stereotypical conversation about school and weekend plans. They always ended the same: the other walking off with a wave and a smile, leaving him alone as usual.

McCann listened to the almost inaudible clack of his shoes against the tile flooring as he made his way over to the windowed wall of the cafeteria. He glanced out at the courtyard and watched for a moment the circle of high schoolers playing with a hacky sack. He looked near the back of the outdoor space and saw, under the shade of a tree, a boy and a girl, locked in a gentle embrace, kissing ever so softly.

His hand went down to the walkie talkie he kept at his waist. It looked just like any regular school-issued edition, but this one was his. It was personal. His finger ran across the buttons on the side, words worn off long ago from this same action. He remembered her.

She was a beautiful young thing, willowy and pale and soft and sweet and everything that a young boy doesn't want, but needs. The way she smiled at him made him want to scoop her up and hold her forever, just so that he wouldn't have to share the feelings she made him feel. Of course he was apprehensive about letting her go anywhere, much less on a plane or boat or train or anywhere where he wouldn't be able to save her. But he didn't want to smother her and lose the best thing he'd ever had, so when she said that she wanted to go on a cruise while he went on a business trip, he smiled through the anxiety in his eyes and said yes.

He had heard on the news two days later that there was one lifeboat that had yet to be found. So he waited, walkie talkie in hand, for her to respond. To use the one he had given her weeks before she left so that he could stay in contact with her, say good night to her, wake her up with an old timey love song every morning. And every day for five years he'd check the battery, hook it onto his belt, and walk around during school, smiling and laughing with students. And every time he heard a bit of static, he'd throw the walkie talkie up to his ear, hoping, praying that she would be okay.