TRINITY

“You’re doing amazing, Dylan. Absolutely amazing. I love this drawing.” School only started a few weeks ago, and this scrawny, skinny little boy has already stolen my heart.

Each morning he comes to my classroom looking a little rougher, dirtier, hungrier, and sad, but by the end of the school day, his eyes are all lit up, and there’s a smile on his face. But also, by the end of the day, he’s in no hurry to go home, unlike most of the others. He drags his feet as if he doesn’t want to leave.

I shouldn’t have favorites, and I try not to, but as I’m slowly getting to know my new class of seven-year-olds, something about this child makes it impossible for me not to reach out. This isn’t about having a favorite, it’s about me adding something to this kid’s life to make him smile.

“Oh, look,” I say, pulling a banana out of my bag. “I forgot to eat this at lunchtime. I’d hate to waste it. Would you like it?”

He eyes the banana without blinking “You could have it tomorrow, miss.”

Smart kid. “I could, but I’m worried I might squash it by the time I get home.” I hold it out to him. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” This is the third time I’ve done this in the past few weeks, and it’s getting to a point now where I deliberately don’t eat my fruit and save it for him.

“Can I eat it here?”

It’s the first time he’s asked this. I don’t want him to stay too late because I know his mother will be waiting for him. “Here? Won’t your mom be waiting for you?”

He shrugs, and seems reluctant to take it. “Well, sure, you can eat it here,” I say.

No sooner has he peeled the banana than he wolfs it down greedily. It disappears in about three seconds. I hold my hand out for the banana skin.

His mouth is still full, but he nods, a sort of ‘thank you.’

“Off you go, and don’t forget your reading.”

He rushes off, and I stare after him long after he’s disappeared from sight. I worry about him, but I’m also not sure if I’m reading too much into things.

“Are you still here?” Ed, my colleague from the classroom next to mine, walks in.

“I’m killing time before I pick Benji up from the vet. What’s your excuse?”

“Prepping my lessons for next week.” He walks up to my desk with a smug smile, obviously pleased at himself. “How is your soulmate?”

I grin at the term of endearment he uses for my cat. Though, he’s not far wrong. My furry friend and I have shared many a cozy night in front of the TV. “Benji is well, but he doesn’t like going to the vet.”

“Is he sick?”

“No. He’s getting up there though, and it’s his usual yearly check-up, all the blood work, etcetera. He’s going to be in a stinker of a mood when he comes home,” I state, and am glad that I have my crochet class later to escape to.

“You give that cat too much importance.”

“He rules the roost. What can I do? He’s the best company.”

I’m no better when it comes to leading an exciting life. Ed is staying behind on Friday to prepare next week’s lessons, and I have a crochet class.
Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll is an alien concept for both of us. We’re both similar in some respects. It’s probably why we get along so well, aside from the fact that he usually passes by my classroom for a quick chat on most days.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks,
straightening his tie.
“We have a trip to the Nature Sanctuary over by North Pond.”

“We?” There’s a spark of uneasiness in his tone.

I relax and sit back, trying hard not to smile. “My adult art class.”

His expression smooths to a smile. “I can’t believe how you give up your weekends for these things, Trinity. Your life is already hectic enough.”

“Best way to be.” I volunteer on Monday evenings to teach art to adults with minor learning difficulties. This weekend the other teacher and I have organized a picnic at a local nature reserve. We never work weekends, but this has become a yearly thing. I don’t mind giving up most of my Saturday for this. It’s something different for the students and they’re all excited about it.

Ed looks at me the way he usually looks at me; with curiosity, as if he can’t quite figure me out. But there’s something else behind those irises today. He looks especially nice this evening in a dark shirt. He’s almost always in a white shirt and the contrast of him in something dark makes him look slightly sexy, at least, to my eyes.

He and I are on the same page. He’s not overly pushy, and I’m not overly flirty. In fact, I’m never flirty, though I do take a few seconds longer to gaze at him today.

“Isn’t teaching seven-year-olds enough?”

“I love my job, but you know me, Ed—”

“Do I?” he asks. His comment stops me momentarily, and suddenly I’m not so sure what he means.

“What do you mean?”

“Do I know you, Trinity? I don’t think I do. We’ve been friends for what, two years now? And I still don’t think I know you that well.”

This naturally begs the question of how well does he need to know me?

“Maybe…” He clears his throat and then seems to hesitate.

“Maybe what?” I ask. Does he have a point to make, or is he still making small talk?

“Maybe you’re just too nice for your own good.”

“Meaning what exactly, Ed?”

“Spending a weekend going on a picnic with your art class?”

“It’s only for a few hours and on one day, not the entire weekend,” I correct him. “You teach Sunday school,” I point out. “And you do that every weekend. I only teach art classes on a Monday night. I’m not as selfless as you, when it comes to these things.”

“It’s just a few hours on a Sunday,” he clarifies.
I’m still not sure where he’s going with this, but Ed has a way of going around and around in circles and can take forever to get to the point. But I’m used to it now.

“How about you? What are your plans?” I ask him.

“I’m looking for a new bed.”

I widen my eyes a little to show interest. “A new bed?”

He nods. “I’m not sleeping well and my back’s starting to hurt. The foam in the mattress is worn out and I can feel the springs more.”

“I highly recommend a memory foam mattress.”

“A memory foam mattress?” he asks, with interest. “Is that what you sleep on?”

I nod vigorously. “I swear by it.”

“I’ll take your advice.”

We fall silent. Both of us talking about a bed is, and isn’t, weird. A bed is an intimate part of the household furniture, or it’s a place to sleep. Nobody has ever shared my bed, and I know, through our conversations, that Ed is like me, saving himself for marriage. One life partner forever.

Our gazes lock for a moment so fleeting that I’m not sure if I imagined it. Even though all we’ve ever done is talk, I sense that Ed likes me.

I like him too.
He’s sweet.

This is nice enough, and pleasant enough, and it is enough; talking, and getting to know one another. He makes me smile whenever he walks into my classroom for an end-of-day chat.

Maybe we’ll talk for another year or two before he makes a move. That suits me just fine. He’s good-looking, well, pleasant looking, I’d say. He’s no Chris Hemsworth. He’s skinny and angular, with thinning hair, but, more importantly, his eyes don’t drop to my chest during our conversations. I am aware that most men can’t shift their eyes away from my ample bosom, because I see this with the dads at parents’ evening.

Ed is nothing like that.

He’s the type of man I can see myself with. The type of man I am saving myself for. He plays it safe, as do I. Life isn’t exactly riveting, but it is smooth-sailing, which is fine by me.

I hear some of the sob stories from a few of my teacher friends—broken hearts, a trail of cheating boyfriends, jealousy and heartbreak. If that’s what love is all about, I don’t want it. I don’t want to risk wading through a load of boyfriends before I find ‘the one.’

No, thank you.
I’m saving myself.

“Well, if you ever have a weekend free, maybe…maybe we could …uh…go for a pizza or something,” he offers, looking at the floor as he shuffles from one foot to the other.

“A pizza?”

“Or something. Just you and me.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks a little, and I’m not sure why. It’s definitely not a heartbeat skip, more like a feeling of it sinking slowly to the pit of my stomach.

“Like, maybe next weekend or the weekend after that,” Ed continues, his face looking slightly shinier now.

“Sure.” I say, feeling confused as to what he’s asking.

“Have a good time at the picnic,” he says quickly, then leaves.

“Enjoy your mattress hunting.”

So, that was it. That was the thing he’d been wanting to say all along; it just took him longer to say it.

I’m still not sure if that was a date, or a maybe-date, or pizza with friends. He and I don’t really get together outside of work, though he did come to the Christmas get-together with the crochet class last year, and he met Christina, my best friend. It turned out to be a good night, now that I remember it.
Ed surprised me, and it reminds me that he can be good fun socially.

One day, who knows? Maybe Ed and I will end up sharing a memory foam mattress together.