I had never dreamed I would end up in the position that I was in. Or in the room I was in, for that matter. All it took was one quick swift movement that I never saw coming, and I was up against a wall, panting and praying for a contradiction of things: first, for that moment to end, and second for that moment never to end.
Had I not given it any thought, I never would have doubled back to “check on something”… I would have left the school and gone home. After all, does anything good ever happen after school?
I was 17, a senior in high school. It was during the fall of my senior year. I had nothing to worry about. I was smart and took all Advanced Placement (AP) classes that year, and even those were a bit easy. And I was planning on coasting through the year. I had nothing to worry about. My teachers didn’t need to cut me any slack because, frankly, I didn’t need it. I was passing with flying colors without doing anything extra.
Then along came Accounting. Don’t get me wrong, math is an easy subject for me. Calculus was something of a bore, and Trig even more so. So, Accounting was nothing to sneeze at. Simply adding short columns of small numbers, and putting those numbers on a ledger. Could it be any simpler? Absolutely. But I didn’t want to be in the class to begin with. I didn’t like the teacher. I pretty much thought he was a dancing monkey who should have been a music teacher rather than teaching Accounting and Religion/Theology.
I had been stuck in his class because the Psychology class had filled up faster than anticipated. Perhaps it did have something to do with Mr. Anderson. I wasn’t the only one that didn’t want to be in his class. So, they stuck me in with Mr. Anderson, and Accounting. I remember the day I found out quite clearly. I immediately went to the Administration office and stormed in demanding my classes be changed. But it was a little late, they said. And the other classes were filled up. And I felt defeated. No worries, I thought to myself. I’d just deal with it, and try to transfer during the next semester.
The first class was fine. I sat in the back, opened my book and began with getting ahead of my assignments. No use is falling behind because of my unoriginal hatred of this Anderson Fellow. I finished the first three assignments during that first class, and patted myself on the back for a job well done, and getting ahead was always a good thing. Not once during that first class did I look up to pay attention to Mr. Anderson. In fact, it took me at least 3 weeks to even consider paying attention, and that was only to get the notes for the test we were to have, allegedly.
When I finally did look up, I was thrown off by a set of piercingly blue eyes staring back at me. Those eyes had been enough to startle me and I nearly fell out of my chair. What had me even more confused was who those eyes belonged to. Mr. Anderson. He had said something before I looked up, and the heat and annoyance in his eyes said it very clearly.
“Come see me after school,Angel” Mr. Anderson repeated. I hadn’t been paying attention, so I missed whatever it was he said. That was his way of punishing me, apparently. I rolled my eyes to cover for the look of shock that must have shown on my face, and that everyone seemed to laugh at.
I’ll admit to not wanting to show up after school. I was never a rebel, don’t get me wrong. But my hatred for the formerly non-piercing eyed Mr. Anderson ran deep.
He had been the previous year’s music director, and I had strongly disliked him from the moment I walked into the music room. I didn’t appreciate change much, and he just made things a little more irritating with his mere presence.
The change in music directors had been an unprecendented one. To this day, I have no actual knowledge of what happened to the previous director. Only rumors. Rumors involving a drug bust, a hooker, and a pineapple. And therein lies the reason they were only rumors.
Upon meeting Mr. Anderson, I disliked him. He was different and pushy and everything had to start from the beginning. Whatever curriculum and activitites that were in place before his arrival, had been changed drastically. Lucky for me, I wasn’t the only one who had a strong dislike for him from the beginning.
I was never shy about my feelings towards him. I fought him every step of the way during my Junior year. I was rebellious and refused to do anything until I got my way. I walked out of rehearsals, and demanded solos and ever rallied my own posse to help with the arguments. I even quit the music group several times, and was repeatedly begged to return and relax. I was the equivalent of a spoiled 5 year old child who has just come to realize the powers of manipulation. But I gave Mr. Anderson credit for at least putting up with whatever was dealt to him, even though he probably didn’t deserve it. And so began our tormented relationship.
At approximately 2:47 pm, after school that day, I re-entered Mr. Anderson’s classroom. There were still stragglers who stayed after for extra credit, and extra help, and detention. Mr. Anderson was sitting at his desk with a male student standing over him. Kenny Bloom. Kenny was a football player, who was in dire need of help to pass Accounting.
Mr. Anderson looked up from his desk and Kenny’s work and nodded to me to acknowledge my presence and gestured for me to take a seat. I looked around and found a seat directly in the middle of the classroom, not quite at the back, and not quite close enough to Mr. Anderson’s desk.
I had barely put my posterior in the seat when I heard my name and saw Mr. Anderson walking in my direction. Kenny had grabbed his backpack and blue and white Varsity Football jacket, and the only thing I saw as I looked towards the door was his jacket, and a blur or blue and white and gold from the jacket.
“Angel,” I looked back towards Mr. Anderson, who had sat on the desk of the seat in front of me. “Angel, do you know why you’re here?” His eyes were starting to burn a hole through me. If it was entirely possible, they were bluer and brighter than earlier in the day.
I had no words to respond, having been lost in his entrancing eyes, and just shrugged my shoulders in question.
“You’re here because you keep undermining me. It was fine when I was just the music director. But now that I’m your actual teacher, you have to find some respect for me, even if you don’t have it. Angel, can you do that for me, at least during my class?” I nodded, still speechless and entranced. I hadn’t realized until that moment what an attractive man Mr. Anderson was. But all that was irrelevant. I had plans to play the good seed during the day, and go back to sincere hatred in the after school hours.
“Thank you,” Mr. Anderson stated, sincerely. “Now that we have a truce, is there anything I can do to help you get through this class?” He had moved an entire seat closer without me even knowing he’d done it.
I shook my head emphatically no.
“Alright. You just let me know.”
I nodded my head emphatcially yes.
“Are you okay?” He was kept moving closer to the desk I sat at.
More emphatic nodding.
“Okay,” and he walked back over to his desk, sat down and started clicking away at his keyboard. I still couldn’t get up from my chair, so I grabbed a book out of my bag and started reading it. Once my legs were working again, I would be able to get up and leave.
About an hour later, I found myself a little more relaxed, so I packed my things and began to leave the room. However, upon leaving, I felt myself so inclined to touch the ivory keys of the keyboard stationed directly in front of Mr. Anderson’s desk. The keyboard wasn’t turned on, so no sound came out. Mr. Anderson looked up from his computer at me then back down to the floor where a small plug was sitting near a socket by the wall. I put my bag down upon his head gesture, and plugged the keyboard in. My hands returned to the soft keys, and sounds were coming out. Not the most beautiful sounds in the world, I’ll grant you, but sound, nonetheless.
In one swift motion, without me even knowing, Mr. Anderson was standing behind me. I never saw him move from his desk, and seconds later, he was close enough behind me that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. In another swift movement, his hands came over mine, guiding them across the keys, and playing notes that actually sounded good together.
Again, I was breathless and frozen where I stood.
“Do you know how beautiful music can sound if you are passionate about it?” Mr. Anderson spoke in a near whisper. I barely nodded, but there was just enough movement for him to understand that I was trying to nod emphatically. As my fingers continued to glide across the keys, his hands moved and his arms came around my waist, and he placed his chin on my left shoulder, close enough so I could feel him breathing in my ear. Still I couldn’t speak. I was afraid to breathe. If I did, he would move. It would be like watching a lion in the wild. One tiny movement and the scene could changed in less than a second.
With the close proximity, I could smell his potent cologne, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body. And still, I couldn’t move.
“You smell incredible…” Mr. Anderson took in a deep breath, with his nose on my auburn hair.
“Thank you,” I whispered, almost inaudibly. I couldn’t believe the situation I’d gotten myself into. Unexpected, but at the same time, I felt that I had known it was coming. Since that morning, when I became mesmerized by those deep blue eyes, inexplicably I knew the outcome of this exchange. I knew I wouldn’t move. I knew I wouldn’t do a thing to change the circumstance. I knew I would go with the flow, and follow my instincts and think about everything later on.
I could feel Mr. Anderson’s arms moving. Crap, I thought to myself. I couldn’t think of a thing that I had done to make him want to move from the position we were in. His hands moved immediately to my waist, and a turning motion began. I found myself turning around with the gentl pressure he was putting on my waist, to face him.
The moment we stood face to face, I could not stop looking into his eyes. I was lost in the deep swirls and black flecks, and the arms tightly wrapped around my body. And then he lowered his face slightly and our lips met for the first time. It was the most natural thing in the world to be experiencing at that very moment. His lips were soft against my own cherry-chapstick coated, slightly parted lips. My hands rested on his forearms for only a second before his hands moved from my waist to cup my face, and as if it were a habit, as if it were something I’ve done a million times before, I wrapped my arms around his waist so that my hand were intertwined behind his back.
The kiss only last for less than a minute, but it felt like too long to be forever, and too short to be not continue on longer, and it was done. He slowly backed away, again leaving me breathless and frozen. When I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of him leaving the classroom, and I was alone.