Chapter 9: Mr. Tester

A bold slash marked through another sad Saturday morning. The vacancy I endured in Ezra's apartment followed me outside of those luxury walls. I would have kept my findings, or lack thereof, to myself but an early text from Faith wasn't going to let me withhold any secrecies.  6AM and despite the weariness on her face, I could sense the aura from what the rest of our morning would entail.. I had to commend her for commitment to follow her dream of teaching.

What is my dream?

Just hours ago, I heard her returning home around 3:30AM. Of course I heard her. There was no sleep for me. I couldn't do that. Considering that neither one of us received enough hours of sleep, my reasoning was the most unjust.

Following the demand of Faith's text, I was occupying the bathroom with her. She knew something was wrong because I didn't tell her when I was returning home last night. In fact, I forgot to do a lot of things I was suppose to, I was so lost in my melancholy.

Dammit, where are you?

Sitting on the edge of our tub, she was terribly annoyed by the silence and asked me what was wrong. As strung out as I was, I had to confess the truth to how I had analyzed my reactions to Ezra and Genevieve.

Faith was hovering over our sink, rubbing her eyes and glancing at her reflection in the mirror, "No, Ada, I can't say that you overexaggerated."

Bullshit.

I sighed, "But he's gone now. I shouldn't have–"

"You reacted the way you were supposed to, and if you still feel like it's a mistake I would like to wholeheartedly disagree," she scoffed, momentarily pulling away from looking at her face.

If my mind hadn't been so fogged with regret, maybe I wouldn't have had to ask her, "Why?"

Faith was scrutinizing the ends of her hair between her fingers, "Because there is obviously a lesson that needs to be learned when we find ourselves ruminating this hard on something we say we regret."

"Hmm, a lesson?" I laughed.  "It sucks that this lesson leaves me more confused than before... and without him."

Faith pulled clippers away from her hair and smirked, "Without him?"

I shied away from her eyes and tapped my knees together, "Yeah. Despite knowing about Genevieve, it still felt off to tell him I didn't want him anymore. What is wrong with me?"

What was wrong with Cinna Buns? She was letting my toes wiggle along her belly as she was stretched out by my feet... and purring.

Faith translated with a quirked brow, "What's wrong with you is that you actually loved him?"

I was quiet. When the question was presented like that, I had no real response. I might have argued and said 'Yes.' from a place of hurt, but I couldn't pull that card anymore. It was that same stubbornness that pushed him away. I couldn't have even pretended to say anything but, "No."

What Ezra and I had been quick and sudden, and it hurt to think that it ended as soon as it began. The lesson I was sure that was hitting me in the face was: chill. Not to take a nap or shower– those were physical gateways into temporary relaxation. I needed to change the way I was approaching the things I didn't understand.

Though, I thought I understood you.

Faith was the friend that everyone should have, but I knew that in order for me to win this battle, I had to do it on my own. She knew I was always listening to her. How could I not when the only way I could describe myself was "vulnerable"? That is what bugged me about him the most. Even when he was gone, I still felt open.

But I couldn't do this to myself anymore. The reality was that Ezra left. In fact, he left everything in this city behind. I could only hope that, every second that I thought about him that he was still breathing. As dramatic as it seemed to think he was dead, it wasn't hard to create that narrative in my head with the dead silence I remembered from my failed call attempts.

"Ada, I'm sure he'll come back," Faith added with a necessary and warm hand over my shoulder.

I sucked air into my lungs and forced it from my nose. "I hope so. Thank you."

She smiled but sadly confessed, "You look so sad most of the time now. I know it will pass, but I have to admit it sucks from the outside over here."

"I'm sorry. I'm trying," I laughed, though there was really no humor to be had.

"Don't be sorry, Addy Bug, you are feeling the things you are supposed to feel, and you will be alright sooner than later. In the meantime, you will be painting with all of those cute little faces in your class in a couple of hours."

At first, I felt sick at the recollection of my first day with them. I was stupid, crying, and blubbering. Hopefully, they are as forgiving as my friend who sat beside me on the train and played with her thumbs.

Sometimes distractions were good, sometimes they were inevitable. I spotted one and it was unsurprisingly Faith. Once again, she and I were approaching the front desk to the school. From the train ride, to our entrance, I could detect the nervousness in her posture– even in the way she held the pen to sign in.

After I followed the sign-in protocol, I returned my attention back to her. Brown eyes were darting around, and I knew she was looking for him. Before she could even dare to dismiss me with a goodbye, I pulled her to the side.

My delivery would have been less cold had I smiled when I said, "You really like Chester."

She scratched the dark hair right underneath of her tightly coiled bun, and nodded with frustration. As much as this situation had been so obvious, we ended up talking about me and my woes majority of the time.

How come I never got to the bottom of this?

My friend wasn't looking me in the eye. She was frowning, showing an unfamiliar cynical look while she tried to dodge the subject.

"I know I would joke with you before, but what's up? You look like... super nervous."

"Ada, look at me, and then think about the kind of guy he is. He works at the Tower!" She whispered loudly, almost with shame.

"So," I returned in disgust.

Faith protested, "I'm covered in tats, and he's covered in... expensive suits. I'm so not his type, but I'm really attracted to him. Fuck... he's not my type either."

My hands were up, and they wound around in refusal when I scolded her, "Nah uh, girl. Your type has been complete and utter garbage because of their attitudes from the jump. I know all the good ass advice you give to me– constantly– is from those "lessons learned" from all of those foots you dated. Those other guys may have looked the part, but didn't pack it where it mattered. When was the last time you dated someone, Faith?"

"Three years ago?" she sheepishly inflected, though her question was the answer.

I pursed my lips and then prompted, "Why?"

Faith tilted her head and rolled her eyes off to the side. "Because most men are trash."

"Thank you," I sang. "And we can blame the dangers of toxic masculinity on that, yes? But I'm sure you didn't only stop dating because of the shitty guys, it was because you wanted something else."

"True," she chimed, still with a doubtful sigh. "Though it doesn't really make a lot of sense."

"What doesn't? Being attracted to better?" I questioned. "Don't go overboard with what you think... what you feel now... what you know to be real. I mean... It's got to be real... if you're feeling it this strongly, right?"

Faith emptied her lungs with another long sigh.

I put my hands on her shoulder and attempted to exorcise the gloom from the air,  "And there is a good chance, that that 'something else' may end up being something, or I should say someone, completely far from what you were thinking. Chester is very attractive, I've seen him be nothing but nice to you, and he's clearly interested because you are beautiful, brilliant, and have a lot to offer. C'mon Faith have... yourself in yourself."

I snickered at my comedy, but Faith disagreed, "Ada, no."

I looked down and pouted, "You refuse to have... yourself?"

"No, I refuse to permit this horrible joke you've just tried twice now with my name," she carped.

I stuck out my tongue and teased, "Haha, you can't do that to mine."

"Nope, but if you don't quit it a chick named Ada is about to catch the fade-ah," she finished with a roll of the eyes, unimpressed with her comeback.

I swatted her threat away. "Girl, please. You'd never strike me down in front of Chester."

"He's not here," she scoffed, before noticing me grinning and looking behind her.

"Oh my god, oh my god," she frantically whispered.

"Stop it and talk to him," I said with disgust. "And your pretty ass better remember to breathe too."

Mr. Mulligan was a pro at sporting business casual in a twill suit vest over a complementary gingham dress shirt. Faith was right about him not being her type, but boy did he seem like a catch. All I could do was hope that she didn't think she needed to change the bait at all.

I watched my rarely scared friend turn on her heels with poorly disguised fear.

Of course, his attention was on her when greeted, "Good morning, ladies."

Faith was about to open her mouth, but I interjected, "Good morning, Chester! I know you're here to talk to Faith, so I'll head off to my class now!"

I waved before turning away, proudly leaving them both with a flush across their faces. She was going to have to learn that I was going to keep embarrassing her like that until she stopped with the insecurities. It just felt so odd to have someone who lifted me up all the time speak so low about herself when it made absolutely no sense.

While trekking to my classroom, I took note of the bare walls that were once covered in children's artwork. For a moment, I felt sad to see the naked surfaces, but that only meant that they had to be populated with other works sooner than later.

The door to my second chance was right in front of me. I looked into the slender window of my classroom's door. I could see cheerful Miguel signing with a few kids who were mimicking his happy-go-lucky appearance. After pushing down on the knob, I swallowed some spit along with my pride and waved to him.

Yet something odd happened. Miguel smiled and quickly stood from his seat before knocking on the wooden top of his stool. He had the attention of our class, within seconds, and he pointed right at me. To my surprise, a herd of small kids ran up to me– all of them attempting to give me a collective hug.

"Welcome back Ms. Young!" they echoed among themselves.

"Oh my goodness," I gasped in shock, patting little heads and shoulders.

Miguel sat back down on his stood and smirked, "I figured you may have needed at least one hug from the last time."

I signed and said my thanks to all of them as the happily pranced back to their seats and gawked at me with appraisal. 

"Well, I just might cry again," I laughed to him while putting my bag down on the desk. "That was too sweet. I really felt awful for what happened last time."

Miguel lifted his hand– his way of silently dismissing my worry.

"We're all just glad to have you back, Ada," he laughed. "Now, I'm not going to lie... they're anxious for the next lesson."

With all the distractions in my head, I still found it odd how swift their next lesson came to me. I was still sitting in Ezra's empty apartment when it hit me. I was mulling over the countdown back to reality outside of his home, and when I thought of the kids, I knew I wanted them to paint self-portraits. I wanted them to do the one thing I didn't think I could do... which was look at myself.

What their minds conceived, without a reflection to aid , was beyond marvelous. It was no surprise that their ears, and hands if they chose to include them, were of utmost importance to their depiction. It made sense. It made complete sense to highlight the parts of you that you think about when coloring you. Some might have even called them our favorite parts. And I couldn't help but smile as the their paintbrushes confidently swept back and forth over their canvases.

After ten minutes, Miguel called to me at the back of the classroom.

"Ada, how are you feeling about this session?" He asked, his eyes obviously sweeping over my face.

I held a sincere smile, answering,  "I'm really happy about it."

However, Miguel watched my expression fade from joy to gloom, when he noted,  "That's great. It really is. The kids? They'll be as emotive as you sometimes. They could sense it before you broke down."

I remember their stricken faces.

My teaching aid continued, "Today, before he went to his cubby, Marvin asked me if you were coming back. I told him you would, and he lit up. He thought you were scared of the class because they 'can't hear as well as most people', but I told him you weren't afraid of him or anyone of them. I said that something else made you sad that day and you had to cry. Then he tells me how when his momma cries he gives her a hug and she stops. So I asked your students if they wanted to try giving you a hug to help you feel better."

"Wow... I really appreciate that you asked them if they would. And I'm happy they did. Didn't realize how much I needed it until it happened," I bashfully revealed.

Miguel disclosed more facts. "They liked painting, but they admitted they were sad because you were crying."

"I'm still really sorry I did that."

He shrugged, "Why? As much as the world likes to frown upon it I don't see why the empathy of children should be an afterthought. Look at them."

Doing as I was told, I turned my head and observed the beauty of  them giggling with each other and viciously mixing the colors in their palettes.

He added, "They're children. Sometimes we can forget how forgiving they are. And they want you here. I want you here, I think you have a gift that you haven't taken a hold of yet."

Right on time, Marvin hurried to the back of the class and tapped my arm.

"Yes, Marvin?" I smiled.

"I'm finished!" he cheered, his paintbrush still firm in his grip.

I went to his easel and saw the large brown circle of his head that weighed his composition. His white was blended into the brown for his eyes before two messy black dots spotted the white as his pupils. Then, of course, his ears were almost bleeding off the left and right ends of the canvas. They were huge and booming. His green hearing aids were splotched between his head and ears, and it truly was beautiful.

"You did a fantastic job, Marvin," I confessed.

The sudden light in his eyes illuminated the rest of his cherubic face, "Really?!"

"Of course!" I returned with slight confusion. "Why not?"

He turned away and looked to his artwork, shrugging his small shoulders.

Suddenly, Miguel's voice was coming from behind, "He wanted to keep the last painting they did, but I told them that they would have to be stored away for now."

"Where are they?" I questioned in a hurry.

Miguel pointed back with his thumb, "After they dried, I put them in the class's designated locker next to their paints."

"Will we get to keep them?" Marvin quietly interjected.

I squinted one eye, "Well... can I ask you and the rest of the class a question before I answer that?"

Though despondent, he nodded, and I made my way to the front of the classroom. I cleared my throat and asked for all their little eyes to be on me. Ten seconds later, I was successful, taking in how much more confident I felt in front of them and their little paint stained aprons.

"The last time you painted about me, today I wanted you to paint you. And... I think that you all are so talented that I'd like to see if I could have your work displayed along the school walls–"

They immediately took to the idea, screaming and even shaking their hands and brushes around in excitement.

"Are you sure?" I teased.

They shrieked in unison, "Yes!"

I lifted up my arms and waved them around, "Okay then, my artists! We only have fifteen minutes left of our class today. Please put your finishing touches on your lovely paintings so they can dry and be put out in the halls for all to see!"

They were so happy, mixing and dousing their canvases in abstract self-reflections. They loved the freedom of creativity, and Miguel was right– they were as emotive as I allowed them to be in this place..

Self... expression.

I felt two light taps on my shoulder, and Miguel said, "Good job."

*

"Ada!" I heard down the hall.

I stood up from the uncomfortable squat and looked to see Chester waving at me.

I was going to remove all the tape dangling from the contours of my hand, but I worked too hard to get them on there– carefully waving back to him.  Once he approached, I felt a bit embarrassed about my artwork name-tagging method and murmured, "Hi Chester."

"Ada, how was your class this time?" he asked with a big squinty smile.

"Much better!" I admitted, squatting down to pick up another canvas slathered in blue.

As I examined it, Chester added, "Miguel told me about what happened last time, but look at what came of it."

I shook my head in momentary disbelief, "I know... it's incredible. Though it is odd to see the interpretation of my emotions, through small lenses, on a white background. But that's what makes it so interesting. I'm finally getting to take a different look at myself."

"Very true... I can understand how people can make us do that sometimes," he said in a hushed tone that pulled my eyes from the work in my hands.

His arms were behind his back, his eyes scanning the few blue works I had put on my class's wall space.

"You want to talk to me about Faith don't you?" I asked, unable to hide my smile.

His lips parted, and shyness softened his appearance as I expected.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," I laughed.

One of his arms swung around front so that he could try to hide his grin by way of scratching his nose. "I have to admit that I had to do a double take the first time I saw her."

My mouth formed an 'O' and my lips curled in as I threw my head back.

I knew it! That pretty idiot!

Out of nowhere, he was desperate to make sure I didn't get the wrong idea, "But wait, Ada, I'm not trying to insinuate that I'm just trying to hook up with her or–"

Chester paused at my lifted hand, and I reassured him, "I know. I can tell that you are into her."

"But there is no way I'm her type..." he faded out.

I felt guilty laughing for a solid five seconds in his face.  After I was done, I had to let him know why.

"She probably thinks I wouldn't be... she's gorgeous," he stated with bewilderment. "And she's sweet, obviously likes children, and teaching. I mean... check, check, and check."

"Damn, Chester," I smirked. "I mean don't hold back or anything."

He laughed, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to lie about being interested. I just wanted to gauge if she was single and looking. Shit, this is so unprofessional."

"In this case, I'll deem it only unprofessional if you ask her out during work hours," I winked. "During."

I could see the relief of approval on his colored face.

But I had to say a little more when I heard him murmuring about not being able to talk to her. "Listen Chester... Faith is a grown woman, and I don't speak for her without her permission. However, I will say that she is an amazing, loving person that is just as nervous as you are about this attraction. I say go for it. God knows I could see some people being happy and cute."

It's about time what she gave out was returned. Please, please bring in some good energy.

And maybe my little prayer was heard as I felt my phone going off in my pocket.

A/N: Okay, okay. I see the "Where's Ezra?" comments, and the only response I have to these questions is really a reminder: I plan out every story I write before I even upload the cover/first chapter. Trust the story I have to tell.
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Hidden songs: 1