Folie à Deux (3 page)

A year ago, as I entered ninth grade my parents had an additional phone line installed for me and my sister to share. For twelve dollars a month nobody has to prematurely end their calls. This also provides the necessary privacy to call Miss D. without immediate fear of getting caught. I decide to casually ask her where she lives to gauge whether or not she is a toll call. If so, I’ll speak briefly then create an excuse to end the conversation. I can always explain that as a wrong number.

At the conclusion of my circular deliberation I call her at 8:30. Long enough past dinner and not quite time that a grown woman should go to bed. She picks up on the 4
^th
ring and her voice sounds strikingly seductive, much more than in person. All she says is, “Hello,” having no idea who is on the other end, her voice deep and rich as I picture her with the receiver to her face.

I stumble, “Eh, hello, Miss Danza? It’s Jimi” short pause, “Cunneely.”

Very calmly, absent surprise she says just as alluringly, “Hi Jimi, I’m glad you called.” I need to kill the dead air but don’t know how.

“First, thank you for spending time with me today to talk and stuff,” I stagger, “You don’t know how much it helped.”

She says, “I’m so glad I can help. I’m happy you feel comfortable talking to me especially since I’m not even your teacher this year.”

There is a brief and uncomfortable pause I’m hoping she will break but painfully, leaves for me, “I hope you don’t mind that I called you and all? I was just feeling sad,” inflecting my voice so she will complete my thought.

I silently beg for her to say anything to stop my heart from pounding and alleviate the ringing in my ears. She eases my anguish, “No, no, I don’t mind at all, I said you could call and I’m glad you did.”

Silence again. I knew this was going to be difficult but neglected to foresee the difference between standing in front of her and being on the phone. Being together allows for small talk inspired by our surroundings, but over the phone there is no such minutia.

“So what’s on your mind?” she asks, sparing me the agony of further reflecting on my regret. When she asks I realize, truly realize with the full gravity of my life that I didn’t call her because I needed, but rather because I wanted to talk. I now have to either confess or create something upsetting enough to have reached out to her.

I hate how helpless I sound when I say, “I’m upset about Kevin’s mom.”

Her response is unimaginable, “I know you are, Jimi. I spoke to Kevin’s dad today and mentioned how deeply affected you were by the passing of his wife.” Confusion overwhelms me to a mute.

“Why were you speaking to him?” I say, succumbing to the adolescent weakness of people talking behind my back. I need to know what was said.

She sighs, “Well I knew you were upset today so I looked up their phone number. I explained how I don’t have Kevin, but I have his friend. We spoke a while and after he asked me about my last name he proudly told me that he’s also Italian. I offered to help anyway I could so I’m singing at the funeral mass and baking a lasagna to bring over tomorrow when we pick some hymns.”

Too many thoughts and too many emotions crowd my mind, leaving me speechless. I’m confused how this all happened but also touched. She must have done this for me. I become uncomfortable immediately. I realize that I’ve already planned to go to Kevin’s tomorrow after school which means we will be there at the same time. I feel a smile coming on that I try to hide despite being invisible to anyone.

I wonder if she made the call so she could see me too. Even if I’m overanalyzing, I feel substantial in a way for which I can’t recall a parallel. Piecing everything together intensifies the smile I’m still trying to cram down. I cannot put a name to the emotions pervading the forefront of my mind because they’re simultaneously comfortable yet awkward. So much lately feels a dichotomy, normal but slightly amiss.

I change the subject to save more discomfort. I tell Miss D. my experience with death and she responds about her own grandparent’s and her uncle who recently died from cancer. I hang on every word as if there will be a quiz afterward. I ask questions to show I’m interested. “How old were your grandparents when they died?” “How old were you?” “Where are they buried?”

Some responses form an innocent bond, “Well just like you, Jimi my great-grandfather died when I was in eighth grade.” Our conversation never achieves greater depth so I thank her and say, “It was nice to get my mind off of things for a while.”

Her response has an adamancy that was lacking earlier, “Call me anytime you want.” The emphasis placed on, “Anytime,” and a diphthong created with, “You”.

I hang up the phone and look at the clock. It’s eleven. While on the phone my sister came in to say goodnight as always, my brother went to bed five feet away and my parents came in to kiss us both. I was oblivious, deeply engrossed in conversation. I don’t think anything I said could have revealed Miss Danza, but I can’t remember. I’m awake another few hours trying desperately to remember if I told her I was going to Kevin’s house tomorrow, fraught with wonder if she called his father for me. I’m embarrassed in my own head because the reality that I’m fifteen and she’s a teacher makes that a ridiculous presumption. I’m sure she has better things to do than arrange to be in my presence. Regardless, I cannot shake the feeling. The last time I look, the clock reads two-thirty.

Six forty-five comes early and I’m tired but anxious for school, interested to see how Miss D. treats me. Maybe she speaks to many students on the phone making our conversation inconsequential but to me its significance is undeniable. I may not even run into her today which only heightens my anticipation. I know the places and times I sometimes see her so I make sure that I’m not talking to anyone and my head is on a swivel walking through the hall.

As I sit in seventh period Geometry, I still haven’t seen her. The end of the day is close, preventing me from paying attention to anything. I was hoping to talk to her in school, assuming the mood at Kevin’s will be uncomfortable. I hear the door to the classroom open but don’t look. The quiet buzz in the room is the perfect soundtrack of my wandering questions about last night.

At the same time I realize that someone is walking toward me I see it’s Miss Danza. She walks to the edge of my desk, winks and puts her hand on my forearm. A gentle touch, which if I’m reading correctly means, “I’m thinking of the tough time you’re going through and I’m here.” I wanted to know if it was going to be awkward when I saw her today and as a matter of fact, it was even better than I thought. So many answers with one touch.

Once school ends, I run to Kevin’s house, having decided it crucial to arrive before her. As I tire I ask myself why it’s of
paramount importance to arrive first. The only reason I can find as my pace slows is because she’s coming into my world. I want to appear as though I have a grasp on the elements she is seeing for the first time. She seems more like a friend than a former teacher which makes it difficult to determine certain boundaries. Should I be formal or casual? How should I introduce her? Do I shake her hand or hug? These questions race through my head as I return to a panicked sprint through the woods.

When I turn the last corner I’m relieved that her car is not parked in front. Now I refocus on seeing Kevin and his family for the first time since that day. I bounce up the front stoop, ring the bell and wait an eternity to hear someone struggle with the deadbolt. A woman I do not recognize opens the door with a melancholy smile, “Hello, I’m here to see Kevin,” I say.

She steps aside as she says, “Come in. He’s in his bedroom.”

I walk down the hall to the last door on the left where Kevin sits silently on his bed, head cast down. It seems redundant after having walked past Amanda’s room to see her sitting with the same posture, joined by two girlfriends on either side. “Hey, what’s up?” I say trying not to sound too upbeat but at the same time not wanting to drag him further down.

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in the typical, “What’s up?” gesture. I sit close and put my arm around him. He simply nods.

“You hungry? There’s a shitload of food. Come on,” he says as I hear the doorbell ring.

By the time we reach the foyer Miss D. is already inside being greeted by a flock of adults. Kevin has always had a temper and his mother’s death has done nothing to calm him. When he sees the scene unfolding he turns to me and says, “What is she doing here? Is she trying to fuck my father or something?”

He makes me so angry that I have to fight the urge to set him straight. If I were to speak I would explain that she is here out of the goodness of her heart and to be perfectly frank, I believe she came to see me. I refrain from saying anything on my mind because Kevin would beat the shit out of me on the spot. Secondly, I don’t speak my thoughts because they’re inappropriate to say or even think. And lastly, Kevin is simply lashing out at whoever is in front of him.

I respond, “I don’t know,” and the second I say it, become irate with myself for not defending her. He walks back into his room and I follow.

We become lost in a conversation that borders on comfortably normal. I’m engrossed in listing everyone who sends their sympathy when I suddenly see his father and Miss D. standing at the bedroom door.

Mr. Sumac says, “Kevin, this is Miss Danza. She’s a French teacher at your school.” He speaks slowly and softly with a slight Italian accent mixed with a bit of Brooklyn. The effort of enunciating his words too much to bear. Kevin is thankfully less hard hearted than earlier. He looks at them and says, “Hi,” understandably unable to possess more decorum. She approaches and hugs him with the appropriate condolences spoken softly. He says nothing in response, only wipes away tears.

I’m thankful she makes no eye contact with me because I’m smacked with something unforeseen since our budding friendship. When she entered the room I was in mid-sentence, “Then she said, so I said.” The gossipy nuances of adolescence. When the two adults entered I had no time to switch egos. I got caught in the transition between a high school kid and the façade I’ve been carrying in my individual contact with Miss D.

This is my first awareness of a pretense. I’ve been acting how I see fit in any given situation but did not know my interactions with her are consistently different from the usual me. She doesn’t seem to disapprove but I feel like I’m something less than what she may have thought prior to this humiliating moment. I’m embarrassed for being a teenager.

Mrs. Sumac’s wake is the same night as the Holiday dance, a semi-formal event so my suit serves both affairs. My dad drops me off at the funeral parlor knowing Frank’s mom is taking me to the dance afterward. I sit next to Frank after paying my respect at the casket, relieved he’s already there. Kevin’s family is in the front row of arranged chairs. As people approach them I watch the embraces and mutual tears with unspeakable sadness. As Frank, his mom and I sit silently, Derek and his dad join us, followed by Jacob with his mom, Rick, next to his dad and when Mike and his father take their place near us I’m struck. I’m here alone.

I explain a variety of excuses to myself, speculating all the adults were family friends, sat on the same committees, or grew up together but none of my theories rest as a conclusion. It’s impossible that all of these parents could have known Mrs. Sumac because they are from different towns and different ages with different interests and commitments. I try to remember that I’m here for Kevin, his family and the tragedy they are enduring but it’s becoming impenetrable to dismiss my loneliness.

While working this out, Miss D. enters the parlor. I’m happy to see her, instantly relaxed. She signs the registry and waits on line. She must be going to the dance afterwards too, except her dress is not quite as dual functioning as my suit. She doesn’t see
me and I’m not sure I want her to, I feel especially vulnerable. I asked my dad if they were coming with me, he answered simply, “No.”

I see her kneel down at the casket and know I’m not the only person watching. She makes the sign of the cross as she stands, walks to Kevin’s father and embraces him, then Amanda, and finally Kevin. Before walking out the door, she approaches to say, “How are you?”