Authors: Eva Márquez
March 13, 1993
(
Not quite sure how to address this letter. Should it be Mr. Stevens? Coach? Tom?-- you decide and let me know later
),
I was a bit surprised when you asked me to write you a letter. I didn’t know what you expected, but then I realized that you’d said you wanted to know what I was feeling, and if there were things that I wanted to say to you but hadn’t yet. Sure, there are many things I want to say to you. And no, I would probably never work up the courage to actually say them. Writing things down is definitely an easier way for me to express myself and be more honest…so thanks for the opportunity. And here it goes
.
Once I decided that I was going to write this letter, I wasn’t sure how to go about it. I wanted to be prim and proper and superficial in this letter, to be respectful, but what’s the point of that? I’ve decided to be honest instead, though that’s just a tiny first step. This is the first time I’ve done something so … well, bold, and the truth is that it scares me. You’re a teacher more than twice my age, and I know you’re married with kids, but I feel extremely attracted to you, and it’s getting worse every day
.
There, it’s said, and no going back now
.
This attraction, it seems to come out of nowhere, but it makes me feel happy and safe. There’s something about you that’s so warm and tender, and I love the way your eyes sparkle when you smile at me, the way you steal sneak peeks at me during the school day. And yes, I’ve seen you do that
.
I realize that I might be way out of line here, but you asked for the truth and I hope you’re prepared to deal with it. I’m sure this is not the first time a younger girl has flirted with you, and I would completely understand if you take the contents of this letter as a schoolgirl’s crush. I wouldn’t think any less of you. But in some weird way, I sense a spark, a connection between us. This is all very new for me, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I’ve never thought that anyone else felt this way about me. But my heart skips a beat every time you smile at me. Am I crazy, or do you feel it too? I guess as a teacher, you probably have to be guarded with your feelings, right? You’re probably not allowed to tell me what you’re feeling, though I wish you would
.
You know, I reserve certain smiles for you, certain glances, and certain laughs … my best expressions, all saved just for you. In the last few weeks, I’ve noticed that you’ve gone out of your way to find me during the school day and speak to me at practice, and I think you might be saving your best smiles for me too. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I sit very close to you in the truck when you drive us home, even when I’m the only one left in the truck and there’s space to spare. And I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to have your lips meet mine
.
Well, there it is. I don’t know if you’ll agree or if you’ll make fun of me for this, but you asked for a letter. You asked for honesty, and here it is; totally inappropriate, but honest. I hope that I haven’t been too out of line, and that you can still bear to be around me. If nothing is to come of this, so be it. I hope that we can at least continue to be friends
.
Hugs (maybe kisses)
,
Isabel
I had moved on to breaststroke now, and punctuated my breaths with thoughts and silent comments. Who was I kidding? There were thousands of ways he could have taken my letter, though none of them were innocent. The more important thing would be his reaction.
As I came up for air during my last lap of the afternoon, I saw Liz standing with Mr. Stevens near the benches. She was serious as she spoke and was shaking her head. They were both looking my way.
I got out of the swimming pool and dripped my way toward them, my body covered with goose bumps from the evaporating water. I didn’t care about the chill, though; I wanted to know what was being said about me. Liz took one look at my chilled arms and beat Mr. Stevens to my swim bag. She threw my towel at me, laughing.
“Here you go sweetie,” she joked. “Get that wrapped around you before you catch cold!”
Mr. Stevens gave Liz a pointed look as he came closer to give me my jewelry. I thanked him and continued to hold his gaze while re-fastening the towel around my waist.
“So Mr. Stevens, do you think Isabel looks better dry or wet?” Liz quipped, and my mouth dropped open in shock. I glanced from Liz back to Mr. Stevens, horrified, but saw that he was taking the question in stride, and chuckling.
“Well, I’m not sure,” he answered, looking me up and down. “I don’t know if I should answer that.” A flush of heat engulfed my cheeks and I glared at Liz.
“Well then, I guess we could agree at least that she looks pretty good in a bathing suit, am I right?” Liz grinned at me unapologetically.
To my surprise, Mr. Stevens laughed again. “You got me there, Liz.”
Liz nodded, giving me a mischievous grin, and tossed off one last remark as we walked toward the locker room. “All I know is, if I looked that good in a bathing suit, ‘I’m sure I would have lots of admirers.”
I hit her in the arm to shut her up, then dragged her into the building before she could say anything else.
***
Ten minutes later, Liz and I were in Mr. Stevens’ truck, and on our way to her house. She sat in the back seat with three other swimmers, while I sat in the front, between Mr. Stevens and two other swimmers. As usual, I was pushed up against him, with our legs and arms touching. I felt a sense of closeness to Mr. Stevens that I had never felt before, and not just from sitting so close. I’d sat this close to him before. Today, though, the closeness was emotional. He knew what I felt, and I surmised that he felt the same way. If I concentrated enough, I thought I could probably feel his heart beating through the pulse of his right arm up against my body. I imagined that his heart was beating in rhythm with mine, and smiled to myself.
Mr. Stevens saw my smile and nudged me in the arm. “Something funny?” he murmured quietly.
I shook my head mutely, afraid to speak. I was both terrified and elated at this new emotional connection, and it was almost more than I could handle. The tension of having so many other people in the truck was making it hard for me to breathe, though I didn’t think I was ready for them to leave quite yet. I had fantasized about this moment for months. Now that it was here, I didn’t know if I was ready. Had I gone too far? Had I started something that I didn’t want to finish?
Mr. Stevens dropped the other students off first, as usual, and soon only Liz and I were left in the truck. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, but she widened her eyes slightly and then looked out the window. She wouldn’t be moving to the front seat, then; she was going to leave Mr. Stevens and me alone.
“Mr. Stevens, would you mind turning up the radio?” she asked coyly, watching me in the mirror as she spoke.
He reached across me to turn the radio up slightly, and I grinned. Liz had just given us the cover we needed if we wanted to talk. I glanced down at my legs, and realized that they were almost completely bear next to his. His hand was resting on his own leg, mere centimeters from mine. His hand moved slowly to the slight space between us, coming just short of touching my bare leg, and stopped. I gazed at his hand for a moment, considering, and realized that this was a silent question. He was asking my permission to touch me.
I reached down and took his hand in mind, pulling it gently into my lap. His hand tightened involuntarily on my own and I gulped. I had been touched by guys before, I had been kissed, and I had been embraced, but this was altogether different. This innocent act of holding hands was something more than I’d ever felt. Molten lava rushed through my veins and into my stomach, and it was all I could do to keep from gasping out loud.
Mr. Stevens must have felt it too, since he suddenly grew tense, as if he’d just realized what he was doing, and withdrew his hand. I felt stung at first, but then saw the raw vulnerability on his face. He looked stunned, conflicted, and bewildered in a way that I had never seen before. He glanced at me and shook his head, giving me a wordless look.
This confuses me too
, it read, and I nodded. He was going through the same things I was, struggling with these feelings, and the fact that we weren’t allowed to act on them. He was also married, with kids, and was in a worse position than I was. I suddenly felt sorry for him.
I placed my hand on his again and squeezed it tightly. He looked at me, his eyes wide, with a younger look than I had ever noticed.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “It’ll be okay.”
Chapter Six
More than Words
M
y parents hadn’t recognized the changes in me during the last few weeks; they were too preoccupied with moving plans and finances. Since immigrating to the United States, they had built a dream of returning to Chile, our country of birth, for good. They were in the U.S. to earn and save money, and to give their kids a chance to be citizens of a larger country, but they themselves wanted to return home. After nearly ten years in the United States, my parents felt they had saved enough money to buy a home and start a business, and the Chilean economy had taken a turn for the better in the last few years.
I had, of course, been told since I was five years old that we were in the U.S. for a limited amount of time. This was only our temporary home, they told me, and we would go back to Chile one day. Because of this, nothing in my American life had ever seemed permanent. I viewed all of my pursuits as temporary. My fascination with Mr. Stevens fell squarely into this category: short-term entertainment. I believed that we would be leaving the United States before the beginning of my junior year, so the next few months were my playground.
Everything changed at the end of March. The day should have ended the same way every other day did: a trip to the pool, a leisurely swim practice, some casual flirting with Mr. Stevens, and a ride to Liz’s house.
I went to practice as normal, and swam my standard workout. After my shower, I went to sit on the concrete benches at the far end of the pool area to wait for Liz. Instead of my friend, though, I found Mr. Stevens walking toward me. He was wearing fitted khaki shorts and a white polo shirt that revealed his perfectly shaped and tanned arms, but I refused to look up and notice him. My swim goggles had smudges on the lenses, and I was rubbing them firmly to clean them before taking a comfortable seat on the bench. Suddenly, Mr. Stevens was standing close behind me with my necklace in his hands, and whispering against my neck.
“Isabel, lift your hair so I can fasten this.”
Chills rose on my flesh and I shivered in response.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low. “Are you cold?”
“Yes,” I mumbled. “My suit is still damp.” I looked around, trying to appear casual. Other swimmers had started to talk about us, near the entrance of the metal gate that separated the pool from the track and field, and I knew how this scene would look if anyone saw us. A married adult teacher, standing closely behind a fifteen-year old female student, leaving little room for anything but a breeze to pass between their two bodies.
“Well I’ll hurry then,” he answered, draping my necklace around my neck and pulling it back to fasten it. I remained perfectly still while a torrent of fluttering butterflies flew about in my stomach, while his fingers lightly caressed the nape of my neck.
“Why don’t you meet me in my classroom in ten minutes,” Mr. Stevens murmured, stepping back. I closed my eyes against the rush of emotion, and turned my head back to look at him. His face was unreadable – perfectly masculine profile, straight nose, and a carefully groomed light brown goatee, a bit darker than his dirty blonde hair, which framed his lips so nicely. His eyes were lighter than usual, almost a shade of green and the way they gazed at me took my breath away.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll be waiting, Isabel.”
***
The distance between the locker room and Mr. Stevens’ classroom, roughly a quarter of a mile, felt like one of the longest walks I had ever taken. My mind was clouded with fear, excitement, and anticipation. Thoughts chased each other through my brain with each step; what did Mr. Stevens expect of me? What if he wanted to kiss me? What about my braces and the rubber bands that the dentist required me to wear daily? How would I keep my composure? What if I just turned around and headed straight home, only two blocks in the other direction? With every question came doubt, and with more doubt came anxiety.
By the time I made it to Mr. Stevens’ classroom, I felt overwhelmed and worried. The door was closed, and my attempt to turn the thick, metal doorknob failed. I formed a fist with my right hand and knocked lightly on the door, just once.
If the door doesn’t open in the next ten seconds
, I thought,
I’ll walk away as quickly as possible and pretend that this never happened. I won’t think about it again
.
As I was getting ready to walk away, though, the doorknob clicked and turned. The door opened slightly with a slow creak. My heart jumped and I took a deep breath. Mr. Stevens’ face appeared in the narrow space between the door and the doorway, and his eyes scanned the open space behind me.
“Quickly,” he said. “Come in.”
I slipped through the door and Mr. Stevens pulled it shut behind me, ushering me toward the center of the room. I put my bag down on a school desk and stood there, not knowing what to expect, but he motioned me forward, taking my hand and pulling me toward him gently into his embrace.