Never - never in a million years did she think that it could possibly end like this. The beginning of her journey had almost no similiarity with the end. Strangely enough, the second beginning for her seemed like the end, in her mind. She didn't know what she wanted, not then and certainly not now. Despite her deep regret, going back in time to change things would only disrupt what has already been created. Her true wish was to go back in time to relive moments and expressions, to see the man again who she once called her Prince.
Samantha supposed that she lived a rather ordinary lifestyle. She believed that her life was not much different from the next person’s, although she realized there were several key aspects that made her stand out from the rest. She referred to them as tricks – anything that separated her from the norm. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” she would call them. “But so does everyone else.” Never once did she have reason to believe that she was considered strange or abnormal.
Sometimes the door would be closed and other times, it would be wide open. She could never resist an opportunity to go in the room when it was so freely and widely opened. Whatever the case, she would always welcome herself into the classroom. He was never there, or anyone else for that matter. An empty room that bears the markings of her idol. The majority of the time, he left his items on or near his desk – books, graded papers, notes, his bag. Only once did she ever (she often) consider rooting through his belongings, but realized that she had gained far too much respect for the man to do that.
She enjoyed simply being (present) in the room. It was nothing fancy. There was never anything fancy about it. But she felt that it was special. She would quickly find her seat. Her favorite chair was in fact not the one she used during class. She preferred the front row of the middle desk. She would simply sit there and stare. She enjoyed the smell of the room, just the general feel that she got from it. No one else was there to disturb her. She could focus entirely on her concentration. This was the classroom of her idol, her hero, the man she admired more than anyone else in the world. Being present in his classroom offered her a strong sense of control and firmness. She felt as though it allowed her to share a tiny piece of him. Whether or not he was aware of it/even knew about it, she could be a part of the experience.
She was extremely nervous near him. Her stomach would be sick with nerves. Sometimes she felt sick to her stomach / sometimes severe nausea would strike her, even to the point that she contemplated leaving the room in fear that she might be sick during class.
The end of the day had come. Most students had already left the building by this point. The groups were already scattered around the front of the school, waiting for their rides to get home. Samantha took her time getting her books and bag out of her locker. She walked leisurely through the hallway/corridors, passing the settled down business office and nurse’s office. She would only occasionally pass a person in the hall, usually an upperclassman or athlete leaving. As she drew nearer to his room, she was on high alert. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of him just as he was crossing the hallway and entering his classroom. She thought this would be the perfect opportunity to see it. Something came over her. She felt a strong urge and desire to see him again.
She paced herself as she continued to walk the rest of the way down the hallway. She reached his room, the door was wide open. She stood in the middle of the doorway silently and still. There he was, standing next to his podium, reading and sorting papers. She was able to tell by his posture that he was comfortable, just getting situated and probably about to sit down to get some work done. He was in his typical stance, with one leg resting on the bar of the podium and both hands at his sides.
It did not take long for him to realize that she was there. He very quickly sensed her presence near him, essentially staring at him. Her shadow crossed the corner of his eye. He suddenly stopped reading and looked up from his work. His head turned, he stared back. He looked to her as though he was in no mood to play games, that he wanted an answer.
“D’ you need something, sweetheart?” he quickly asked.
She completely ignored him. She walked into the classroom and finds a seat in the front and middle of the room. She directly sits down without saying a word. It was as natural as X. She has been so accustomed to walking in his room while he was never there, that it was only natural for her to stay calm. Once at her desk, she instantly folded her hands in her lap and put her head down. She continued to stare aimlessly at the floor.
His hands were both at the sides of the podium. He began to speak/to say something she was unable to comprehend/figure out, but suddenly stopped.
His face grew with worry and confusion. The next several moments were filled with silence. Neither person said anything. As the seconds passed, she felt herself enter a brief panic. Her breathing increased and the pit of her stomach burned.
“Everything all right?” he asked. Her eyes slowly rose to the front of the classroom. She remained quiet and still. His pen suddenly dropped on the desk and he removed his leg from the top of the stool. “Samantha?” his voice was as firm as his face was concerned.
She stopped for a moment to open her mouth, but hesitated. She was unsure of how to respond to him.
“Sam,” he slowly began to walk away from his desk, though still standing behind it. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?” He now stood in front of the podium/in front of the first row of desks. She could not have been more thrilled about the nickname he gave her, but had very little time to appreciate/enjoy it. He stood before her, his eyes were large, his eyebrows raised, his mouth slightly opened. He stood there, just waiting for her answer.
She knew that if she just said something—anything—it would be okay. She was well aware that his worry was resulting from her inability to speak. It was clear that he wanted an answer. He needed to hear something from her. She shut her eyes tightly, hoping to find some relief from the situation. The darkness covered her eyes, as she swallowed hard. She opened her mouth again and took in some air.
“It’s...it’s hard to explain,” she croaked. The words were barely loud enough for him to hear her.
“I’ll stand here as long as it takes,” he told her.
The sympathy and honest sincerity he gave to her was enough to make her swoon. She was overwhelmed with happiness, and at the same time, strong emotions and frustration. Her emotions felt so overwhelmingly strong and uncontrollable at this point. She suddenly broke down in tears. She felt her face redden/blush and her eyes began to sting. She knew that tears were on their way and tried everything to stop them. But the teardrops began to flow down her cheeks and she began to break down. Embarrassed and frustrated, she could only cry more to release the pain.
He was extremely worried by now. He quickly walked towards her and sat in the desk next to her, to her left.
“What is it?” he asked, looking deeply into her face.
“This is, like, really...” she began, but could not find the rest of the words. She was unsure of how to phrase the message. She was not even entirely sure of what the message was, let along what he was allowed to hear from her. Every word seemed wrong to her. She knew that she sounded ridiculously stupid, mumbling and not making sense. But she was well aware that she needed to be careful of what exactly she said to him. Too much information would ruin everything. A lot was at stake at this moment. It was a moment that she really had not truly planned out beforehand; it was spontaneous for her to just walk into the room while he was there. She hadn’t planned it at all. “It’s just...um…” she sniffled with her tears. A long pause followed, probably longer than any other so far. She just sat there, thinking deeply hard about what to say. And he just watched her with worry, not saying a word. She had been looking all around her – on the floor, at the ceiling, to her right side, in the front of the room, at her hands, at the clock, even though she could not grasp the seconds going by. She looked everywhere except for him. She slowly raised her eyes and looked at him, exhaling deeply. Her eyes were filled with confusion and desperation. She nearly gave up at that moment. She looked over to him, expecting for him to say something to make the situation better or easier. She hoped that he would have something to say to ease it. Perhaps he would speak.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “And I can’t help you unless you tell me what the problem is.”
She abruptly looked away, tearful again. “I don’t know, either,” she told him in a very quiet, low whisper, half shrugging her shoulders at the same time. “Just...give me...a minute here, all right?” The next few minutes were spent with both of them quietly sitting there, thinking. She was aware that he probably thought she was crazy, but it didn’t matter at this point. There was nothing she could do to reverse the surreal situation and there was no way she could find the words to explain herself at that moment. She was no even sure how long they were sitting there. But the time felt right and she needed to end this. There was nothing more she could say to him. Her time was over.
She covered her red face with her hand, trying to not be seen or to see him. She felt shameful and embarrassed/vulnerable in this position. The tears continued to roll down her face and the sobbing increased. She slowly removed her hand from her eye and looked up at him. There he was, just staring back at her. She was surprised to find that he himself did not have a look of shock over his face. He appeared very calm and relaxed, with a blank expression on his face. He was almost too calm. There was no surprise, guilt, anger, laughable, or suspicious look in his face – he just appeared normal. He was concentrating deeply on every word she spoke. He looked as though he was really trying to listen to what she was saying. He just patiently sat back and took it all in. He had no expression, with his bottom lip slightly curved outward. His forehead was not disturbed with wrinkles of worry, his eyes were not wide and glaring, his mouth was not wide open to the floor with shock.
The only thing she may have been able to read from his mind was sadness. He appeared rather sad to her. He probably felt very empathetic and worried about her on the inside. He stared back at this helpless face, listening to her ridiculous wishes, living in a fantasy world. He was probably thinking in his head how to respond or what to say to her. She felt horrible knowing that he thought badly of her. She worried that he now felt sorry for her, felt that she had bigger problems than anyone could have imagined. The thought that he felt badly for her triggered even more emotion and tears.
She began to slowly wipe some of the tears aware with her hand and sigh/breathe deeply. “I need to go,” she said as she began to get up from her desk. His mouth was wide open, his eyes were large. He did not know what to say – if he should stop her or allow her to go. He felt incredibly powerless and helpless. Nothing like this had ever happened to him in his forty years of teaching. “I’m sorry,” she quickly walked out, hoping that he would not say anything more to her.
That night, she went home and didn’t bother to attempt any of her homework. She told her mother she couldn’t come down for supper, claiming it was heartburn again/another migraine. She sat up in her room all evening. She first sat on her bed for a long time, staring into space. She didn’t want to think about what happened. The more she stared, the less she concentrated on the situated. She allowed her mind to wander and think about other things, such as the Beatles and Dick Cavett. But at times, she couldn’t help but think about it. She thought about how stupid she must have looked to her teacher. She must seem so strange and crazy for randomly crying in his classroom. At the same time, nothing was accomplished. She told him nothing about how she felt or wanted to do. It was very ironic that he always taught his students/lived a life of complete honesty, and yet she neglected to be remotely honest with him.
Then she suddenly began to break down in tears. She would cry and cry for a long time, sometimes sobbing and sometimes just leaving her face wet from the teardrops. She would then alternate the crying episodes with periods of compulsive masturbation. Touching herself was the only way she knew right now how to deal with her emotions. Tons of sexual energy was being bundled up inside of her. She never had the chance to tell her or offer oral sex to him, even though she knew it would never be accepted in the first place. She knew that masturbating was sinful and wrong and that it was not the healthiest way of channeling her emotions. While she stimulated herself, she remembered that the Romans often practiced this, too. She would then give up and begin crying again, out of guild and out of foolishness.