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Chapter Text

John thought about a number of professions he could've been instead of a teacher. He could've been a computer programmer for some high end computer company. Or maybe he could've been a famous explorer, searching loss tombs and discovering hidden treasures like Indiana Jones. Or maybe he could've been a famous skinny dipping billionaire with a six pack and some fly girls resting on his arm. That is if he was a decent swimmer. And if he had a six pack instead of a keg. And if he had fly girls, they took on the appearance of a novel and a pen he used every night while reading in bed to underline passages he could use for teaching as well as for personal pleasure.

For him, a Charlotte Bronte novel was as close to third base as he was going to get and he'd be lucky if he hit a home run.

The point being was that as John massaged his temple with his thumb and forefinger, he wondered about the possibilities that could've been as he waited for Taylor to answer his question. He stood before his desk, his free fingers drumming the wooden surface behinds him. "Taylor. Any day now."

"What? I'm thinking. And isn't that the most important thing a student can do? Think?"

"In general yes," he said, crossing his arms. "But for this specific instance, what's important is that you give me your reasoning for not turning in your assignment. Again."

Taylor-ever the one for prolonging the unavoidable-held her hands together. "You're so right. And I understand your frustration. Teaching five days a week, all day-you're truly one of America's heroes." She sighed tearfully, wiping the corner of her eye with her finger. Behind her, Daniel snorted into his arm, his blue polo covered shoulders shaking with pent up laughter. "I just want to say that it amazes me how much of an inspiration you are not only for us, but for our future children, and our children's children, and our children's children's children. You know what they're gonna be asking themselves in the morning?"

"Be still my yearning heart for I believe it shall burst upon hearing it," John said, wondering if Taylor signed up for the college's drama department.

"They'll be asking themselves, Hey. Who's gonna be providing me with the best writing and story telling techniques? John. The man who rocks the three piece suits and the monocle." She pounded her chest with her fist. "You're my hero, man."

"Um..." Daniel leaned forward in his seat, making his desk tip slightly forward. "Hate to be the Big Bad Bear of Bad News, T, but I'm pretty sure John doesn't wear a monocle."

"He doesn't?"

"I don't," John answered, stealing a surreptitious glance at the clock hanging in the back of the room. It had to be twenty minutes to two. He could do this. "I've worn glasses my whole life."

"Damn." Taylor turned her head just enough for Daniel to hear her, her eyes still on John's. "Could've sworn he wore a monocle once," she whispered not so discreetly. "Are you sure? Because I remember him wearing one in the past."

"No, no, no, the lens popped out that one time, remember?" Daniel whispered back as is they weren't being watched. "You ran into class late and crashed into him. He let out a few curses before picking them up."

"Shit, that was me who did that wasn't it? Well, I think he could rock the monocle look. Like Sherlock Holmes except...less...thin."

John cleared his throat gruffly. "You know I can hear you two, right? You understand you're not the only two in this classroom?"

"Yeah we are," Taylor said, guffawing before gesturing her hand around the room. "Who else would be here?"

"Me," the low key young man sitting to the left of Daniel said.

 John was relieved that he used the bathroom before class because if he hadn't, the piss inside of him would've deliberately exited stage left. He-along with Taylor and Daniel-jumped in unison, clutching their chests upon hearing the soothing, if not monotonous voice.

"Holy fu-dude!" Daniel shouted, recovering after swallowing a mouthful air. "Andrew, dude, how long have you been there? Nearly made play doh spaghetti in my pants."

"Ok, ew," Taylor said, wincing with a disgusted smile. "TMI. Could've kept that info to yourself, big guy."

Andrew looked at both of them with-for him-seemed to be mild perplexity. "Are you kidding me? I've been sitting here the whole time."

"You have?" John asked, second guessing himself and  whether Andrew was indeed capable of teleportation like Jason Voorhees-minus the machete and the bulky build and hockey mask When Andrew shot him a Are you serious? look, John shook his head. "Of course you have. Sorry, buddy."

"Professor, when you took attendance I told you I was here. And Daniel, I walked in with you and Taylor. Remember, you two asked me if I could come up with a story for your missing assignments."

"Wait, wait, wait," John asked, trying to speak over Taylor and Daniel shushing Andrew, the eighteen year old shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal. "Daniel, you don't have your assignment ready either?"

Daniel gave Andrew his signature glare, the one he reserved for players on the opposing team from one of his football matches. "Uh, well, no. You see, I have it. I just don't have it with me. C'mon, teach, you know how Andrew is. Always making up crazy stories." He patted Andrew once, twice, three times on his shoulder, more rough each time he did it. "Too much studying this guy does."

"Truly is a curse." Taylor fiddled with one of her Bohemian rings that adorned her index finger. "Last weekend, he was holed up in his room. Studying." She shivered, as if a cold wind nipped at her tailbone. "Like, who does that? Reviewing course material, taking notes. And not even with a computer, like, actually writing. With a pen. On paper. Prehistoric, much?"

"And because he's my roommate, I can confirm this," Daniel said, taking Andrew's hand and patting it as if he was a widow who lost everything so long ago. "It's ok, buddy. We're gonna get you the help you need."

John wondered if it was too late to put in his resignation letter. When class ended, he considered hightailing it across campus to the dean's office and demanding to be let go. Maybe he'd be an Uber driver or an antique book collector. He briefly and scandalously thought of becoming a stripper, his outfit being a tweed coat and black leather booty shorts with his oxfords to match. Alright, boys and girls, he'd say. Class is in session. 

Hmm. No. He'd save that as a last resort. At least until he lost a few pounds.

"Professor," Andrew said between Taylor and Daniel's reassuring words of getting him to loosen up and shake that ass at a party for once, "I don't mean to sound like a teacher's pet, but do you think we can go on with the lesson?"

John smiled, thanking the class lottery for allowing him the oasis of peace and common sense that was Andrew. "Yes, yes, we can."

Taylor and Daniel groaned, muttering Kill joy and Buzz kill. 

"Alright, where were we? Oh yes. Who can tell me what an Irrealis mood is?"

As usual, John hoped for his students to eagerly shoot their hands up, maybe letting out some ooh, ooh, oohs, in the process. Instead, what he got was a whistling Daniel looking everywhere but the front of the room. As for Taylor, she was not to secretly scrolling through Instachat or whatever that app's called. Andrew raised his hand as always, but John wanted a new voice. Looking over Taylor's head, he looked to the woman sitting on Daniel's right. "Angela? Care to enlighten us?"

Wearing a royal blue pant suit with a yellow t shirt, Angela hummed softly as she looked out of the window at the overcast sky. Wait, wait, wait, back up. Angela was humming? Willingly displaying happiness? Something was off. Quickly, John checked outside to see if flying monkeys took to the skies. Nope.

"Uh...Angela?" John repeated.

Angela turned her head lazily to the front of the room, blinking. "Hmm. Oh, sorry John. Uh yes, it's a mood that exists outside of space and time. Something that hasn't happened, but isn't unreal for not happening, but it could very much still happen, but it never will."

"Show off," Taylor muttered. "I knew that."

"Sure you did," Daniel chuckled from behind her as she gave him the bird without turning around.

"Excellent. Yes, they're temporal zones in time. Sort of like a...um...an envelope that exists between an observer and a motif. Angela, can you give me an example of such a mood?"

Again, Angela took her sweet time as she seemed to be stuck in a trance, humming and smiling. "Hmm? Sorry, John, what was the question?"

"Something up? You're usually so focused."

"Yeah, what's tickling your happy bone?" Daniel asked, his right arm hanging over the back of his chair, his left twirling a pen. "You buy a new outfit?"

Angela took her glasses off and folded the stems. "Yes, I did. But that's not the main reason."

"My turn," Taylor said, raising her hand. "You're finally dropping this class so you can return to the underworld from whence you came so you can give the signal for the demons to come and take over the world?"

"Taylor," John warned.

"What? It's a valid question. A homegirl has to be prepared for the apocalypse." She craned her neck to face Andrew. "Know what I'm saying? C'mon, give me some. You know." She held her hand up for a high five, waving at him until reluctantly-and after sighing-gave her a high five.

"Very amusing Taylor, but no," Angela said sweetly and languidly as if she was receiving a massage. 

John couldn't take this. Angela smiling, humming, being distracted, plus her brushing off Taylor's comment? Maybe it was the end of the world. "So what's going on? What's got you in a good mood." He took the apple that Andrew gave him at the beginning of class and took a bite.

Angela took her time to look at everyone before folding her hands over her desk. "I've got a date tonight."

After that nuke was dropped, the class erupted in their own respective ways.

"Holy shit, are you for fucking real?" Taylor asked, surprised.

"All right, look at you go Ms. World," Daniel said, whistling appreciatively. "All my ladies, independent, throw your hands up at me!"

"Congratulations," Andrew said, breaking his stony features for a slight smile. "That's really cool."

John couldn't add his own sentiment. One, because he couldn't believe that Angela landed a date so soon after the divorce. Two, because he was choking on the bite of apple that he'd taken. He tried covering his coughs, but the apple's meat was still stuck in his throat. His coughs grew louder as his eyes watered.

"Whoah, Professor, are you ok?" Andrew asked, standing abruptly. 

John held up a finger, using his other hand to pound against his chest. Finally, he was able to swallow it. He nodded forcefully. "I'm ok," he said dryly. "Just uh...bit off more than I could chew."

Digging in his bag, Andrew pulled out a water bottle. He strode to the front of the room with purpose and held it out for John. "Here you go."

"Thanks, buddy."

"Way to steal my thunder," Angela commented snidely. "But yes, yours truly has a date tonight.”

"That's...that's wonderful," John said softly after taking a few sips of water. Though he couldn't' really muster the excitement that everyone else seemed to have. 

"Anyone we know?' Andrew asked, returning to his seat. 'Must be someone really special if he's making you smile."

"Actually, I barely know him. I met him online. He was very brief about himself. Just said that he spent every winter in the mountains somewhere. Blackwood Pines or something. That's why we're finally meeting tonight so I can get to know him more." She did a little cheeky shoulder dance. 

"At Harryhausen's?" Daniel asked, grinning.

"Harryhausen's?!" Taylor exclaimed, her hand on her chest. "But it's impossible to get a reservation!"

John cocked his head at her-along with Angela and Andrew.

"Monsters Inc?" Taylor explained.

"'Put that thing back where it came from or so help me?'" Daniel offered. "Anyone? C'mon, Andrew, you know it, right?"

"Yeah, I didn't see that one."

"What?"

"You've never seen Monsters Inc?" Taylor asked, offended.

Andrew shrugged on his black zip up hoodie over his gray graphic Salem t shirt. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't think it was a requirement to see a kid's movie when growing up."

"Alright, after class, the three of us are watching the movie in our dorm," Daniel said, slamming his hand on his desk. 

"I'm down," Taylor said. "Andrew, I guarantee you will cry. I'll bring the tissues."

"As I was saying," Angela said pointedly. "I'll be meeting my date tonight at The Eclipse. Honestly, I'm a little nervous. It's been awhile since I've been on a date."

"I bet," Taylor said. "After all, the last guy you dated wore a leopard print shirt and shouted yabba dabba doo!" She leaned across and knocked her knuckles against Andrew's shoulder. "Liked that one? I just implied that she's from the Stone Age."

"Yeah, I got the context," Andrew said more subdued.

John instructed the class that they could use the remaining time to talk amongst themselves. He knew he should continue with the lesson plan, but it was as if a gray sheet fell between him and the rest of the world, shading everything in black and white. He tried to focus on creating the lesson plan for Monday on his laptop, but he kept peering over his screen at Angela who was smiling at herself for her impending date.

She barely knows this guy. And she met her on a dating site of all things. Anyone can create a fake profile. For all she knows, she could be going out with a seventy five year old man with a fetish for pant suits.

John was thinking about Angela meeting up with a hermit from some Silent Hill-esque small town when the bell rang. At this, Taylor and Daniel raced to the door, but not before hoisting Andrew up by his arms and dragging the eighteen year old out of the room, promising him that he'll adore Boo.

"You alright?" a voice asked softly from above.

John looked up to see Angela, her hand on her hip. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just uh...needed a break."

"A break?" She laughed. "You hardly taught anything today. You spent a good majority of the time wondering where Taylor's assignment was."

"And I never got it," John said, realizing his blunder. "Shit, how does she do that?"

She chuckled, crossing her arms. "She's a master at diversion, I'll give her that."

"Yeah, she is." Remembering that he was the teacher and that Angela had stayed behind, he sat up straighter and tried to perfect some decorum of professionalism. "Is something the matter? Do you have a question."

"Actually, um...I had a favor to ask, if you don't mind."

"A favor?"

"Yes. It's drizzling outside and you know how I feel about getting wet." Angela nodded towards the black umbrella that was on his desk. "And as much as I detest playing the damsel in some lame Charlotte Bronte novel-"

John made a mental note to switch up his reading at night for something more empowering.

"-I was wondering if you could walk me to my car? Don't get a big ego about it, it's just for this once."

John felt a flare of pleasure course through his chest. At first, he thought it was the beginning of a heart attack, but then he realized that it was a chance for him. to be close to her. It was hard to explain how a person could resemble an anchor, keeping him grounded even in his heavy oxford shoes. He smiled at her as he reached for his umbrella. "Of course.'

Chapter Text

The drizzle wasn't that bad. Heck, it hardly made a sound as it bounced off the top of the umbrella and landed in soft splashes on the ground around them. But Angela-who looked like a meerkat as she craned her neck around them with eyes as big as dinner plates-held tightly to the stem of the umbrella. Her grip was just under John's and the unbeknownst to her- couldn't help but smile at the ludicrousness of her attempt to remain dry. It was just water. You sweat it, you drink it, you bathe in it, you pee it.

John wasn't sure about the afterlife, but he believed somewhere that Noah and all the animals on the ark were pointing and laughing at her from the unknown.

Standing outside of the English department with it's faded red brick coated with aging ivory with wilted autumn leaves, John breathed in the sweet smell of rain soaked vine and brick. Maybe it was the historian in him, but the idea of standing in a place where stories were crafted, where words were strewn together to create something close to perfect to be stretched across time made him love his job. sure, the pay was so so and as much as he complained and groaned and sighed (a soundtrack that pretty much was stuck on repeat for him), he was glad to be able to stand where people had stood and where people will stand.

Holding the umbrella above him with his right hand, he looked down at Angela who was standing on his right. "Ready?"

Angela's grip of the umbrella was just under John's, her left hand threatening to break it in half entirely. She took a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah. Ready. Let's just get this over with."

"Listen, the second the rain touches you and you start to melt, just tell me."

"Very amusing. Really. You should do some stand up. After all, that-along with your teaching-is one big joke anyway."

John sighed, reminding himself that he was standing with the Empress of Abrasiveness. "Ok, I walked myself into that one, huh?"

"You did. Honestly, you're too easy. It's almost not fun." she held up her finger and didn't speak for three seconds. "Almost," she said as an afterthought. "Alright, let's go."

John waited until Angela took a tentative step forward. Seeing this, John followed suit and they began to walk down the ballroom-esque stairs. When they found solid ground, they made their way on one of the many zigzagging paths that intersected the grass of the quad.

"Hey, hey, hey, not so fast," she said crossly, using her free hand not holding the umbrella's stem to hug John's bicep. "If this outfit gets wet, you're fronting the bill. You'll be bankrupt before you can even take out a loan."

"You know, you really should consider thrift shopping. How do you think I got this?" John gestured with his free hand at himself, taking his time as if he was working for Vogue-The Middle Aged Doughy Edition. "This tweed coat? Only fifteen dollars at my local thrift shop."

"Wow, fifteen dollars?" Angela asked in what was at best a feeble attempt at astonishment. "That certainly is quite a deal for a coat that belongs on an unwashed, vigilante from an eighteenth century London." She gave him a close mouthed smile, seemingly proud of herself.

"From London?" John countered back in a matching tone. "Darn, I thought I was going for the Canary Row shanty town appeal. Guess I need to brush up on my reading. You really don't like my drip because-"

Similar to flinging yourself forward after a head on collision, John felt himself being flung slightly forward, tripping over the walkway in a process. He righted his glasses and turned to see that Angela had stopped. "What's wrong?"

Angela squinted up at him through her glasses, her ice blue eyes freezing him in place. "Did you just...hold on, I have to get my faculties together. Ok. Did you just say drip?"

"Um...well...yeah." He shrugged haplessly, toeing the ground with his brown oxford. "I've been thinking about making the class more engaging with the others and I thought I'd adopt some of Gen Z's lingo. What do you think? Am I Gucci, am I...what is that phrase? Oh yes, am I giving cool vibes? Huh?"

Angela-with her mouth agape, the corners of it twitching, trying to fight a smile-stood beside herself. At least she was less concerned about the drizzle which was slowly picking up more heft than before. "Ok. John. Listen to me. Ok, really listen. Are you listening?"

"I am."

"I know the big MC-that's Midlife Crisis-is no easy thing to conquer. Believe me, I've had mine. Let's just say it involved a night out on the town, a 70s silver prom dress I saved, and a road trip with an endless playlist of Earth, Wind, and Fire."

"You uh-"

"Don't ask. The point is, it doesn't matter if you're feeling old, decrepit, worn out, and just plain stuck in life. You will not use that silly lingo. Got it?"

John sighed, though a part of his mind was still imagining Angel in a silvery dress on a road trip. "Alright. Got it. Hey, what about purr? I've heard some of the kids say that."

"Keep walking."

They continued their trek across the quad. It still wasn't summer yet, with it being late April, but today teased the promise of the upcoming vacation with a warm seventy three degrees. Despite the light drizzle, college kids were spread out in the great expanse of emerald green lawn that housed hydrangeas and blossoms. A trio of boys hung hammocks between two trees and rocked as if they were on a boat, their legs hanging over the sides. Two girls-a Black girl with piercings in her and and an Asian girl wearing purple shadow and-were snuggled together on a checkered blanket, the girl with purple eyeshadow reading from a book, the other girl planting kisses behind her ear, making the one reading the book smile. Farther away, a group of guys were throwing a football around-frat boys judging by the Yeah, bro! Nice throw, bro! Nice catch, bro!

John seriously wondered if their vernacular was made up of seventy five percent of usages for thew word bro.

"Ugh," Angela complained, shaking her head. "Fraternities are the most annoying entities known to mankind."

"What?" John asked, making sure to hold the umbrella more on Angela's slide. He rather liked the feeling of the light rain running sprinkling the back of his neck and face. He wondered if it would be unprofessional to wear a pair of crocs and denim shorts with a sleeveless t shirt for future days. "Fraternities? Ah, they're not all bad. It's a good way to make friends for those that are more socially challenged and those who are inept to teamwork and leadership." He watched one of the frat bros catch a spiraling football, letting out yells as if he won an intergalactic SuperBowl that saved the human race from annihilation. "But uh...I think I can see how their behavior can be a little...egregious"

"A little. John, just last weekend one of them thought it would be to streak across campus at night."

"Wait, what?"

"Mmm hmm. Actually, wait, he was wearing a...what do you call that monstrosity? A romper? Yeah, a romper. And he was the singing "The Pledge of Allegiance" while doing it.

John truly wondered if all colleges were less of institutions of higher learning and more like expensive adult care centers. "That's um....quite an anecdote."

"You know most people just say story," she said, nudging her shoulder against his. "Most days, it's annoying. Highly so. But others? Well...it's kind of adorable. Ever the nerd, you are." She let out a soft laugh that undercut the sound of gaiety round them.

Five year olds blush when their grandparents comment how big they're getting. Fifteen year blush when get their first kiss from that special girl-or boy-at the sock hop (Apparently, the parties are called raves now). John thought that adults were beyond that flattery to the point where they could accept it with a smile, a nod, and move on. But here he was, at the age of forty two, blushing and stammering like the popular cheerleader was acknowledging him. "Well, I, uh...I like words, that's all. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Only if they don't put me to sleep like you do most days," Angela answered, tugging at the hem of her royal blue blazer. The action revealed a silver necklace that hung over her yellow t shirt. "Although...that concept was interesting. The one you brought up. The Irrealis bit?"

"Really?"

"I was curious about it. Tell me more?"

"You wanna hear me lecture outside of class?"

"John, I know you're used to brainless idiots all day-especially with Taylor-but I'm here now." She affectionately patted his hand, the one coiled around the umbrella's handle. "It's ok. You're in the presence of someone with a brain in her head."

"And what a marvelous brain it is," he replied before catching himself. Am I...flirting? No, no, no, preposterous. I was just giving her a compliment. "Uh, anyway. So, Irrealis defy space and time. They don't really follow a linear path. They're moods-or events rather-that haven't happened, but aren't unreal for not happening-"

"-but they could potentially still happen, though it probably never will," Angela concluded for him.

Correct," he said, stepping over a crack in the path. "You could argue that in these Irrealis moods are our alternative selves are present, whether they be staring into the future or looking back in the moment where you yourself our thinking about the future."

"So what? Our doubles exist in these moods in an alternative universe? Sounds a lot like science fiction."

John shrugged one shoulder, then the other. "Yes, I guess you could say that. In these moods houses a knowing, almost a fear of a self that could happen and may have already happened. Sounds contradictory, right?"

"Sounds absolutely nuts. So you're telling me there's an alternative me out there looking back on this particular moment."

"Yep. And I'm sure my double is looking on this moment as well."

Angela nodded-the intrigue in her eyes very apparent. "I see. So John. This future you. Is he a successful writer living along the Seine? Sipping lattes and smoking a cigarette lazily like a protagonist in a cheesy French film?"

"A writer," he said as if the thought was far from reach like a star lightyears away. "Yeah. Yeah, I hope so." It was a tennis game when dealing with Angela, at least for John. She tossed an insult his way, he batted it back with less venom, but more humor. Only sometimes her words cut-even when she wasn't aware of it- leaving laceration in anyone's ego. John felt his self esteem being whittled away, his creativity insulted. Even though she thought he'd be a writer living in Paris, it was her tone. Playful. La-dee-da. As if his goal of being a writer was as wavy as cigarette smoke. 

If only he spent more time writing and less time drinking the devil's nectar.

"Hey? You alright?"

John looked to see Angela squeezing his upper arm. "Oh. Yeah, it's alright. Just uh...long day."

"Same. After dealing with phone thumping degenerates, it'll be a welcome change tonight with my date."

Oh yeah. The date. For a moment, John let himself believe that she was still single, that she was holding onto his hand (or at least her grip rested just below his on the umbrella), that she wasn't thinking about anyone else but him in this moment while he spoke about possible selves and past selves and alternative universes. "I'm sure it will," he said, trying to make his tone chipper. And since she brought him up, John thought it was only fair to ask. After all, questions work both ways, not just for students. "So Angela, this date of yours. What do you really know about him?"

"Nothing really. Aside from the fact that he spends some winters in the mountains of Blackwood Pines and that his name is Jack and that he likes animals, particularly dogs. Personally, I don't like pets shedding their fur every which way, but I'm trying to be open."

"Ok. And what does he look like?"

Angela side eyed him, assessing him with a look of sharp curiosity. "I'm not too sure. He didn't post a profile pic. Neither did I. That's why I preferred to meet in person. Can't judge someone solely on a little digital picture, can I?"

John rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "So you don't know what he looks like and aside from those three facts about him, you don't know anything else?"

"That's the point of a date isn't it? To get to know someone?"

"Yes, I know but...for all you know, he could..." He tried to come up with the words as he imagined all the plausible scenarios that could happen. "He could be a perverted bastard who lures people to his hotel with his deceased mother inside."

"John, that's Psycho. I've seen the movie."

"Well, he, he, he...could be a masked streaker."

Angela stopped in her tracks again, making him stop as well. "A masked streaker? Do you hear yourself?"

"It could happen."

"John, I appreciate your concern, but we're meeting in a public setting. At a restaurant. And I can take care of myself." Her tone was more cross. She huffed out a breath as she patted stray brown hair back into her short haircut. "I've been doing it for awhile since my divorce," she said, more subdued. "Hell, even before it."

"You're right, I apologize. I pried."

"Yes, you did. But again, I appreciate your concern." Her feature softened, letting a half smile appear on her face. "I just hope he has some brains in his head. Like a certain professor I know."

John smiled shyly, staring at their shoes. "You talking about me?'

"No. I'm talking about another out of shape, dated tweed coat wearing, history buff."

"Oof. He sounds like a real egg head."

"You have no idea." When Angela fixed her glasses, her grip rested on John's. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat at her touch, warm and secure. "Aside from brains, I do hope Jack is in shape."

"You into muscle heads?" John looked down at his stomach, covered by his tweed coat, three piece suit, and white collared shirt. 

"Of course not. I just like someone who takes care of themselves. You don't have to be built like Schwarzenegger, but you at least have to be in decent shape. Maybe a little athletic.

Athletic, huh? A lightbulb sprung to life in John's head. Actually, it was barely screwed in place and flickered haphazardly, but it still counted. He searched until he caught eyes of the group of frat boys throwing the football around. His eyes caught one of the guys who wore a sleeveless gray hoodie that showed off his sculpted arms and black shorts. "Excuse me, young man!"

"What are you doing?" Angela asked, looking back and forth between him and the young man.

"Prepare to be amazed," he said, from the corner of his mouth.

The young man in question looked in their direction, of look of confusion on his face. His mouth hung open and if this were a cartoon, a fly would've flew in his ear and out the other. "Oh, uh...yeah?" He jogged over to them, the football in his grasp. His teammates stood looking at one another in confusion from behind him. 

"What's your name, kid?" John asked.

"Uh...Jacob. Jacob Custos. Although some people call me Jakey or Jakey-boy or, on the rare occasion, ass clown." He gave a big guttural laugh, one that let John know that Jacob probably didn't read that many books if he was so amused by that name.  "FYI-only close friends can call me those names, teach. Because your boy-that's me-is admired by all." He spread his arms out and turned to his friends. "Can I get a HOYEAH!"

The group of dunderheads replied with the same cadence.

"I guess they let anyone in this school, huh?" Angela commented.

"Jacob," John said, trying to talk over Angela, "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Sure man. What's up?"

"Could you possibly throw the ball to me? From a good distance?"

Jacob shared a confused look with Angela, who shrugged her shoulders. "Um...you sure? No offense, but you don't look like the most...uh...regular sized human."

"You'd be accurate in that statement," Angela said cheekily, her hands behind her back.

"You're both wrong. Here, Angela, you hold the umbrella. Gotta take off my coat. Ok, there we go." John stepped away and rolled his shoulders. Now, just give me a minute to stretch, will ya?"

"Sure," Angela said, both hands clasping the umbrella's handle. "Anytime where I can watch you make an ass out of yourself by falling into the ego centric display of masculinity that'll leave you with an egg on your face is ok by me."

"Uh yeah," Jacob followed up, after a beat. "What the lady said."

Ignoring both of them-now in his three piece suit-John stretched out his arms before him as if he were pushing against a wall. Then he bent at the knees and he couldn't help but hear the series of pops that came from those joints. The sound mirrored a bowl of Rice Crispy Treats. Snap. Crackle. Pop.

"Fourth of July came early this year," Angela said, making not attempt at masking her smirk.

"Yeah, teach, you gotta drink more water," Jacob said. "Me? Sometimes I carry a big ass gallon of water. Just, you know, like, drink up that shit."

"Not. Helping." He squatted up and down, his knees practically screaming before he stopped. "Ok, Jacob. Give me a good throw."

"Alright, teach." Jacob backed up, gearing up to throw the ball.

"John, don't hurt yourself." Angela stood back, amusement with a few droplets of concern making her eyes crease and her mouth balance between a nervous and humorous smile. "I'd rather not spend my date night with you in the E.R."

"Don't worry about me. I've got this." John closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting out the doubts that he was too fat, too slow, and too old for this. Age was just a number. And as far as he was concerned, his number wasn't up yet. "Ready."

"Go along!" Jacob shouted.

And he tossed the ball.

And John...ran.

Keeping his eyes on the ball, he ran, pumping his arms as fast as he could in his three piece suit. Damn, he should've taken it off, but it was too late now. Angela-along with a whooping Jacob who shouted his name at ear shattering, new universe rifting levels-were watching him. He didn't stop when he accidentally tripped over the legs of the girl reading the book, eliciting a Hey! from her and a Fuck you, Brady from from what John thought was her girlfriend. He didn't stop when he smacked right into a tiny freshman carrying his violin in a music case, although he did apologize profusely before taking off into a run again. Damn, the ball was flying through the air. Was that how high they went, how fast they could soar? If the Circus Freakshow For Grammatically Challenged Jocks didn't work out, Jacob could be a football player.

Sweating now through his...well...everything, John felt his heart stitch. It tugged against his chest-a warning. He knew he should stop. He was huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf and his lungs ached for air. But Angela was watching. 

He could do it.

The ball was getting closer.

Focusing, John turned around slightly, his hands open ready to catch it. 

He closed his eyes until he felt rough skin between his palms.

He opened his eyes.

The ball was...in his hands. He caught it.

Filled with jubilation-and too high on it to stop running-John turned toward a shocked Angela and a shooketh Jacob. "Ya see! Touchdo-"

John couldn't finish what he was going to say because he felt his shins striking something hard like concrete. Then, as if gravity had an agenda for his more than overbearing mass, he tilted forward, his feet flying. And when his head was submerged underwater-along with the rest of his flailing body and limbs, he thought of all the times he declined going for a swim when he was a teen. No thank you, I prefer to read alongside the pool. Go have fun, my brethren. Now, he wish he could reach into that past and grab the younger, skinnier, acne covered John who read too many books and shout Save me! Save me you knockoff Austin Powers!

This is how I'm going to die. Drowning in a fountain with a football in my grasp.

Then John felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and he was lifted, breaking the surface of the water. He coughed up the water, the chlorine a sharp taste in his mouth and burning his nose. When his eyes were wrung dry enough after wiping them with his palms, he looked up to see a slightly out of breath Angela, her eyes narrowed, her pantsuit stained with water, and her hands firmly grasping his shoulders. "Just so you know. This outfit costed about two hundred bucks."

"Um..." He held up the football. "I...caught it."

Angela shook her head-to hide her smirk or at his idiocy, he didn't know. She helped him up, both of them stepping over the fountain's rim.

"DUDE! THAT! WAS! AWESOME!" Like a golden retriever on crack, Jacob ran and stopped in front of them. He was bouncing on his feet, his phone in his hand. He was swiping furiously. "Sweet, sweet, 4K goodness. Jakey-boy, like-y. You da man! Give me some!" He held out his fist.

"Th-th-thank you," John said, his vision slightly wobbly. "Sorry, give me a second. I see three of you."

"No worries, teach, I got you." Jacob manipulated John's fingers until they turned into a fist. Then he pounded it. He took the football. "John, you-oh, Angela told me your name by the way-you are the G.O.A.T."

"I'm a goat?" John asked, feeling heavy in his now throughly soaked brown suit.  

"Greatest of all time," Angela explained, mussing over her own outfit.

"Yeah. If you ever want to toss the ball around or work on your cardio or whatever, I'm your guy." Jacob pounded John's chest with his fist. "See you later, John. You too, Angela. Gotta get back to my boys."

"Remember what I said!" Angela shouted as Jacob jogged away, "Antiperspirant deodorant! Nothing more, nothing less!"

***

John stood with Angela at her car. He wished he had brought a spare outfit for if he knew he'd make an ass out of himself, he'd be slipping into a comfy blue sweater and jeans right about now. Draped over his arm was his suit. He was clad in only a white collared shirt and a loosened black tie and his brown dress pants. Even though he insisted that he could hold the umbrella, Angela declined. She held it over both of them, a smile on her wrinkled face. 

"Well," she said, "that was riveting."

"Glad you enjoyed the show," he said, pulling at the white fabric of his shirt. "And thanks for saving me."

"You know, I've never seen a man move that fast before. If only my ex moved that fast when dealing with the divorce. I would've been a happier woman."

They laughed. John felt the weight of humiliation being lifted. Ok, it was still there, maybe about, like, two inches above his pride, but he was ok.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"Oh, it's just an umbrella. It wasn't that heavy."

"No, no, I meant..." Angela smiled subtly, a rare thing as a comet that only passed a planet once every five hundred years. It was a smile that was grateful, but also pained. "Thank you for letting me stay with you for the past three months. Dealing with the divorce was a nightmare and I certainly couldn't have done it while living with him."

John smiled, his hand itching to hold something other than his wet suit. "You're most welcome. I'm gonna miss you as a house guest."

"It was nice to be in a home that didn't have confrontation around every corner. You've been great. Although your taste in furniture could use some fine tuning."

"Of course it could."

"And the food in your kitchen? Those Pop-Pop-Peanut-Butter-Whatevers? Diabetes City."

"Hey, they're good."

"Are they like popcorn or chips or what?"

"I...don't know. I really don't."

"Wow. So you don't know everything," she said, poking him in the side playfully.

John chuckled, mopping back his hair which was a mess of strands that were still damp from the fountain.

"Well," Angela said, opening the door to her car and sitting in the driver's seat, "have a good weekend."

"You too." Before she closed the door, he held the top of the doorframe, lowering himself enough to level his face with hers. "Angela?"

"Yeah?"

At the end of the day, he was the teacher and she the student. At the end of the day, they lived two separate lives that-unless they were at school-couldn't have been more different. Knowing this, John felt like he was untethering something in his heart-a piece of it that beat solely for Angela. That piece was drifting away, unmoored in a stormy sea. And there he stood, yearning for a past that was there and a future that could be.

"Have fun on your date," he said simply, keeping his tone neutral.

She nodded.

The next thing he knew, she drove away.

And he stood under the overcast sky, which now leaked raindrops like bullets.

It masked his shuddering breaths as well as his watering eyes.

And it wasn't from the rain.