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“Mischa, get off of your phone please.” Father Louis P. Marcus frowned at the boy. “That is the fifth time I’ve asked.” Realistically, he should have taken the phone on the third time. It was the whole ‘ three strikes and they’re out mentality’ … but, Mischa always seemed happier with it in hand- a far cry from his offputting rogue act that Louis always saw.
But Mischa simply crossed his arms, choosing to scroll once more. “Six.” He muttered, giving a challenging glance over his phone. Louis mirrored him, crossing his arms- giving the same challenging glare. “Fine. You will stay to help me after class.” He decided.
“For reals!?!” Mischa looked at him- a hint of surprise hidden beneath his outrage. Louis nodded. “I don’t see why you couldn’t do that. According to the list of after-school conflicts, there is nothing else you need to do.” He said.
The boy said nothing. Instead, he turned his hat around to pull over his face, leaning back in his chair. Inwardly, Louis grinned. That wasn’t a direct no, which meant Mischa would stay behind. Good.
“Very well. We’re at time anyhow. Class dismissed.” He said.
It wasn’t beyond his attention the way that his choir dismissed themselves. Ricky was always the first to leave, with Noel following behind. Though, if Mischa ever came to class, then he’d be the first to leave… On the contrary, Ocean always tried to stay behind to help- ever the inquisitive teacher's pet. Constance never left her side.
“Are you planning to help me with the chairs, or are you going to sit there with the hat over your eyes?” Louis asked. Mischa lifted a finger to shove the hat from his face just enough that one eye could be seen. “There is option?” He questioned, his voice thick with indignity.
Louis shook his head. “While I’d love to give you that option, but I don’t think it would straighten this room up.”
“Fine.” With a heavy sigh, Mischa slammed his palm on his knees and shoved himself up. “I will help.” In an instant, he was up. Louis watched as every chair was quickly put away before he could even lift a finger. “Oh.” He murmured, “Thank you!” He grinned at Mischa, who curtly nodded to him. However, he could see how the boy’s lips had begun to curl up into an accomplished smile.
“I have a question for you, but there’s no pressure to answer.” He asked.
“Ask.” Mischa tilted his head.
“What’s the draw to your phone all the time? You seem happier when you’re on it, so it piqued my curiosity.” Louis sat down on the edge of a table, crossing his ankles. From the way Mischa turned his nose back down at his phone, he didn’t think he’d receive an answer. He had begun to get up when Mischa spoke. His voice was gentle- only a whisper. “Talia.”
“Talia… A girlfriend of yours?” Louis asked, leaning forward curiously.
“Fiancée.” Mischa smiled. “She is back in my country. From Ukraine.” His smile turned bitter. “I am saving to go back. But Talia… she is my…” Mischa stilled, mouth open and closing like he was struggling to find the correct words. He waved his arms pathetically in front of him. Now, Louis couldn’t have that.
“Light?” He offered. “She is your light?”
As if the embodiment of the word had power itself, a spark of joy returned to Mischa’s eyes.
“Light. Yes… She is light, leading me home.” Mischa held a wonder in his eyes that Louis had never seen before. He patted the table next to him. “Have you tried sending her a letter? It’s more personal than a text.” He asked.
Mischa shook his head. A shame. Louis was going to change that. “Let’s write one for her, what do you think?” He nudged the boy as he sat down. “For Talia?”
“For Talia.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Saying that Louis was surprised to see Mischa not only show up to his choir class but show up only a minute late and only used his phone once. And he sang.
Mischa sang.
It was a lovely baritone voice he had, and it pained Louis to think about not hearing it more often. He knew that there would certainly be days that Mischa would rather avoid class. But for now, he was content watching the boy maneuver around his class, picking up the chairs before handing over a single envelope. Without a single word, Mischa left the class.
Louis carefully examined the letter's front, smoothing his fingers over the unexpectedly neat writing.
‘To: Natalia Muruska Bolinska’