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Dr Ryland Grace, a beloved science teacher at Grover Cleveland Middle School, was objectively a desirable man. It was a consensus reached after encountering the gentle nature with which he carried himself, the open-hearted kindness he displayed to others, and the width of his well-defined biceps– who are we kidding? It was mostly the biceps.
Thus, it is to the surprise of no one, except for Dr Grace himself, that he was a man frequently propositioned. From the cups of coffee left on his desk, a number scrawled across the side. A strange text message from Mr Morris, a fellow science teacher, that read: “Hey, want to switch off the work Whatsapp? Let’s move to Snapchat ;)” to which Grace replied: “Snapchat? Isn’t that the little filter app the kids use?”
To the brave parents, single and otherwise, who directly asked him if he would like to meet over dinner, to which Dr Grace, who gave about as much thought to copulation as he did to the Complete Sonnets, Songs and Poems of William Shakespeare, replied: “Mrs Smith, I don’t directly teach your child, however I would be happy to help you plan a teacher-parent meeting, head over to the lovely Suzanne at reception” Mrs Smith went to reception, intending to find out which lucky woman won Dr Grace’s affection, only to find that Suzanne was nearing the age of seventy, and upon seeing Mrs Smith curiously poke her head into reception, handed her a laminated paper that read: “If you’re actually here for your child take a seat, if it’s for Dr Grace, leave now before this gets worse.”
There was much debate amongst the teachers and parents of Grover Cleveland as to the reasons for Dr Grace’s disinterest in their advances. Some argued that he was happily in a relationship, others that he had already been through the messy situation of crossing over one’s professional and personal life, a small minority –who were unknowingly on the money– believed he was simply uninterested in sex.
However, if the teachers and parents at Grover Cleveland Middle School could unite over one thing, it was the allure of Dr Grace’s backside in his fitted dress pants as he bent over to unfasten his bike chain. A devious performance he was engaged in when he was approached on Friday afternoon, around an hour after school was dismissed.
“Grace! It’s great to see you, man.”
Mr Brown called out to him, prowling toward Dr Grace alongside Mr Wright, Ms Wilson, and Ms Taylor like a pack of starved hyenas.
“Brown, good to see you too, got much on this weekend?”
“Actually, that is exactly what we’re here for Grace, join us at Shelly’s tonight, won’t you?”
Shelly’s was a popular bar around a 20 minute walk from the school, and around 30 from Grace’s apartment.
Grace considered the 30 minute trip back to his apartment, to get changed into casual wear and then walk an additional 30 minutes to Shelly’s. Grace considered the ominous grey clouds creeping over the horizon, threatening to fall approximately 15 minutes into his walk to Shelly’s. Grace considered socialising with his somewhat-not-really friends and spending an exuberant amount of money on drinks he barely enjoyed.
Then, Grace considered his apartment, warm, cozy, and shielded from whatever wrath the rain decided to unleash tonight.
“I’d love to, but I’m busy tonight. You guys have fun!”
“Ah what a shame, what have you got on?”
What. That wasn’t meant to happen.
Brown was supposed to acknowledge what he said as a surface level excuse, awkwardly laugh, and leave Grace to return to his apartment and bask in the shameful, guilty pleasure of introversion.
Grace felt his cheeks warm to an embarrassing shade of red, he had been caught in a lie.
He lifted one hand behind his head, scratching awkwardly as he flusteredly stuttered:
“Ah, well, y’know…” he trailed off awkwardly.
Ms Wilson regarded the blushing Grace curiously, “Dr Grace you sly bastard!” she exclaimed, “Grace has got a date!”
This pack of hyenas had found a fresh kill. Noises that varied from fascination, to celebration, to deep jealousy were heard as they regarded Dr Grace with eager interest.
“You have fun on your date Grace” Ms Taylor voiced, “And if she stands you up, you know where we’ll be.”
The pack moved onward, eager to reach Shelly’s to speculate upon the identity of the lucky date.
Grace, relieved to have an out to the conversation, mounted his bike and pedalled ferociously toward the safety of his apartment, ready to indulge in a night of ramen and shitty sit-coms.
Meanwhile, under the dim orange lights of Shelly’s, three tables back from the entrance, a group of four huddled over their table as if they were witches, eagerly they had the following list on all of Dr Ryland Grace’s social media platforms– which consisted of one Facebook account, an educational youtube channel, and a post-less Instagram– inspecting the list for suspects; they would find this mysterious person, and grant themselves infinite respect within parent-teacher community at Grover Cleveland Middle.
The initial inquisition of the fateful four who attended Shelly’s that rainy Friday night proved unsuccessful. According to his social media, Dr Grace had no personal connections with anyone outside of work.
Thus, the witch hunt intensified.
Ms Wilson approached Grace on Monday morning,
“So… How did Friday go?”
Grace, who had been avoiding the four of them since he arrived, suddenly faced himself with a dilemma; he could confess that he did not want to go to Shelly’s that night, jeopardising the single no-quite-almost friendship he had at work, or he could lie, play into what they already have decided was truth and keep the minimal social life he retained intact.
“It was great! Yeah, thanks for asking. How was yours?”
Easy, minimal, a deflection. A lie only of omission. Go Grace.
“Oh well, Shelly’s is always the same, got pissed drunk and stumbled home in that awful rain. Tell me more about this date, what did you get up to?”
Oh sweet Jesus.
Why was no one following the assigned social scripts he had gathered from decades of human interaction? What was with this follow-up to his vague answers?
“Went back to my apartment really, stayed in. Oh, and wasn’t that rain awful?”
Slightly bigger lie. Feed into her delusion. Divert to a different topic. Oh Grace, you aren’t autistic, you’re a master of observational communicational psychology.
“Took her to your apartment? Grace you naughty dog!
And that rain, I'm pretty sure my shoes are still wet.”
Grace awkwardly laughed as both an answer and response to Ms Wilson.
Alright, initiate conversation closer:
“Well, I’m off to class, hope the kids treat you alright today Wilson, you know how they get after rainy weekends!”
Masterful.
Grace shuffled toward his first period, satisfied in his diffusion of the situation.
Meanwhile, Ms Wilson eagerly messaged a group chat titled “Getting Down with the Doctor”:
“Confirmed! He took the date back to his apartment.”
Dinner with Marissa could not come quickly enough, Grace needed her to tell him he was not a vile human for lying to his not-quite-almost friends about his fictional date.
In a series of strange coincidences, it happened to be Marissa’s turn to pick the location for their weekly meeting, further, it also so happened that Marissa had recently heard of Shelly’s from a friend, who believed their steak sandwiches were simply orgasmic.
Grace had spat his beer when Marissa, who supposedly agreed with her friend, shared this review of the sandwich.
‘That’s, that’s definitely an adjective!”
“Oh Grace, you idiot. Here, have a bite, you’ll agree.”
“I really don’t think I will,” Grace corrected.
It was a good sandwich, not exactly orgasmic, but the sauce had an interesting flavour, pickles– maybe?
“Oh, you’ve got some on your chin” Marissa leaned over the table, swiping at the corner of Grace’s mouth with her finger, and then cleaning said finger with her tongue.
“Hmm, what’s that sauce got in it? So tangy.”
“Eugh, Marissa, that was gross. Don’t eat off your fingers, you’ll get sick”
“Nah, three second rule”
“Okay, first of all that’s not real, I was a molecular biologist once and you know that’s an offensive concept to me. Secondly, they say that for stuff you dropped on the ground, not what you ate off your friends face.”
“Semantics.”
Grace sighed deeply, this was why one friend was enough for him.
Coincidentally, the waiter approaching had witnessed this interaction, and hoping to butter them up for a better tip stated:
“Aww, you guys are so cute together, enjoying your date tonight?”
Grace stuttered as Marissa grabbed his hand,
“Oh, we are, and can I just say that steak sandwich was simply orgasmic.”
Grace choked.
The waiter abruptly laughed, “Chef’s gonna love that one!” he claimed as he sauntered back to the kitchen.
“Marissa, why did you do that, we’re not dating; I don’t date, and you don’t date men.”
“Well, duh, but it’s so much harder to explain all that. Like you can talk, didn’t you literally make up a girlfriend or something this week?”
“Semantics” Grace rebutted.
The week passed in a blur of exciting, engaging lessons with his kids, and dull, uncomfortable small talk with his coworkers.
It’s not that his coworkers weren’t nice, they were lovely to him, Grace had just reached his quota on close friends for the time being, and wasn’t interested in all the socialising one had to complete to make more. Really, the only reason Grace and Marissa had become such good friends in the first place was her stubborn insistence, and his lack of a spine– that, alongside the distressed phone calls he had received from his mother, worried that her Son wasn’t making friends at college.
In no time at all, it was Friday afternoon once more, and Grace was unknowingly providing an erotic exposition as he unfastened his bike chain.
“Dr Grace!” Mr Brown called out, followed by the “Getting Down with the Doctor” clique.
‘Hey guys!” Grace returned. Please don’t ask about Shelly’s. Please don’t ask about Shelly’s. Please.
“Are you free for Shelly’s tonight?”
Fudge. No, it’s fine. He’ll go out tonight, and he’ll come clean, confess that he had lied the prior week out of the pure, selfish desire to rot the night away in bed.
“Sure, meet at six?”
Grace was filled with trepidation as he considered the entrance of Shelly’s. It was decorated with unfairly welcoming, warm fairy lights that twinkled gently, as if mocking the tempest that swirled in his chest. As he squinted in the dark, he could nearly imagine that above the door was printed: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Alas, it only read: “All are welcome at…” Stupid sign, making it hard for him to dramatise.
Grace counted to five, here goes nothing.
“Over here Grace!” a voice yelled from a table three back from the door.
He joined the group, blessedly they were mid conversation, allowing him to enter through the shallow end, adjusting to the atmosphere of the conversation around him. He felt himself relax slowly, he even cracked a stellar, witty one-liner that had made Brown laugh. Go Grace.
In the sequel to a series of strange coincidences, the waiter that approached their table was the very same one who had served Grace and Marissa earlier that week.
“Good to see you back again sir! Thank you for tipping so well with your date, she really liked that sandwich huh!”
Four heads turned toward Grace slowly.
Fudge.
The witch hunt to find Dr Grace’s mysterious partner had reached catastrophic levels of intensity. Following his failed attempt at coming clean on his fake relationship, the rumours of Grace’s lovelife reached the eager ears of the parents of the Grover Cleveland community.
The parents, who had long been admiring Grace and wishing that the “kiss and ride” zone was just a bit more literal, transformed into first class private investigators.
Mrs Smith, a particularly eager parent who had never quite given up hope, decided one afternoon as Grace mounted his bike, that she was going to get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all.
She followed him through the streets of San-Fran, he made fast pace on that bike, but his yellow raincoat was like a “you are here” point for Mrs Smith.
He halted, tying his bike to the racks out the front of the grocery store. Mrs Smith, having decided this would be an excellent reconnaissance opportunity for her investigation, parked her car and entered the store, discreetly following his trip.
She was bewildered at the selections he made, he first went through the produce section, where he gazed longingly at the leafy vegetables before grabbing a value bag of potatoes, then he acquired approximately 20 instant noodle bricks, and collected 10 cans of tuna, grimacing as he placed them in his shopping basket. This had given Mrs Smith little insight into his lovelife, the groceries in fact so far counteracted the notion that he had a partner.
Grace turned down the health aisle. Now we’re getting somewhere. Come on, what’s he going to grab: condoms? A pregnancy test? Oh, none of that, apparently the target of the mission was dental floss. Mrs Smith left dejectedly, without any valuable information to contribute to the “Getting Down with the Doctor” group chat.
In the three weeks following the one, disastrous, time Grace socialised with his colleagues, speculation around the identity of the mysterious stranger remained strong.
That was until Mr Brown and Mr Morris were caught in the janitor’s closet together.
Thus, Grace returned to his elusive status, admired, propositioned, and thankfully, not investigated by the broader school community, because really, don't we all have better things to be doing?
30 years had passed since Dr Grace’s employment at Dr Captain Ryland Grace Middle School, formerly titled Grover Cleveland Middle School, and the logs of the Beetles had recently been released to the public.
One particular vlog had made waves on the internet recently, it goes as follows:
Dr Capt. Ryland Grace and the alien Rocky are sitting together in what looks to be the dormitory of the Hail Mary ship.
Rocky: We have human custom “slumber party” tonight. Grace Rocky stay up all night sharing bad-talk about others.
DCRG: That’s right! Boy, do these Eridians have drama, I thought my story about making my whole school think I was dating my best friend was pretty bad. Rocky here just let me know that Eridians make a sport out of figuring out who’s dating who, and all the details, literally, all the details.
Rocky: Is true. Sound carries.
DCRG grimaces at the comment.
Rocky: But now Grace talk about who taught him about fisting.
DCRG rolls his eyes fondly.
Rocky: Was very good teacher of fisting to Grace! Grace fisting everyone.
DCRG: Yeah, I have a pretty rad fist, did it all the time on Earth.
Rocky: And other’s fisted Grace bump!
Rocky: Grace fist Rocky bump sometimes, when excite, excite, excite! But not the same because cannot breathe same air.
DCRG looks toward Rocky forlornly, placing his arm around Rocky’s bubble. Rocky moves closer to DCRG.
The vlog cuts when DCRG falls asleep against Rocky’s bubble.
Eager for the chance at notoriety, many began to claim that Dr Captain Ryland Grace, the man who saved humanity, had fisted them. A larger proportion of people began to claim that they had fisted him.
Needless to say, soon after Marissa saved Grace’s ass, the rumours of fisting were dispelled.
Nonetheless, the vlog still remained notorious, both for the misinterpretation of the century, and for the final moments of it, wherein Grace fell asleep against Rocky’s enclosure.
Once the narrative of fisting had been dispelled, the moment was acknowledged for its softness. Two creatures, years from home and centimetres from each other, leaning on one another to bear the weight of two worlds upon their shoulders.
Alongside such poetic reflections of this pivotal moment for humanity, the allure of Grace remained constant.
