Some people think Ms. Blake was some kind of saint. Some kind of perfect angel sent down from heaven. But I happen to know from first-hand experience that that woman is far from perfect. She’s a law-breaker, an alcoholic, an addict of far too many vices – and that’s exactly why I love her.
And I do actually love her. I know i’m a little young, and I’m certainly a lot younger than her, but I’ve never felt more strongly for any other woman than I have for Mallory. Even then in that tiny little classroom, I knew that I would never meet another person as extraordinary as her. She was unflinchingly honest and unapologetic, especially when it came to telling her students that they were wrong. We were only eleven, but to Mallory it wouldn’t have made a difference if were five, fifteen, or fifty. She expected everyone around her to be a smart as a whip, and if you didn’t understand something then you had better figure it out really quickly before she called on you. It may have been a little harsh, but we all came out of that classroom ready for anything – we walked into middle school unafraid to challenge our teachers what we thought was wrong with our school and our society. We were young, but well informed, citizens of the world, and there was nothing scaring us away from lecturing the previous generations about their screw-ups.
I don’t mean to make it seem like she was a total bitch; there were also qualities about her that were really nice. For instance, she was fiercely loyal to her kids. I remember one of my best friends, Warren, had put a tarantula in Principal Vachon’s desk during recess one day, and she was pissed as hell. Principal Vachon had been dealing with Warren in her school for all five years, and so she figured that he was behind the prank. But when she came into our classroom and demanded to see Warren in her office immediately, Mallory covered for him by saying he had broken one of the commandments, and he had been inside with her during recess. Now, that was a really nice thing of her to do. I’m not sure whether it was motivated by Mallory’s love of Warren or hatred of Principal Vachon, but still – it was really nice.
She also acted like a mother to some of us. There was this little mousy girl named Bridget, who I swear could be blown away by a strong wind she was so wispy, who used to stay inside with Mallory every day during recess. I don’t think Mallory had a very close relationship with her own mother – I remember her coming into school the day her mom died and acting like everything was fine – but she looked at Mallory as if she were the stars and the moon. I chose to see things a little differently. My brother Tom and I were raised by a single mom who strove to be the perfect specimen of a mother ever. She worked two jobs, but she never ordered take out, and she never hired a baby-sitter, and she never ever missed a single one of our soccer games or band concerts. And I know that everyone wasn’t as lucky as I was to have a really supportive parent in their life. But the truth is that it got a little stifling. She constantly wanted to know everything my brother and I were doing at every minute of the day. She never let us eat dinner at other people’s houses. in fact, she didn’t like us ever going over to our friends’ houses because she was worried that weren’t appreciative of all the hard work she did to make our house pleasant and inviting. She never cursed in our presence, or smoked or drank or did anything that might influence us to make poor life choices. If it wasn’t for the fact that she got knocked up twice by an abusive ex-husband – you would think she was the Virgin Mary.
But I didn’t need someone in my life like that. My mom had dreams of me going to Harvard and becoming a doctor, but I knew from a very early age that I didn’t want any of that. And the longer she kept holding out this strange delusion that I was going to be the most successful person to come out of Goodland, Indiana, the more guilty I felt about wanting something else for my life. My grades were decent, but I much preferred reading the comic books hidden under my bed, or playing video games on those rare occasions my mom let me out of the house. These were things that normal kids did, and yet I felt like a huge disappointment that I didn’t have grander aspirations. That if I wasn’t what my mom wanted me to be, then there must be something wrong with me.
And that’s why Mallory played such an important part in my life. She was far from perfect and far from successful, but she seemed as happy with her life as anyone I had ever met. And when she gave that speech on the last day of class about not trying to be successful or rich or famous, but instead being something that makes you happy – that speech really spoke to me. Sure, I felt like I was probably a rotten apple that fell from a painfully perfect tree. But Mallory seemed to be exactly the same, and I figured that she and I were kindred spirits of some sort. I couldn’t have possibly known at the time what kind of childhood she had, but on that last day when she told us that she wanted us to know all the things she never knew at our age – I knew that something must awful must have happened in her life in order for her to become the person she was.
And when I got older, I found out exactly what those problems were. When I was a freshman in high school, I found myself looking for a job after school. Partially because my mom thought that it would provide me with “good character” and partially because it meant having to spend less time under the prying eyes of my mother. Unfortunately, I was too young to get a job at any real workplace, so I had to settle just working odd jobs for people around the neighborhood. I put an ad out for my services in the local newspaper, and almost immediately Mallory called up and told me that she needed some help around the house.
That’s when I started calling her “Mallory”, by the way. When she hired me, she told me that there would be no need for formalities. I don’t want you to think that I’m the kind of person who always called adults by their first name just to sound cool or something. Like the way Alison used to call her mom “Sandra?” Super weird.
Anyway, the jobs she needed me to do involved mainly organizing some of the things around her house. Mallory was kind of a hoarder, and she needed help going through all the things and figuring out what to throw away and what to sell and what to keep. She told me that if it were just her doing it, everything would stay. That’s why she needed fresh eyes: to put things in perspective.
And then, after those projects were done, it was maintenance around the house. She was getting old (although she never did want to tell me her real age) and fixing leaking sinks and faucets were too straining on her back.
And then, after I had fixed everything in the house that needed fixing, I began fixing her. Because Mallory was incredibly lonely and sad and though she didn’t like to show it, I know she needed someone there for her. Someone she didn’t need to be perfect for.
Look, before you say anything, I want you to know that she never forced me to do anything, ok? I wanted to; everything I did, I did out of love. Yes, there’s an age difference, but I don’t really know what that has to do with anything. I was always committed to her, and after I graduated high school, I moved in with her. Everyday I worked in the post office sorting through endless piles of letters and packages, and at night I got to come home to the most glorious imperfection in the entire world. I told my mom, of course, where I was living, but no one else knows. Everyone else thinks I moved out to some neighboring town, because my mom’s too afraid to tell them that I’m living with a woman nearly forty years my senior. Because it would mean that she had done something wrong in raising me.
If only she knew.
I lived with Mallory up until last year, when I got back home from work and all my things were laid out on the driveway. She said we couldn’t be together anymore. I still don’t know what was wrong, but she looked so scared that I figured someone must have found out about us. I asked her if I could still come over to see her, and she said that it would be better if we didn’t make contact with each other for a while.
And that was the last time I ever saw her. A month later i found out she had disappeared. Just vanished without a trace. And it kills me, you know? Because if she wanted to leave, if there was some sort of scandal she was keeping under wraps, then I would have gone with her. I would have gone anywhere she wanted me to.
I haven’t slept well ever since she’s been gone. I can’t eat, I can’t think straight. I know that somehow it must be my fault and i’m not sure how. But I’ll help Bridget in any way I can, because I need to find Mallory again. I need to be with her.
No comments:
Post a Comment