Remember Who You Are

Chapters 20 and 21

Chapter Twenty


Four hundred and twenty-too ceiling tiles. Wesley had counted them four times, and he was certain of the number. He tried to count them in Spanish but forgot the Spanish word for “one hundred.” Sitting in the part-time faculty lounge, waiting on class to start, was dumb, thought Wesley. He was nervous and too excited to stay at the parsonage any longer. Today was his first day of school as a teacher. Wesley loved college and when, a couple of years ago, he changed careers, teaching was the first one that came to mind.





In his mind, he had rehearsed his entrance several times; still not sure which strategy was more effective. He even considered, and rejected, being in the classroom when the students arrived. Wesley looked at the clock on the wall again. Fifteen minutes before class starts. It felt like thirty minutes since the clock said eighteen minutes.


*****


“Okay guys, let’s sum this up. There will be four tests, all multiple choice, and everything on the test will come from the book. There is one book report and you must attend two church services of your choice before the end of the semester. Completion of that requirement and I will drop your lowest test score. I may bring in other material or tell you some really cool stories but they will not be on the test. Sooo, memorize the book and make an A.” A few of the students laughed. Wesley had covered his class rules (no ear buds, no sleeping, no cell phones), the syllabus (a copy of which was on the website – link provided) and taken roll.





“Sorry, but this class only meets once a week. We have to do a lecture tonight.” General groans emanated from the class. Wesley laughed.





“Each week, we will cover one chapter. So today, we will cover Chapter One in the book. It is the most boring chapter but there is not much I can do about that. But first, a little about me. I spent four years in the Army, most of it in Germany. The only German I learned were bad words if you’re interested. And no, I won’t teach them to you.” General laughter from the class again. Good, thought Wesley, his first day did not seem to be going too badly.


“After that, I used the G.I. Bill, and I worked my way through college. I received my B.A. from UNCC in Psychology and started out counseling troubled teens,” one girl, sitting on the front row, to Wesley right, jerked her head up at that state and frowned, as if she recognized Wesley from somewhere. The sudden movement distracted Wes for a moment but he recovered quickly. “But I transitioned to Human Resources and received my Masters from UNCC. A couple of years ago, I decided to change careers, so I went back to school and got my Masters in Religion. So, here I am, teaching part-time and I, also, pastor a small church here in town. I have a daughter who lives in Charlotte and a three-legged dog named Lucky.” Everyone laughed.





Sitting in the middle of the class, a slender blonde, with large almond-brown eyes raised her hand “Yes ma’am?” asked Wesley.





“How did a three-legged dog get the name ‘Lucky?’”





Wesley smiled. “Any dog that loses a leg could have easily died.”





An African-American boy wearing a big smile raised his head, “Yes sir?”





“Cool. I know you. You’re that preacher that got shot.” There was an audible gasp from the room and Wesley felt a cold chill slide mercilessly down his spine.





Wesley just nodded. “Any other questions?”





“How did it feel? Getting shot?”





Wesley waited a moment then slowly shook his head. Rubbing his hands, he started his lecture.


 


Chapter Twenty-One


“Mr. Aames?”





“Wesley, please.”





Class was finished. Wesley stood near the door as the students filtered out. The last student, a slender brunette with hazel eyes and a turned down mouth that made her look sad, stopped and spoke.





“I hate to bother you, but can we talk?”





Wesley looked at the young lady. She looks so sad, he thought. “Of course. Do you live on campus?”





“No, I commute.”





“Okay. Why don’t I walk you to your car? That way, I don’t have to worry about you being out here alone.”





“Okay,” she answered.





“You need to remind me your of your name.”





“Oh. Sorry. Cora. Cora Jamison.”





Leaving the building, Wesley waited on her to begin. Not wanting to push, he also did not want to spend the rest of the evening waiting on her to start. He was tired, yet exhilarated from the success of his first class, and he wanted to get home and share his success with Lucky.





They approached the parking lot without speaking.





“There’s my car.” She pointed to an older sedan, Wesley could not make out the model, but the paint was peeling and there were a few dents.





They slowed as they neared her car. The girl opened the car door and placed her bag in the front seat. Maybe she has decided against talking, which was fine with Wesley. Taking her cell phone, she activated the little flashlight. Shining the light on her wrist, Wesley saw two thin lines crossing into an “x” on the inside of her wrist.


“The first time, was in the ninth grade.”





Oh God, thought Wesley, she is talking about attempted suicides.





She continued, “The girl I was in love with got a boyfriend. We were friends and so I was the one who heard all about their make out sessions and their sex. One night, I couldn’t take it anymore.” She stopped and swallowed. “I guess I didn’t cut deep enough.” Her hand shook and the light quivered on her scarred wrist but her voice was steady. “The next time, in the tenth grade, was after I confided in that same friend that I was gay. I thought we were friends. Best friends. But,” here her voice quivered, “she was horrified by me and my confession. She jumped up and screamed that she would tell everyone. I guess my going into the psych ward for three days after another attempted suicide persuaded her not to tell.” She looked at Wesley, “We’re not friends anymore.”





Wesley was too stunned to talk. Why was this girl telling his all this? This child’s heart is broken, and she is breaking mine.





“The third time I thought about suicide was a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know that girl that died.” She shrugged, “I didn’t even see it on facebook. But I saw you on television and heard about you doing that funeral for that gay fireman. That gave me the courage to ‘come out’ to my parents. I…I…was entering college, I…thought they would…they could…accept me...love me.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. My Dad still hasn’t spoken to me. My Mom just cries when I call. I am living with friends ‘cause they kicked me out. The…the…night I told them…Oh God…that night…I decided to do it. This time…this time…I would cut deep enough. How…how do you live if…if…your own parents don’t love you?”





She stopped and regained her composure. Wesley felt sick to his stomach but had nothing to say. “Tonight, after you started talking, I realized. I recognized your voice.” Tall and slender, she still looked up into Wesley’s eyes, tears welling and threatening to overflow. “I called the suicide hotline that night. I remembered your voice. You saved me that night.” Tears escaped and rolled down this wounded child’s face.





“Thank you.” She slipped her arms around Wesley’s neck and hugged him tight. Together, they cried and talked until midnight.