Page 43 of The Things We Never Say

“Oh dear,” Evie said. She put her hands on her hips and then said, “Well, it’s their life.” And then Evie, who was on her way to the kitchen, turned back and said, “What ever happened to that Gretchen woman you were seeing when we met?”

“No idea,” Artie said. “None.”

But what came to Artie that night as he got into bed (missing his father) was this thought: How had his father known to give him the advice that Artie had given Rob earlier today? Poor Gretchen had wept in that little bar he had taken her to in the middle of the day, years ago now, but Artie had gotten the job done—cleanly—because of what his father had told him to do. But his father—he only realized this now—must have broken up with someone himself years earlier, or how would he have known what to tell Artie?

His mother and father had met at a dance, he knew that. But his father must have had a girlfriend before.

A small shiver of chills went through Artie. Jesus, Dad, he thought. I wish I had known you.

His students continued to move him deeply, partly now because he felt that he was delivering them to an unsafe world. He had read again the essays they had written the first day of school, and he was taken by how few of his students saw themselves as people with any real prospects in the world. Many (most of them) spoke of their parents, and not in harsh terms. They loved their parents, again and again this was in their essays. Only Danny Marino had said, “I don’t want to be like my parents.”

One morning as his class—the one with Danny and Rhonda in it—settled themselves into their chairs, he clapped his hands, and they all looked up at him, and he said, “Listen, I want to know about your plans for your futures.”

They looked at him blankly.

After a few moments of silence Artie laughed, and he said, “Future. Your future. How do you see it?”

Again, they just watched him.

“Hello?” he said. He went and stood in front of his desk. “Exactly what part of my question is confusing to you? Willoughby, let’s start with you. What do you want to do with your life?”

Willoughby looked down, ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and then said, looking at Artie, “I don’t know. That’s the truth. It scares me.”

“Okay.” Artie nodded several times. “That’s a good and honest answer. Fear. Who among us does not feel fear?” He looked around; the kids were watching with more interest now. “Who in this world does not feel fear? And what precisely is your fear, Willoughby? That you don’t know what you want, or that you think that if you want something it may not happen.”

“Yeah, that one. What you just said,” Willoughby answered.

Artie gazed at the boy, and after a moment he said, “You’d rather not tell us what you want that you’re afraid you won’t get?”

And the boy said, “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry one bit. Fears are very often private things. Part of being human is realizing how…well, how private our fears are.”

Tamera raised her hand. “I’d like to work with little kids,” she said. “I don’t want to be a teacher. Sorry. But I’d like to do something with little kids.”

“Okay. Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Like being a pediatric nurse?”

Tamera’s eyes got big. “Really? Oh my God, that would be so cool.”

“Do it,” Artie said, nodding at her.

Jacob Aaronson raised his hand. “I want to be a heart surgeon.” People turned to look at him.

“Why a heart surgeon?” Artie asked.

“Because my father had a heart attack—and—and it was awful to see, and they saved his life, the doctor saved his life. The heart surgeon, and ever since then, this was two years ago, ever since then I have thought: Man, if I could save a life. Man, that would be great.” He added, “But I don’t know if I’m smart enough.”

Artie folded his arms across his chest. “Your private fear. But go be a heart surgeon, Jacob. Please. And hurry up, because I will need you.” A few kids smiled at this.

The rest of the class period was spent in this way. Slowly, more and more kids opened up to Artie and to one another. They were scared about their futures, Artie was surprised at the level of fear they all expressed, they did not know if they could do what they wanted, to be a finance officer, or a business owner (one young man wanted to own a business of specialty high-end cars), or a school nurse (they were worried about how to pay for their education), or one young girl who raised her hand and said, “Don’t laugh, but I want to be a cosmetician.” Nobody laughed. “I want to help people feel they can be pretty.”

“What’s so funny about that?” Artie said. And she was relieved and talked about her mother, who had a disfigurement, and she had seen how much people reacted to this and she wanted to make people feel pretty.

Another young woman wanted to be a librarian. “I just love libraries, I love them,” she said.