The Idealists--Part VI

Illustration by Todd Bonita


The Idealists – Part VI

The Schedule

Derick sits at his desk in the corner watching snow accumulate on the lawn and sidewalk outside. Students chase each other, throwing snowballs, pushing each other into drifts, playing. He scribbles on a student’s paper, watching. From the other room, he can hear Ruthie sobbing. He pushes his chair out, stands but doesn’t walk, takes two steps towards the closed door then returns and sits, staring. Some of the kids begin making a snowman. They squabble and laugh. He hears water running, and as they use rocks to make features on its head, Ruthie comes out.

“Negative,” she says.

“Well, we’ll keep trying, right?”

She nods. “I just hate getting my hopes up for nothing.”

“It’s part of the process.”

He motions for her to come to the window. She sits on his lap and they watch.

At the checkout at the grocery store, his cell-phone rings.

“Guess what I’m doing,” the text reads.

“??,” he replies.

“I’m standing on my head.”

It was something a co-worker, a Spanish teacher, said she’d done to get pregnant. After sex, she’d stood on her head to help gravity.

“Get eggs,” Ruthie adds.

When he gets home, she’s in the bathroom, crying again. He puts up the groceries and goes to his desk.

“Did you check your email?” Ruthie asks at lunch. “I sent you a Share Calendar request on Outlook so we can keep track of our baby-making schedule.”

Derick glances around the lunchroom. It’s full of students chatting away like birds. Here and there, he catches an eye. “I understand that we need a schedule. But do we have to take all the spontaneity out of this?”

Ruthie doesn’t listen. Instead, she goes to the food bar and returns with a plate of fruit which she pushes, insistently, towards him.

“I wanted cake,” Derick says.

“Eat the blueberries. And finish your asparagus. They’re Super-foods.”

Outside, on the way from the dining hall to class, he and Ruthie see a group of girls making snow angels.

“Mr. Stone!” One of them yells. He turns to see a snowball whiz by. The girls stop. Derick stares at the student who threw it as her smile fades. It’s obvious that she missed on purpose. Still. Everything is silent, frozen, until Ruthie squats, scoops a handful of powdery snow, packs it quickly and tosses it straight at the student’s head. Derick drops his books and grabs snow. The students dive behind bushes. Snowballs fly, and Derick sees Ruthie smiling without the dark-eyed tinge she’d had for months. They arrive for class late, covered in white, scribble notes with effervescent excuses for the students’ tardiness.

That night, they don’t even look at the schedule.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Troubadour 21