Kissing Mrs. Johnson

Mrs. Johnson smiled slightly over her glasses before she went back to grading. I watched her for a moment before continuing to scrub, the chalk residue from my hands smearing slightly on the desk. I wasn’t in trouble of course, because I was her very favorite student.

I was her TA, her only TA. She thought the TA program wasted valuable learning time in a society that didn’t already didn’t value education. She made an exception for me, because I needed to transfer out of my 7th period Chemistry class because my teacher kept looking down my shirt.

I think almost all of my classmates loved her in their own little ways, though I probably loved her a little more than any of the others. She was the perfect teacher. Her long, shining black hair framed her soft chin and her big gold earrings looped around her ears just like a Gypsy’s would. And her eyes…

She looked up at me, catching me staring at her from across the room. I quickly looked away and pretended to cough, trying to hide my blushing. I wasn’t ever very good at hiding, I’m sure she caught me every time I said good morning.

Mrs. Johnson smiled knowingly and said, “I read your new story last night.”

My face lit up despite myself, “Really! What did you think?”

“I loved it. It was very romantic, the funny thing is the older girl reminded me of myself when I was that age.” I felt my face firing up again, that wasn’t much of a coincidence.

Mrs. Johnson continued, “Your writing is coming along very nicely, of all my students who wanted to be writers I think you have the best chance of succeeding.”

“Thank you so much… I’m thinking of applying to Berkley or Yale or maybe even Webster in England.” I mumbled, moving up in front of her desk.

“Good for you, that sounds like an adventure…” She smiled looking out past the window. For the first time, I saw her more like a prisoner then a goddess. I saw her the way she saw herself.

I quickly tried to change the subject, “Where did you go to college, Mrs.?”

“Just a state college… staying with some guy.”

“Mr. Johnson?” I guessed from her facial expression.

“No he didn’t come until later. This guy was cute and funny and romantic and… older. Too much older. Our parents didn’t approve that I was seeing him. I don’t really think he approved, deep down,” she started to fall into contemplation, as she often did.

I feared that I would lose her for the rest of the evening, as I had before. I struggled to say something, anything. “What then?” I blurted.

“I met Mr. Johnson,” she sighed.

“How is he?” I pried, suddenly interested.

She looked up at me, startled out of her thoughts.

“Does he love you?” I asked.

She sighed and then whispered, “We’re getting divorced this summer.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to hide how startled and pleased I was to hear this news. A tear ran down Mrs. Johnson’s round cheek, the first I’d ever seen from her. They were followed by a slight sob. Then she was crying, deep muted sobs.

Stunned, I did the only thing I knew to do. I reached over her desk and wrapped my arms behind her back tightly. She fell forward onto my chest, her tears wetting my blouse. Despite her sorrow, I cannot lie and say it was an unpleasant sensation, having her face pressed up against me.

I whispered softly down to her, “I don’t care about the consequences—” I took a deep breath. “I love you… with all my heart.”

Her tears stopped and she had gasped abruptly. She sat up quietly, wiped off her tears, and removed her glasses. She began cleaning them tenderly. After a long moment she spoke consolingly down to the glasses, “Here I am shoving my woes off onto a girl only half my age. What sort of adult have I become?” She sighed, “I know that you think you do, Emily. I am flattered, truly. But it’s only a phase… it’ll pass.”

My concerned blush contorted into a look of disgust. I leapt up and yelled down at her, “What makes my feelings any less real then yours? Sure I am young and naïve but I know I see love and understanding within you! I am not half your age, I am only six or seven years younger then you. I am just as much a person as you, with feeling just as deep and meaningful! How could you brush me aside so casually?”

Mrs. Johnson began to cry again, “I’m so sorry, Emily. I can’t do anything right… You are right to hate me.”

“But I don’t! I mean it when I say it: I love you more then I have ever loved anyone else in my entire life!”

She looked up at me, her eyes glossy with tears, “Are you sure that is how you feel? Is it more important to you then anything else?” She pressed her thick-rimmed glasses back onto her face. “Are you willing to risk everything just to be with me?”

My heart suddenly was alight with fire, passion mixing with my already throbbing adrenaline. I nodded.

She smiled guiltily, her eyes still glossy with tears. “Kiss me… right now.”

I flew down onto her lips, pressing her down against her chair. I felt her hands press against my neck and her tongue into my mouth. In that one moment that I was kissing Mrs. Johnson, for the first time in my life, I felt totally complete.

“Are you still rehashing that old story?”

I leapt up from my laptop. Then I glared, “I think I’ll get it right one of these times.”

“Come on darling, we both know you could do better with a new idea.”

We were in our one-bedroom studio in California. I was 24, and I had graduated from Berkley last year. My first book was published last month, and my publisher was already hounding me to start my next. But instead I came back to this old story, and I defended that decision adamantly, “But it’s important to me! I want to share to share this moment with other people.”

“I know it is… it’s important to me too. You know that it is.”

I smiled up at her, “I do.”

Miss Johnson leaned down and kissed me, for the one-millionth time.