• • • • •
Elation doesn’t begin to describe my feelings after I hit my alarm this morning.
Yes, I, Charlie Dickens, have survived another school year. I am one year older. Wiser. (Ha!) And closer to being done with Whitehall, Montana, forever. Hallelujah. Amen.
This morning’s sky is a picture I call Hope Is a Million Golden Sunrays.
* * *
Ms. Monakey has taken all the posters down. Her desk has only a pencil and a piece of paper on it. I think all this cleanup is a bit overkill for a summer vacation.
She’s sitting at her desk with her head down, staring at her lap.
Being the only student in the classroom, I figure it’s safe to talk to Ms. Monakey. “Where is everything?”
She looks to me with watery eyes. “I’ve been let go.”
I try to fully understand the impact of that. “Fired?”
She nods and grabs a tissue. “I told myself not to get emotional today, but here I am.” She blows her nose with a force that seems to shake her thin body.
“Why’d they fire you?”
Ms. Monakey is a great Spanish teacher. Even though, as I said before, she doesn’t appear to have an ounce of Spanish in her.
“Budget cuts. They gave me a nice letter of recommendation.” She weakly holds up the lone piece of paper from her desk.
I scan the room again. It’s funny how different a classroom looks when it’s empty. It’s like it’s missing a soul.
Seth walks into class and smiles at me. “Hey, Charlie.” He slides into the desk behind me, and I turn to face him. Ms. Monakey sniffs, and dries her eyes with another tissue.
“What happened?” Seth asks.
“Fired,” I whisper.
“No shit,” says Seth. “That sucks.”
“Possibly no Spanish class next year.”
“I’ve been told worse things.” Seth winks. “So, what are you doing to celebrate this momentous day?”
“Throwing a party,” I deadpan. But I can’t hold on to the seriousness of my statement, and a smile bursts forth. “Actually, probably going to take Tickles for a walk.”
“Tickles?”
“Yeah. He’s a dog.”
“Who names a dog Tickles?”
“A six-year-old girl.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but she couldn’t keep the dog.” This is actually a story Geoffrey once told me.
“Can I come? I’ve always wanted a dog, but my mom’s allergic. Or so she says. I have my suspicions that she’s lying to avoid being pestered about getting a dog.”
The one-minute warning bell rings. Students continue to walk into the classroom and then pause in the doorway as if they are in the wrong room. It’s actually funny to watch.
“Anyway, walking a dog sounds like a celebration to me,” Seth continues. “As long as we can get ice cream at some point.”
“I haven’t had ice cream in forever.”
“What do you do with yourself, Charlie Dickens?”
“Laundry. Dishes. Homework.”
“Well, it’s time you live a little.”
The class bell rings, and Ms. Monakey blows her nose before standing up from her desk. She makes her way to the front of the room. “All right, class,” she says, not clasping her hands. “This is the day it ends.”