He Shoots, She scores

Epilogue

"Visitor's pass please, - oh! Hey, Gracie!" The school secretary, Susan, grins at me behind the desk. I've visited Bishop Elementary more times than I can count in the last month. Even though I don't qualify as a 'visitor' exactly, all the staff here love Weston, and so by default, they love me too.

Every Monday and Wednesday, I stop by the school to see Weston at work. Half because I miss him, half because I genuinely love seeing him do what he does. Not only is he great with kids, but the kids look forward to his class. It's clear he cares about each of his students and does his best to give them a core childhood memory.

Normally, I'll do a lunch drop-off proceeded by a quick hello before I'm out the door again. But since I'm on good terms with Susan, sometimes she'll let me sneak glimpses into the gymnasium and see him in action. Today is another one of those days.

I enter the gymnasium doors, watching as Weston leads a game of floor hockey with his class of 6th graders. He half coaches, standing off to the sidelines with a whistle in his mouth, before grabbing a stick and inserting himself into the rivalry. Flashbacks of him on the ice back in college come to mind. I can't grin but watch as he, a grown 25-year-old man, comes to life in a gymnasium surrounded by pre-pubescent teens. Seeing him let loose and experience the same passion I do on stage makes me fall more in love with him everyday.

After we graduated from college, I moved to New York City in pursuit of auditions. Initially, there was fear that we'd have to go through a long-distance relationship, but then we found out Weston got accepted into a teacher's college in the same state. We lived together in an apartment for about a year until he finished his degree. While the bustle of New York was a nice change of scenery, I missed home too much, and so after Weston graduated, we packed our bags and moved back south. 

Fast forward years later, where Weston received an official teaching contract to teach middle school phys-ed, and I've been gaining theatre roles here and there. It's no broadway, but I don't mind. As long as I'm on the stage, I'm happy. 

One of the students in a yellow pinny whose clearly disinterested in the sport spots me first. "Mr. West's girlfriend!" This grabs the attention of a few other students and soon enough they're all racing towards me.

Mr. West, (I'll never tire of hearing that) waltzes over with a barely contained grin. "Ms. Lavergne" he scolds with mockery. "Missing me too much, I see."

"Don't get used to it" I say with a smile. "Working hard or hardly working, Mr. West?"

The kids all giggle. "Kiss, kiss, kiss!" they chant. Obviously, we'd never show PDA in school. That's a weird line I'll never cross.

"Hey, come on now, don't make me call out 25 push-ups!" Weston announces. He waves a menacing finger in every direction. We all know he'd never actually do that. The kids know it too, which is why instead of obeying, they make kissy faces. "Alright, alright, go change everybody. Get ready for math class." This time, the little rascals listen and disperse. 

At the corner of the gym is a box of snacks that Weston personally brings from home. Because Bishop Elementary is a low-income majority population, there are lots of students who don't have the best home life. I remember when Weston came back home from his very first day of teaching here, and his face was sullen with empathy as he recounted to me the stories about the various kids in his class. How Tiffany, at just 10, had been evicted, and so she and her mother lived in their grandparent's basement. Jordan, 11, often came to school without having eaten breakfast. Tyson sometimes came to school with nothing at all. Weston wanted to help them out, and so he started bringing them snacks and food from his own pocket money to ensure they received proper nutrition. There's great passion to how much he cares for these guys, and it's really heartwarming to see him find his motivation in life.