Of Literature & Kisses (Forbidden Romance)

Chapter 12 - All Too Well

He was right. Something about the colors of the water, and the soft lull of its surface, was more potent with proximity. Then there was the reflection of the autumn foliage against the water, mixing with the blue. It reminded me of him, his warm reddish brown hair and the golden tone of his skin, mixing with the powerful coolness of his blue eyes.

"How'd you find this place?" I asked, bringing my attention to him.

"My uncle used to bring my cousins and I down here to camp when we were younger. We stopped coming years ago, but I come every once in a while."

"It's peaceful. I love it."

He smiled softly. "I thought you might."

"Are you still close to them? Your uncle and cousins."

He nodded. "We're a close group, my family. We meet once a month for a barbecue, alternate houses to ease the load."

"That sounds lovely," I smiled, so wide it hurt.

When he said nothing, I moved a bit closer to the lake, looking down to meet my own reflection. It was clear and pristine in the still surface, just like a mirror's. Then his reflection appeared beside mine, looking toward me. When I turned my attention to him, I wondered how we must look now in the water.

"What exactly did Phoenix tell you?"

He paused. "How you left early, refusing to take a cab. That it's been your worst day every year, and that you always try to come to school and pretend you're alright when you're not. She said that some years you make it through the entire school day and go home and fall apart there. That I shouldn't be offended if you pushed me away and pretended you were okay. And I quote, 'Cece likes to take care of others but doesn't care enough about herself'."

I rolled my eyes in disbelief. "She didn't leave much to the imagination, did she?"

He laughed, shoving his hands into his jacket. "No. She seemed relieved to get it off her chest."

"Most of what she said was true, of course. She knows me well."

"Most? What part wasn't true?" he asked, raising a brow in question.

"The last bit. I do care enough about myself."

Mr. Gallagher stayed silent, making me wonder if he, too, was in accordance with my friend. Then he cleared his throat, making a face of discomfort.

"Are you okay?" I asked, coming closer.

He nodded, his blue eyes settling on me. "I'm catching a cold. The start of the semester always gets me."

I remembered at once who he was; my teacher. It became so easy to forget when we weren't surrounded by school walls. He must have caught the same realization, for he looked at me and started walking back toward his car.

"Come on, let's head back. It'll be dark soon."

I followed him, wistfully longing for the moment we had lost and knowing all too well that it was best to forget it.

***

The next day in his classroom went by quickly. Apart from the fact that he was one of the best men I knew, Mr. Gallagher had the strongest, most intelligent brain I had ever encountered. He knew every intricacy about Kafka, analyzed his characters with utmost diligence, and he made it possible for everyone to nod his or her head in honest understanding. It seemed there was nothing in the realm of literature, good looks, and simple kindness that he fell short on. Already we started our second work, Shakespeare's Othello, and I didn't know if I was more mesmerized by the content of the play or the man teaching it.