Beixi Li

Little boys whose families had nothing and professors whose families had lost everything blurred into indignant Spider man eyes as she realizes her son was still waiting for a story.

 

The bed creaks as she shifts her weight and pulls the covers up tighter.

Nobody ever really answered that question Professor Chu had asked so long ago. Nobody really knew what to say after that presenter revealed the biting injury that changed his life.

 

She could still see the faces of her friends sitting in that classroom, training to be the next world conquerors. Professor Chu had stood up there in his blue fleece, trying to share a lesson with them one last time before they all left and became creators of their own futures.

 

The last slide of the day had two children snuggled in a hammock, giggling with shadow and sunlight playing over their faces. He had turned around and looked at that slide, smiling, and they had clapped and clapped, and the girls swallowed hard and the boys looked up and away.

 

Even as they looked at those little eyes crinkled with laughter, two children walked into the classroom with boxes of donuts, and were shocked to see themselves on the screen. Professor Chu walked over, picked them up, kissed his wife as she walked in behind the family, and smiled at the applause.

 

20 years later, those classmates were spread out all over the world. They all had different stories to tell and different paths for getting there. But 20 years later, they still talked about Professor Chu and his sincerity in trying to make them better people. His last lecture had been titled, “Words Never Spoken.”

And as they remembered, some smiled with relief and some looked away.

 

Her phone had buzzed just earlier that afternoon and the name Sarah had shown on the screen, “Hey Sarah, how’s it going?” They hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

“Hi! Not too bad, terribly dreary weather over here in New York.”

“Oh, I can imagine, we got our first snow yesterday, Jack already wants to build a fort.” She looked at her son, obediently eating his PB&J. Good, he was almost done, they needed to leave for soccer in five minutes.

“How is Jack? Still pretending to be Spider Man?” The smile travels through the phone line.

“You bet, just wait a couple of years though, I’m going to have to redecorate his whole room again when he’s on to his next super hero.”

Laughter floats through the phone, sounding a little off.

“Everything okay with you?” She checks her watch again and motions to Jack to get his things packed.

“Oh yeah, nothing much, just wanted to catch up again.”
“Of course. How’s Ben doing?” She vaguely remembers Sarah’s stern husband, executive collar, briefcase, the whole package.

“Ben? He’s at work, in…Dubai I think? He won’t be back before February.”

“What about Christmas?”

“We’ll celebrate when he’s back, it’s really just any old day of the year for us now anyway.” The voice is too cheerful, even over the phone.

“You’re right of course.” She tries to backpedal while making an excuse to end the call so that Jack wouldn’t be late for soccer practice.

 

Five minutes later, they’d rushed out of the house, and she had dropped him off only in the nick of time. Some of the kids were already doing warm up laps.

 

 

As she had walked in the front door two hours later after practice, a plate of cookies was already on the table, and her husband was sitting at the counter, catching up on the news. Smiling, he only had time to wiggle his eyebrows at a wrapped package hidden in the cupboard, whispering, “Spider Man,” before Jack came barreling in through the garage door.

All the way home he had been filled to the brim with the drills they had done, the unfairness of the scrimmage, and how some teammates wouldn’t pass the ball. She’d smiled as he was ecstatic, frustrated, and exasperated in the capacity of a five year old. Her husband scooped up their son in a bear hug and listened with enthusiasm to the same dramatic trilogy she had been privy to moments before. As she walked upstairs to drop off her purse, Father and son were still crouched over the plate of cookies, father with his tie loosened over a dress shirt, son with his mouth messy with crumbs, chocolate, and stories.

 

 

“There was once this family, made of cookies and hugs…”