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The knot at Roger's throat feels ten times tighter than it had an hour ago.
Stupid of him to think he could pull off wearing a tie when the barest touch of a cashmere turtleneck is enough to send his fingers clawing at his Adam's apple like a magician in a doomed escape act. Still, it is the night of the winter formal, and as a first-time chaperone, he'd figured his students deserved to see him in something other than a half-buttoned shirt and loose cardigan. Call it his parting gift before graduation. Though revenge for all the pop-quizzes he's given this past semester sounds a bit more accurate. But, hey, what could—he checks his watch—three more hours hurt?
Right. The tie has got to go.
"I don't know how you do it, Judy," he says, tugging at the cursed knot. "Ten minutes into my wedding ceremony, I was ready to throw in the towel. I'm surprised my ex-wife waited seventeen years to divorce me."
Beside him, Judy Bear gives a chuckle dainty as her wire-rimmed glasses, their ruby red, beaded chain a perfect accent to her ever-changing collection of satin neckties. "Practice, Roger. Crime and Punishment wasn't written in a day, you know."
"Well, I doubt Dostoevsky ever had to suffer this much to make himself look presentable." Or risk his hide in a deathmatch with a Windsor knot.
"You can always go for a clip-on next time," she suggests. "Or a bow-tie. My brother-in-law says they're making a comeback."
"No thanks, I see enough weird-looking fiftysomething men in bow-ties reading the weather report on the nightly news. And there isn't going to be a next time, because I'd rather be caught dead than make another bet with Barb Crispin. Have you seen how she manhandles those frogs? It's like watching two brats play tug-of-war with Kermit's corpse." He frees himself with another sharp pull, and immediately pops the top two buttons on his dress shirt, the harrowing ordeal having caused several strands of long blonde hair to fall across his forehead. So much for looking presentable.
"Well, I'm glad to see you here," Judy smiles. "Who else is going to tack the streamers back up if one of them falls on me?"
"True." Roger sweeps the errant strands behind his ear before shooting her a grin. "Guess there's perks to not being four-foot-ten."
"You've got glitter in your ponytail."
"Shit." His fingers dart to the silken cascade that hangs over his shoulder, but after a minute of futile combing, Roger starts to realize he might as well be trying to pluck a grain of fairy dust from a pixie's wing. And he's pretty sure that's the kind of thing that'll earn most men—History teachers included—a lifetime curse. "I swear I'm giving a D-minus to whoever hung those snowflakes so low," he grumbles.
She smirks. "Guess there are perks to not being six-foot-one."
"Ha-Ha. I'll remember that when Teacher Appreciation Day rolls around."
The monotone bass of hip-hop fades into another slow ballad, kids pairing up to dance a modest arm's length from their partners. Soothed by the music, Roger tilts his head back, drinking in seas of carefully-crafted decorations, iridescent icicles and glitter-dusted balloons, all sparkling in the crystal lights that swim like fish through the shadows of the gymnasium. "Y'know, they did a good job with this place," he says. "You'd never guess the basketball team lost their last eight games here."
"Wow, Roger. I never knew you were so popular."
"Hmm?" He looks over at Judy. "Oh, no, I'm not into sports. I only heard that from one of the kids in my class."
"I mean, someone seems to be watching you."
Oh? His curiosity piqued, he follows Judy's gaze to the opposite side of the room, where a familiar face leans against the compressed bleachers, toying with one of her girlishly-high pigtails. Their eyes lock for a moment, and Roger waves, though she quickly turns her head again.
"What did you do to the poor girl?" Judy asks. "Give her an F on her midterm?"
"What? Tanya Martinez is one of my best students." If best could even begin to cover it. "She's never gotten below a B-plus, and she always offers to help clean the room after school, so I can focus on my lessons."
"Brown-noser?"
Roger bites his tongue to stifle the indignation. "No, she genuinely enjoys being there. We talk about tons of things. She even showed me a picture of the dress she'd be wearing tonight." A powder blue, with lavender butterflies on it. Something that he's sure will bring out the gray in her eyes, though he hadn't told her at the time. He's always found it comforting to know he isn't alone in sharing that color.
"I see," says Judy. "I taught her sophomore year, and I recall she was quite interested in Charlotte Brontë."
"Maybe she doesn't have a date?"
"That would make a lot of teenage girls unhappy at a dance."
The longer Roger stares, the more his heart aches, with sympathy, with a yearning to make her smile, like he's done so often when they're together after class. Even a wave back would cheer him up, to know she's still there, still watching as if he were more interesting than all the snowflakes in the room.
He curls his fingers inwards and rubs them against his palm. "I'm going to talk to her. Hold this for me, will you?" Lifting the tie over his head, he loops it around Judy's. "Don't let any of the kids get handsy while I'm gone."
"I'll get my ruler ready," she says, laughter lost in the beat of pop music that follows his retreat.
When Tanya catches him coming, she looks up, and her lips pull into that welcoming smile. "Hi, Mr. Berkman."
"Hey, kiddo," Roger grins in return. "Mind if I stay and talk for a minute?"
He's certain he can see her blush through the darkness. "Um, sure. Make yourself comfy."
He does just that, relaxing against the wall beside her and unbuttoning his sleeves in order to roll them up to his elbows, where they clearly belong. "How's the dance treating you?"
"It's OK," Tanya says. "I was kinda surprised you came."
Roger chuckles, "Where else would I be on a Saturday night? At home reading on the couch?"
"You lost a bet with Ms. Crispin, didn't you?"
"What, did it make the student paper?" They must really be hurting for headlines.
"No, she was bragging about it in class. She, um—" Her eyes drift off in hesitation. "She said a couple other things about you, but I don't believe them."
"Well, if she said I'm handsome enough to be on the cover of a magazine, you should believe her."
Tanya giggles. "Is Mrs. Bear your date tonight?"
Depends on how jealous her husband is. "No. I mean, I asked her, but she turned me down. Said she'd need a chair in order to slow dance with me. What about you?"
"A couple guys asked me, but I told them all no. They weren't my type."
Well, at least she doesn't look too broken up about it. Though knowing some of the boys in his class, he can understand why. "Ah, it's better this way," he says. "I never had a date most times when I was your age. It just means you get your pick of the singles."
"What singles?" She gestures around the room.
"Oh."
"It's fine," Tanya says. "I guess we're both losers."
Roger scratches the bristly hairs on his chin. "Then we can be losers who keep each other company." And he smiles kindly, pulse racing when she turns and smiles back.
"Yeah. I think I'd like that."
"Good. Misery loves company, right?"
"Who says I'm miserable? Just 'cause my friends are off trying to get to second base." She frowns. "Is that too weird to say to a teacher?"
"I can think of worse things." Like how embarrassing it was to leave his winter formal without getting to second base. "But I can think of better things, too. Prom's coming up in a few months."
Her eyes sparkle brighter than the cardboard snowflakes. "Yeah, it's just a couple weeks after I turn eighteen. I'm gonna buy a fancy dress with all my birthday money."
"Fancier than the one you're wearing now?" He has to admit he likes the color. The butterflies, too. Claire was a fan of butterflies, though he's not going to let some sad memories spoil his mood. "I wouldn't worry about it, though. I'm sure you'll find the perfect person to go with you."
He must have said something wrong, because she casts her gaze to the floor then, her smile sadly gone. "I dunno. There aren't a lot of people I'd wanna go with. But it's OK. I should probably think about SATs and college stuff instead."
"Worried?"
"No. Maybe. A little."
Yeah, Roger can understand that. Even the best of students worries about their future. At least, the ones who aren't insufferable stuck-ups do. "You'll do great, kiddo," he tells her. "I'd bet my life on it."
She turns back to him with hopeful, melancholy eyes. "You really think so?"
Roger grins. "Of course I do. Just promise you won't forget me when you make it big."
A cheerful smile lights up her face. "Promise you won't forget me, either."
"Never." But when it comes to other things… "Shoot, I forgot I wanted to grab some papers from my desk while I'm here. Hope you don't mind if I run off." Plus, it'll give him a great reason to bow out for the night. Judy can keep the tie.
"Oh, um…" Tanya blushes again, and bashfully glances away. "Is it OK if I come?"
He frowns. "Won't you miss the dance?"
"I'd rather spend time with you than stand here and watch other people dance."
Now his cheeks feel like a furnace. "Sure. I'd never turn down your company."
She beams, the kind of smile that melts Roger's heart. "Let's go, then."
"After you, kiddo."
"You know there's glitter in your ponytail?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
They talk the entire trip to his classroom, through eerie stairwells and lonely, locker-lined halls—about school, her hobbies. How he plans to spend his summer listening to old jazz records with a good book on his lap, and how he hopes the book is hers someday.
"C'mon, Mr. Berkman," she says, distant notes from the gymnasium still thrumming around them. "I only just started writing it. Besides, I didn't think you were into fantasy novels."
"What am I supposed to be into?" Roger replies as he unlocks the ancient wooden door. "Stock portfolios?"
"Historical fiction?"
"Believe it or not, there are only so many espionage stories a person can read before the Revolutionary War starts to sound boring." The lights pop their tired joints overhead, and Roger ushers her into the room. "I think I could stand to have a little fantasy in my life."
She spins around with a bright smile on her lips. "Then I'll save you a copy when it's done."
"I'm already looking forward to it." Stuffing the keys into his pocket, he heads for his desk. "I'll just be a second. Then we can get you back to the dance."
"It's OK," Tanya tells him. "Take your time."
He'd love to, if it will mean one more minute of conversation, a reason for them to linger, even as their days together speed towards an inevitable end. He'll miss her smiles, her laugh, those sparkling eyes that only look at him with admiration—a cool breeze on the edge of summer, and a warmth in the darkest winter's eve. But he's sure someone out there will miss her more than he ever could. And what right does he have to keep them waiting?
Quickly, he gathers the folder of papers from his top drawer, and when he turns, he sees Tanya perched on the rim of her desk, fingers tracing wistful lines across its surface. He smiles. "You can carve your name into it, if you'd like. I won't mind."
"Hmm?"
"It's just, I can't picture that desk belonging to anyone but you."
"Oh." She stares at the missing inscription. "Yeah."
"But you're probably thinking of more exciting things. Like graduation parties."
"Would you come?" She asks, in a small voice. "If I invited you to my party?"
"Will there be cake?" But his joke only deepens her frown. "Of course I'll come," he replies, drops of guilt pooling in his chest. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you have better things to do."
Roger's heart sinks at the thought of her believing such a lie to be true. "There's nothing I'd like more," he murmurs. "I'm so proud of you, kiddo. I'll always be cheering you on."
The light in Tanya's eyes flickers, and when she speaks, all Roger hears is an endless sorrow, spilling into the space between them. "Thanks, Mr. Berkman. That means a lot to me."
He smiles through the pain. "I'm happy to hear it. But we should go now. Neither of us deserves to spend our weekend in a dull classroom."
"'Kay. I'm right behind you."
The lonely patter of his footsteps chases Roger to the door. The folder stings like glass in his hand, but he tells himself he'll find a way to patch it up later. Alone with his thoughts, as he's grown used to.
Flicking the switch, he steps outside, and reaches into his pocket for the keys. But his fingers have barely grazed the ring before he realizes that something isn't right.
Sobbing. From within the darkness. A sound that could put all the ballads in the world to shame.
"Tanya?" Lights are an afterthought as he drops the folder and rushes back into the room, crouching down to lay his hands on her hiccupping shoulders. "Tanya, what's wrong?"
"I don't—I don't—I don't wanna go," she weeps. "I wanna stay here with my friends. I wanna keep coming to your class. I don't wanna think about how I'll never see you again."
Her crystalline tears glisten in the glow from the hallway, and Roger burns with the desire to sweep them from her cheeks, to pull her into his embrace and tell her that everything will be alright. That he's here, he cares for her, he'll never let go. "Tanya, please don't cry. I'm not going to disappear. We can keep in touch after you graduate. I'll take you for a cup of coffee. Whatever you want."
The tears fall faster. "It won't be the same. Nothing will ever be the same."
Roger can remember the day he learned what happiness was. He remembers his mother tying his shoelaces before kindergarten, playing tag with his friends in the schoolyard. He remembers bike rides to the arcade, and stolen glances at his crush during study hall. Aced exams and college scholarships, finding the love of his life on a park bench in the quad, the way his voice trembled when he asked to sit beside her. Cigarette kisses and spoken vows, the son they'd raised together. Mistakes that led him to a decade of loneliness. How he'd wished he could close his hands around them, only to have it all slip between his fingers.
"No, it won't," he says softly. "But I promise you'll get through it. And whenever you need me, whenever you start to miss me too much, I promise I'll be there."
Slowly, her sobs fade to sniffles, and over their quiet melody, Roger hears the dulcet notes of a song sweet enough to make him smile. "Would you like to dance?"
Tanya wipes her swollen eyes. "You…wanna dance with me?"
"Yeah," he says. "I think it'd be nice. And neither of us brought dates, so…" Standing, he offers his hand. "What do you say?"
She looks at him for a moment, lips trembling. "I—I'd like that a lot."
Roger flashes a sheepish grin. "Here, give me your hand. Now put the other on my shoulder."
Wordlessly, Tanya follows his lead, graceful despite her shyness, blushing despite the shadows that curl like vines throughout the classroom. Her touch is softer than he'd imagined, and when he lays his palm on her waist, Roger can't help but feel as if it were always meant to be there, waiting for the day she would come to call it home. "Comfortable?" He asks.
"I'm not used to dancing like this," Tanya confesses.
"I'll show you. Just relax and enjoy it."
Gentle as the breeze, he starts to sway her back and forth, down the slim aisle and around watchful rows of desks, his feet knowing which way to go, how to keep them moving without a stumble. He can't place the music, couldn't so much as try to sing along. Doesn't recall the last time he's wanted this, but here, now, looking into Tanya's eyes, he swears he's never seen something more beautiful. "Do you like it?" He asks her, his voice unfathomably soft.
She nods. And they dance on.
One, two. One, two. Roger's heart beats faster with each step. Everything he longs to tell her thunders like a storm inside his veins, peaking when he feels her gaze touch the bare flesh of his throat.
"That tie looked stupid on you."
He chuckles. "I know."
One verse bleeds into another. Their bodies edge closer. A beat, a breath. Noses brushing. Lines melting, until they become inseparable. Roger can smell the perfume on her skin. He hears his heart crying out.
And then, in the darkness, their lips gently meet.
Her kiss is like nothing he's felt before—a sweetness to be savored, a dream from which he never wants to wake. Soft and tender, and full of life. They breathe their desire into each other's lungs, follow their footsteps with curious tongues. Murmurs of devotion that echo in Roger's throat—
I love you.
—spoken with every ounce of his being.
When they find they can dance no more, they stay and hold each other tight, kissing deeply, passionately, as though the world around them has stopped. Careful fingers sweep the hair from his forehead, delicate thumbs stroke the wrinkles on his cheeks. Reverent hands sing praises along her back, where satin meets luxurious skin, and temptation beckons like a lantern in fog. He brushes the pull of her zipper, and Tanya whimpers, pressing her hips forward.
"Mr. Berkman?"
"Tanya." The word grazes her lips. "You're shaking."
"I'm just…nervous. I've never had sex before."
Roger draws back far enough to look into her eyes. "Why would you think we're going to have sex?"
"'Cause you're hard. And—" She sucks in a breath. "I wanna do it with the person I love."
His voice grows quiet as the music. "You'd want to love an old man like me?"
The question is stupid, selfish. Another desperate attempt to cling to something that can only fly away. He knows it; Tanya knows it. Yet still she reaches for him, brushing aside a tear he hadn't felt fall. "I always have," she whispers. "And I always will."
It's a promise too impossible to keep, a pain engraved in Roger's bones. But as he gazes into those gray eyes, he sees a glimmer of what their life could be, and it doesn't matter if she flutters off years, months, or minutes from now; if nothing can go unchanged, he'll hold this moment in his heart until his dying breath. To remind himself what happiness truly is.
"Let's take it slow, then," he says. "Whatever comes tomorrow, will come tomorrow. For now, we can just dance."
"...Yeah," Tanya sighs, with hope in her smile. "Let's do that."
Smiling back, he takes her hand and gives it a kiss, before pulling her into his arms once more, foreheads pressed together as they sway their bodies into the night.