Universe of Soulmates

"Words on a Page"

"Mr. P, can you read my piece?" Missy, one of the students in the class I'm a substitute teacher for, puts a stack of three pages on my desk. I've been a sub for this English class, along with four others, for the last two months. They keep telling me they're interviewing candidates for the job, but it seems to be in vain by the look of things. "I just want to see if I'm doing any good."

"Of course, Missy. Give me a few minutes and I can write some notes on your piece." Today, like every other day this week, has been a working day. The students in the English 11 classes I'm in charge of have been writing their seven-page creative writing pieces. Most of them are getting to, about, the halfway point in their writing, but struggling to get it over the hump to lengthen it to seven pages.

Their topic is a bit unique, since it's the first time the English 11 classes have ever done a creative writing piece, centered around a New Year's resolution. What I told my students was that they have all the creative freedom they want—provided it is school appropriate—and the only requirements they had to satisfy were to make it seven pages and center it around a New Year's resolution. Considering it's our first week back from our end-of-year break, conveniently around the major religious holidays that happen at the end of the year, it's a good time to think about what our goals are for the year. At least, that's what the head of the English department claims.

Reading through Missy's piece, I start to make notes, although I do admit to nearly getting carried away while reading it. She's actually written quite a good piece, taking me into a world of her own making. It's about a girl who has a year left to live and she only wants to do one thing: fall in love. Although it's a short story, it seems Missy has managed to fit half a year's worth of events into a few pages. With my red pen, I mark up places she could write more in-depth about and a few grammatical errors not often caught by word processors.

"Missy, this is a fantastic start to a first draft. Keep it up." Placing the red marked draft on her desk, she smiles when she hears the praise. "And everyone else, you guys are welcome to show me your drafts at any time. I'll read emailed ones, too. Remember, first drafts are due Monday, so work on these at home, too." Just as I say that, the bell rings to let the students go. That was my last class of the day, but I have to make sure none of the students want me to review their writing in person before I head out in fifteen minutes. I doubt they will, considering it's a Friday and the last thing kids want to do is stay at school longer.

"Are you really staying after to help students?" Quinn, another English teacher here at Union High, peeks her head in my room curiously. Union High is only named that because multiple villages attend the high school and it signifies the unification of them all under one banner—granted, since the original naming of the school, they've all merged into one town named Huckley. No one remembers why it was named that anymore.

"Might as well. I've not got much else to do." I don't have anyone to go home to, and I can easily push my plans to watch a movie and eat dinner on my couch by a few minutes to assist my students with their writing.

"You are too dedicated. Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher, Derrick?" As much as I think I wouldn't mind the job, my heart doesn't lie with teaching. Since I was young, I've always had a love for writing, so I got a degree in creative writing and am trying to write a novel. I wrote one more before the one I'm currently attempting to write, but after pursuing multiple publishers, no one seems to want to publish my book. It doesn't make it any less worth it, though.

"Maybe in another lifetime." I shrug, knowing my passion isn't with teaching no matter how good I might be at it. "Have a good weekend, Quinn."

"You, too." She heads to her car, with her soulmate waiting patiently for her. I've never met him, but she's certainly told me plenty about him. At the ripe age of twenty-five, I'm at the exact age I'm supposed to feel "the Pull". It happens at some point when you're twenty-five, and I've got a long time to go; I just turned twenty-five a few weeks ago.