The Unspoken Truth

Chapter Two [Edited]

CHAPTER TWO

Cassie's POV

        Snow blankets the tin roof of my house. It's a typical day in the middle of December. Porches are decorated with early Christmas decorations and the streets are iced with a fresh coating of snow. I gaze out my ice frosted window at the world Albany, New York has turned into. It is beautiful, for sure, but it isn't the same summer wonderland we are all used to. A dog's barking snapped me from my daydream and I pushed off the sofa, walking around the abandoned house aimlessly.

        I look at the pictures that adorn the walls of my apartment. Moments caught in time by a simple camera. Moments I'll never get back. I run my fingers along the frame of the picture of my second birthday, my brother was there in his high chair. He was looking at the cake as if he had just found the fountain of youth. I can still remember that day, the way the frosting smelled and what the candles tasted like when I attempted to eat them.

        The next picture is a more recent one, my father and I at graduation. He was wearing my cap with the tasle to the side and had the most joyful little smile on his face. It kills me to look at that picture knowing I would never see that pathetic tiny smile ever again. Even though he died three years ago, his picture still pulls at my heart strings. It's hard to believe it had even been that long. Seems like just yesterday he took off across the country and died in a car accident only two days later. I still miss him, but I wish I knew more about how he died, where he died even. We never got to hear any details about his death. It was something the police could not give out, even to the old man's children. They said they would not tell us without a parent's consent. That was the thing though, death had claimed both our parents. They put us in separate foster homes and forced us to leave two years later when we turned eighteen.

        My brother is gone, I guess. I haven't heard from him since we went into the foster care. My family is still holding on to the hope that he is alive. I figure if he isn't, word will get around to us sometime soon. We just hope he made a good life for himself. I try not to think about where he must be now because I always end up imagining him in scraps sitting on the side of the street. I hope for the life of me he is okay, that he is happy with the life he is leading. He would be the first.

        I grab my keys and walk into the garage, the dusty attic smell follows me as I open the door and climb into the car. A slow classical piece comes flooding from the radio. It calms me as I get on the freeway and head for work at the elementary school. When I get there, I take my bag inside with me. I savor the scent of glue and crayon, one I know I'll miss when I take the new job down at the newspaper company. I pass the teachers' bulletin board in the office and freeze mid-stride when I spot a big red line through a green flyer. I feel my eyes unfocus as I stare ahead and say a silent prayer I imagined it before backing up and looking, in my most despair, at a thick red line. A woman's handwriting with the same red pen says, "POSITION FILLED." 

        A part of me hopes it was a mistake or that my phone line is down. The other part of me, though, knows that isn't the case. Then all of me has to face the terrible reality I did not get the job, another lucky bastard did. After that, every will left in me to do this job and teach these idiotic third graders collapses. This was my dream job, the thing that kept me going since I entered the teaching business. The hope that one day, I would get out of this ratty job and get to begin my true calling. The one I am truly meant to do. Write.

        Now all of that is down the drain, everything gone. I can't believe my eyes as I read the letters over and over again. My shoulders slouch and a dark cloud situates itself over my head as I walk down the hall to my classroom. A few kids are already there, quietly working on homework assigned the day before. I pull a fake smile and greet the children, pretending that my entire world did not just crash at my feet. I take off my coat, now free of the harsh winter snow, and heat up a boiling cup of coffee.

        "Don't get yourselves into any trouble, okay?" I tell the kids. "I will get the rest of the class." They nodded and go back to their work. I smile and walk out to the play yard. When I get there, the kids are lined up in their single file line, I motion for them to come with me and lead them back to the classroom. "Good morning," I greet them once they are all comfortably seated in their chairs. "We have a lot to do today, but I want to start by asking if there are questions on last night's homework."

        The room is pin drop silent as I look over the students. Then, a pink sleeved arm raises in the back of the class. I shift my weight so I could see the head of the little red haired girl, "Yes, Felicity?"

        A quiet voice with a young English accent laced in the words comes from her seat, "Miss, I do not understand question fourteen."

        "Okay," I pull out the worksheet of fifteen problems I had given them to work on the evening before. The question says, 'You are riding down a street in the middle of the night. Describe what you see.' I nod silently and look around at the group of students, "Would anyone like to read what they wrote for number fourteen?" The students stare blankly back at me. "Um. Did anyone else have the same problem as Felicity?" Slowly, yet surely, almost all the kids sitting in the room raise their hands.

        I turn around and draw an owl on the board. "Who can tell me something they notice about this owl?" Felicity raised her hand once more, "Yes, Felicity?"

        "The owl is brown, Miss," she said.

        "Right," I pick up the white board marker and write 'brown' in loopy cursive next to the owl. The class looks at me in awe. Maybe, just maybe, my dreams are not down the toilet. Maybe these kids need more writing help then any newspaper ever could. And maybe, I am the one for the job.