Mack Zack
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The Guidance Counselor - Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2024-02-21 02:56:12 +0000 UTCMs. Johnson, a twenty-eight-year-old woman, became the first person I ever truly fell in love with. Things obviously feel different when you realize you are in love, but you act different without knowing it. Love becomes a stain that’s difficult to wipe from your face.
My mom knew it.
I washed dishes one morning and she came downstairs to make breakfast when she took a single look at me and said, “Ah! Jason has a girlfriend!”
I didn’t get it at the time. How the fuck could see right through me without me even uttering a word about any of this?
In retrospect, the subtleties spoke out loud. I often didn’t pay attention to what my parents were saying more often because I was daydreaming. As I washed the dishes, I stared out the kitchen window in the backyard thinking about Ms. Johnson.
Then came the sudden…dreadful…inevitable realization – I would graduate and never see Ms. Johnson again.
I had to take hold of the moment. I had to push something forward without going too far and getting into trouble. What if she could kiss me? Just once? No, that wouldn’t be possible. We were ten years apart exactly. Wait, what am I thinking? I can’t be in love with Ms. Johnson. It just won’t work.
The semester was drawing to a close. My classmates were becoming stricken with senioritis. The priests made sure to whip us into shape though. Tom Rizzo got garbage duty during lunch for not handing in a term paper on time. I once forgot my Anatomy and Physiology textbook at home when the teacher had told us to make sure we bring it to go over something. He and everyone else assumed I had been stricken with the same disease. Instead, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Ms. Johnson and our hypothetical everlasting future together.
On our last after-school session, Ms. Johnson went over the results of her examination.
“I have here, for the first time ever, documentation of fetishes like yours.” She had said it with such a nerdy, giddy tone that I fell in love with her even more. She could talk about whatever she wanted and I would listen to every word with a dull smile. She flipped through the pages and handed it to me. “It’s a rough draft but I will work on it during the summer. Of course, you are anonymous and will remain anonymous.”
I read the cover page aloud: “Eructophilia and Eproctophilia in an 18-year-old Male’s Sexual Development”.
“Not the most exciting title, I know. But that’s science for you. You have to be dry and explain exactly what it’s about.”
I flipped through the pages and for the weirdest reason ever I wanted to cry – I wanted to cry because here I was, this frustrated Catholic school boy, finally having his entire secret history laid out and examined in a serious inquiry.
“T-thank you,” I said.
Ms. Johnson titled her head at me. “For what?’
“I—I dunno why I said that. It just came out. Thank you. This looks awesome."
The paper talked about my history with the fetishes and Ms. Johnson's conclusions on how they could have been correlated with events in my upbringing. I noticed there was nothing about the actual experiments we did, so I asked about them.
"Oh, like I said, it's a draft."
"Right. Cool. Can I have a copy when you’re done?”
Ms. Johnson took a second to answer that. “Of course. Yes. It’ll take a while though. It has to be peer-reviewed, queried, peer-reviewed again, probably. Knowing the subject matter, it might be difficult to get off the ground or be taken seriously, especially for…you know…a woman.”
“I’m sure you can do it.”
Ms. Johnson eyed me as I looked through the study; I could feel her gaze on me. She wanted to say something but was waiting. When enough time passed, she said, “The Dorothy Center replied.”
“Oh?” I gulped. “And?”
Ms. Johnson kept a straight face.
I cringed. “Not good, eh?”
Then, she slowly smiled. I swore she secretly liked to fuck with me.
“They are interested in having an interview. I gave them your email.”
“Oh shit.” I let slip. When I realized that I had cursed in front of her I excused myself briefly. She didn’t mind. I thanked her a thousand times. A new future started to lift in view right in front of my eyes. I was nervous. I was scared. But I wanted to face it head on. The only thing that really got in my way was my family.
Ms. Johnson taught me that if I just let go of those invisible barriers…that suppression…I could do anything.
My brain fluttered, lovesick to the core. She had her hair down that meeting and when she pulled back a strand behind her ear I wanted to gush. Every movement she made was graceful. What a fucking woman. A real live woman. Not a “girl” like Heather or any of those other dodding young thin waifs who still had a thing or two to learn about life. A real woman with hips and form and figure. With a voice that told me she knew things and that she was sure of them.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I am IN love.
I wish I could return to that time not for experiencing the moments themselves but the feelings I had during that time. The horizon became clearer, the future more exciting. I was going to art school. I was going to throw away anything that held me down. It would stir some arguments with my parents and uncomfortable feelings at home. That’s the whole point of change. It’s icky and uncomfortable. But the payoff is worth it.
I wanted Ms. Johnson to know how I felt about her, but that would risk everything. Ironic since I just learned how to grab life by the horns and go with my gut and true feelings. There were times in that meeting where the words were right on my lips but luckily they fell back down. But they were right there, ready to slip. Seconds away from changing everything.
Ms. Johnson had already put away all the equipment that we usually used for our after-school sessions. That pained me. I knew things were ending and I would soon walk down the aisle in the school gym to receive my diploma.
There was only one thing left before that day.
“Are you going to the Last Chance Dance?” Ms. Johnson said, before dismissing me.
The Last Chance Dance was the informal name students gave to the last school dance of their high school career. I thought about Heather and cringed at the thought of potentially running into her.
But what have I learned since then?
My interaction with Heather made me cringe, yes, but I felt different about it. I wasn’t sad about it and neither did it plague me anymore. I was who I was and there was nothing wrong with that. If they turned away, so be it. Maybe in the back of my head I still hoped something could happen between me and Ms. Johnson. Either way, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
“Yeah, I think I’ll pop in for it. Last time, right?”
