Tiger For the Lady

Here is my second round story for the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. We were divided into heats and given a genre, a character and an object. From that point, you have 72 hours to write 2,000 words or less. My prompts were comedy, a science teacher, and a masked ball.

Have you ever had one of those experiences that are a combination of exhilarating, mortifying, surreal and yet so totally real you will never forget a single feeling from it?

I’m not going to lie, I don’t get many “OMG” moments, unless it is a reaction to some impossibly low test score or asinine answer from one of my students.

I’m not even kidding.

Recently on a test about transparency, the kids were asked, “What is hard water?”

Want to know what half of them said? Ice. Ice! For the record, in case you thought the answer was ice also, it’s water that has a high mineral content.

As much as I love teaching, there are days I think I should have just stayed in bed with my cat, Chinese takeout and Netflix. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my students, but we all have our breaking point.

At 33-years-old, I am a self-pronounced science dork. I’m more comfortable with a beaker in my hand than a champagne flute. I can list the periodic table, and yet am a little backwards on the top 40 hits. Since most of my friends have gotten married, my social life has slowed dramatically. I don’t hold it against them that I’m not always included anymore since it is just as uncomfortable for me to be the third wheel as it is for them to have me tagging along.

I’ve dated plenty of men, just none of them for very long. Trying to meet Mr. Right has left me feeling like Dorothy walking the yellow brick road through the woods, weary of lions and tigers and bears. And yet, it was a tiger that eventually caught my eye.

I am very fortunate to teach in a great district. We recently won a large monetary award, prompting a celebration. Some genius in higher administration thought a masquerade ball would be a fun way to celebrate. While I could think of a million better ways to celebrate (once again, my cat, Chinese takeout and Netflix) this wasn’t really an optional event for me since I was on the committee that worked to get the district recognized.

So, on the appointed day, at the appointed time, I showed up at the appointed place. Not to be too full of myself, but it was almost a Cinderella moment for me. I had shed my practical slacks and sweater vest, took out the bun and shown up to the ball looking like a princess.

I adjusted my mask, took a big breath in, and opened the heavy double doors that led into the ballroom. The room was extremely crowded given that the scheduled start time was just 20 minutes earlier. I could see some faces I knew and a lot that I did not. The one curse of a large district is you don’t always know all of your coworkers at the other schools, or I suppose it could be a blessing, depending on the person. I made my way through the tables, looking for one with my school’s name displayed on the center plaquared. When I found it, it was already littered with several empty beer bottles and drink glasses, sweaters and purses left lying around haphazardly, not a person in sight.

“Seriously, they are worse than the students,” I mumbled.

Suddenly a tall, dark haired man was standing in front of me. His tiger mask hid part of his face, but his dimple, freckles and deliciously dark brown eyes gave me a clear enough picture.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just talking to myself,” I stammered, my face flushing.

A large Cheshire grin spread across his face.

“As long as you don’t answer yourself,” he replied, offering his hand. “I was just headed to the bar. Care to join me?”

Sometimes I think God made me attractive to make up for my lack of couth in these situations. I took his hand without saying a word and let him lead me to one of a few bars set up throughout the ballroom. He ordered himself a Captain and Coke before turning to me.

“Red wine, please.”

As he handed me my glass, a bevy of screeching swans ran up to me, grabbing my arm and sending the contents of my glass all over my mystery man’s white tuxedo jacket. Again I found myself unable to form words, an elephant stuck in a butterfly net.

“Well that’s unfortunate,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to head to the restroom and see what I can do about this.”

I tried to follow him, but I found myself cornered by five of my coworkers in matching white feathered masks, obviously oblivious of the mess, literally and figuratively, that they had just made.

“Sharrrrron,” they squawked, before each going off on their own tangent.

Honestly, I had no idea what any of them were saying. One on one they each had the tenacity and chattiness of a 15-year-old girl after downing a Venti Frappuccino with an extra shot. Combined it was like standing next to a space shuttle at takeoff.

“Who was the hottie?” one of them asked.

“I don’t know, ladies. Somebody made me spill my drink all over him before I even got a name,” I responded more angrily than I intended.

I walked up to the bartender and got a new glass of wine, opting for a white; in hindsight a precaution I wish I had taken the first time around. I was just suggesting we go on safari to find the beautiful beast when the loudspeaker boomed asking us all to take our seats.

Of course, this was not an immediate process. In a room full of overworked and underpaid educators, another trip to the open bar seemed reasonable before we were all stuck in our seats listening to the superintendent. There was a fast rush towards where I stood, so I made my way back to the table.

There were thank yous and speeches and awards. Eventually my name was called to come up to the stage area to get a small token of appreciation for my committee work. I thought for sure I’d be able to track down my lion from the front of the room, but I was mistaken.

I was headed back to my seat, almost resigned to the notion that he was nothing more than a figment of my imagination, when I saw him slip out the backdoor to the patio area. Refusing to let him get away again, I followed him out back, a tigress on the prowl.

“Guess I know how to make a memorable first impression. At least let me pay for the dry cleaning,” I said, sitting down in the empty adirondack chair next to him.

Unfortunately, I misjudged the amount of give in my party dress as I tried to sit. I ended up in an uncontrolled flop the last couple of feet, which sent the chair on its side. My tiger caught my elbow just in time to prevent my rear from being as bruised as my ego.

“Memorable may be an understatement,” he managed between laughs. He straightened my chair and help me sit down.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a district event before. Although it’s hard to say for certain with these ridiculous masks on,” I said, trying to regain my composure.

“I feel like we are in some strange Eyes Wide Shut thing,” the tiger joked.

“You’re really funny,” I said, removing my mask.

“Funny how? Funny like a clown?” he asked, his Cheshire grin again lighting up his face as he removed his own mask. “Sorry, that was dumb. It was a line I heard once that I always wanted to try.”

I didn’t care at all about how dumb his last line was. He was even more gorgeous with the mask off than I had originally thought. My Cinderella moment was complete with this real life Prince Charming in front of me.

“I’m Sharon,” I finally managed. “I teach science at Ginsberg Middle School.”

He again extended his hand to shake mine, a formality which seemed a little silly given the series of blunders that had transpired between us over the last hour. I certainly wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to touch this god of a human, though.

“Jason,” he replied. “I’m the new math teacher at the high school.”

“A handsome hire. They finally got something right at central admin,” I joked, again feeling my face flush.

We spent the next half an hour playing “getting to know you.” Where did you grow up? (He grew up in Virginia.) How many siblings do you have? (He has two sisters.) If you could be a werewolf or a vampire, which would you be? (Definitely a werewolf.) You know, the important stuff. Without warning, he looked at his empty cup and then looked at me.

“I was going to get another drink,” he said, “but I think I may want to kiss you first.”

He sat there looking at me for what felt like forever, but in reality was probably just a few seconds. Next thing I knew, I felt like somebody else had taken control of my mouth. I was a dummy at the mercy of the ventriloquist.

“Why don’t you kiss me, get another drink, and then kiss me again,” I heard myself say.

He leaned into me and our lips locked. My nerves and elation were a silently crashing crescendo. He gingerly placed his hand along the side of my face, his forefinger and thumb perfectly cradling my jawline. As we pulled apart, he tucked my hair behind my ear so gently and naturally, it felt as though he’d been doing it for years.

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if that was how the story ended? However, this is a story about my life, and my life doesn’t end with a life altering kiss.

After the kiss, I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to let the magic sink in. The sound of clicking heels pulled me out of it, though. Walking towards us was a beautiful woman in a long black gown.

“Jason! Where the hell have you been? We have to get going. I promised the babysitter she would be home by 11,” she demanded. She turned her attention to me. “Who is this?”

Perhaps I could have taken half a beat before reacting, but after an entire night of roller coaster emotions, I was spent. I lept to my feet, perhaps the most fluid movement of my evening, and slapped Jason across his perfect face.

“Seriously? Are you kidding me, Jason,” I screamed. “The babysitter?”

I turned and quickly headed for the door, feeling like a complete moron. Just as the sound of laughter hit my ears, a hand grabbed mine and turned me around.

Jason.

“Sharon,” he began, shaking his head, “meet my sister, Allison. She also teaches at the high school. I’m staying with her and her three kids till I finds a place of my own.”

He reached into my open clutch and pulled out my cell phone. After hitting a few buttons he handed it back to me, kissed me on my cheek and began to walk away. As he reached the door he turned back, that beautiful Cheshire grin lighting up his face one last time that night.

“Call me. At the very least the cleaning bill is on you,” he said.

As Jason and his sister disappeared, I looked down at my phone in disbelief. Even if I had ended my Cinderella night as more of a jester than a princess, I had still won over my prince. Score one for the science nerds!