She wondered nowadays, if people actually came to bars looking to have fun, instead of running away from something that chased them at every turn. In Samantha’s case it was usually the weight of the day, the responsibilities which she bore to mind, not to mention how dreadfully morbid her work seemed to be at times. That day having been no exception to the rule. It was easy to see that she was annoyed to some degree, spent to some degree, and overall just fucking exhausted. She was used to that feeling, especially during some cases when she really couldn’t sleep a wink for days on end, and adding a very joyful two-year-old daughter to her daily life and two excitable little puppies, it was hard to get back on sleeping schedule. She wondered if as Bobbie grew older that would get inevitably better—- maybe not, Samantha knew too much of what was going on in the world and once or twice it had come knocking at her door now, chances were she was looking forward to a lot of stress.

     “Shots, yes, definitely,” she tapped the wooden counter and flagged Jimmy down. There were perks in having certain habits in that island, and while she wasn’t the nicest person in the world, Samantha would be damned if she wasn’t on her best mood towards the people who served her drinks. She was selective like that. Ordering a row of tequila shots, and a beer so she could chase them down with, Sam turned to the unknown blonde beauty sitting beside her. “Yes— everything’s fine, just men who are fucktards and happen to be my boss,” she rolled her eyes, “but nothing a few shots can’t take care of,” of course the prospect of her daughter jumping on her bed early the next morning wasn’t so appealing, she would deal with it as it came. “Samantha,” the brunette introduced herself, not wanting to just be outright rude with the other.

Even for a bookworm like Heather, she still loved nothing more than a shot or two and making a break for the nearest nightclub. It was something she just adored -- a certain je ne sais quois if you will. Despite the fact she had nearly seventy essays, assignments and reports to grade, Heather still knew a night of alcohol may be very well what she needed. The sheer thought of the teacher parent conferences she had to hold next week were also looming over her like a black and heavy cloud. Winter season as a teacher most certainly had a few downsides.

Her neighbour beside her was evidently having the same thoughts in terms of alcohol and Heather could only smile. A night like this was truly all she needed right now. “Work is definitely something to drink about, huh? I’m a high school teacher and every damn day these kids are really testing me. I just can never understand how some kids can talk to adults the way they do, yanno?” she shrugged, fetching the bartender and matching the brunette’s order. “I think we just became friends -- this order is exactly what I always get.” It was true, Heather would typically order the same as that most nights, well, most stressful nights. “Heather,” she said, throwing a shot back fast, slightly but barely wincing at the strong alcohol hitting her throat. “So, what do you do, Samantha? You give me serious success and independent vibes,” the blonde said, facing Samantha. “First impressions say a lot.”

     Attempting to leave work at work, Madeleine felt all kinds of bare as she sat lonely on that table and watched the world outside unfold. There was a cup of Chai latte on the table and half eaten pancakes. She wondered when had she become that woman so fast. The one who valued work above all else and also the one who absolutely hated being interrupted. It was hard to remember that she was carefree once, or how much she loved traveling to inhospitable environments just for the sake of the right shot. Her pictures and prizes had been swapped for her business and law school degrees. It was hard to be who she was before when there were so many people trying to take her down.

     Her thoughts were interrupted by the bustling sound of a group of teenagers and it made her smile, almost remembering that she was like that someday. Loud and full of life. She missed the times when she would go to another coffee shop with Hannah and they would laugh just like that, no matter how many heartbreaks their teenage hearts had been through. Things were different back then, easier, lighter, happier. Perfectly manicured fingernails tapped the surface of the table before delicate hands wrapped around the long glass sweating the cold from the liquid inside. She took a long sip from her watered down drink, stirring it a bit so the taste of water wasn’t so apparent. The teenagers laughed again and she pulled her phone from the pocket, opening the camera settings to portrait and taking a carefree shot of the group, she loved taking mindless shots like that, she really loved them. As she set her phone down, her eyes immediately met those of the woman on the table across from her and she couldn’t help the smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s inter-generational, but the older we get, the more grumpy we get, cause we have to work and be adults and they have school and hanging out with friends at coffee shops… it’s totally unfair.”

Each giggle from the gaggle of teenagers made Heather’s crimson pen almost drag across the paper from sheer annoyance. When she turn into the old bitter lady? Pinching the bridge of her nose, she quickly grabbed the attention of one of the staff, ordering more caffeine and a chocolate pastry -- she was most certainly going to need it to get through this annoyance. Despite how into her studies and books she was at that age, Heather always loved being in the group everyone looked at. However now, she looked and saw how irksome she would easily have been to anyone else. How naive and self-centered kids could be,

A giggle slipped past her scarlet lips after a sip of her new coffee, again leaving yet another mark of territory on the rim of the cup. Setting it down on the table before her, Heather glanced over in the direction of the woman beside her. Hearing her words, the blonde could only agree, nodding as the woman spoke. “Honestly, I’m sad to say I’m officially very uncool and grumpy in the eyes of teenagers everywhere,” she said, laughing softly. “I definitely agree it’s unfair. I think that’s probably why they come here and not bars, then again, who didn’t go to a bar underage at some point,” Heather sighed, her brow quirking as the group let another howl out of them. “I’m pretty sure 70% of that group are in one of my English classes, so it may be time to give more essays so I can actually grade in peace,” she quipped, “actually scratch that -- that means more work for me.” Heather was definitely someone who thought aloud, which wasn’t a bad thing, per say, just an unusual one. “So, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re a philosopher with your view on teens today, because I’ll be honest, I never thought of it that way before.”

—

“Right?” Noel agreed, soft grin on her features as she ran her hand along the dog’s back, his tail wagging happily as he soaked up the attention from the strangers. “Oh, don’t worry. I think if you talk to a dog in your normal voice you’re probably a serial killer or something.” Chuckling, she allowed herself to fall back onto the sidewalk and stretch her legs out in front of her. “But yeah, that’d be great. I’m kind of lost myself and I’m not sure where a vet or anything around here is.”

“Don’t animals just make the world so much better? It’s like they just live their best lives and are super happy to just pour love out all the time,” Heather sighed, her hands scratching the behind the dog’s ears. “You know what gives a serial killer away? They either don’t like dogs, talk in a normal voice to the dog or they carry the dog in a bag constantly,” she said, tucking blonde hair behind her ear with a laugh. “Does she have a dog tag on her collar or anything? Maybe she could be microchipped.”

…

Charlie laughed, shaking his head. As he remembered it, at least, him and his friends had been at least that obnoxious. If not more. Probably more, really, now that he was thinking about it. “You’d think, spending all that time working with them would have you desensitized by now.” He replied, not looking up from his own pile of papers in front of him. “Anyway, you can’t tell me that you never did that kind of stuff. Or, at least if you did, I wouldn’t believe you.”

Scrunching up her nose, Heather had a light grin etched on her features. “Well, I was actually the opp -- I loved school,” she said, a laugh dancing its way into her words. “I used to find that the disruptiveness would be putting a super downer on my day... Don’t judge,” Heather said, smiling widely, her hands up in her own defence. “You’re right though, I should be used to it, but it’s one of those things that always makes me think how badly kids can be raised.. anyway, what kind of papers have you got there?”

open starter at any bar. ( @elisabethstarters· ).

     ❝ When your fucking hands are elbow deep in a little girl’s chest, than you tell me something about not needing a fucking ton of alcohol to cope with this shit. ❞ Samantha said as she opened the door to the bar, some eyes darting her way as she shot daggers at them respectively. Her day had not been the best, work had emotionally drained her and while she wanted and needed to get back home to her daughter, she also needed to spend some time calming down. It was pouring rain outside and Samantha did not want to make the long drive back to Fremont just yet, so she called her nanny and asked her if she would mind sticking around for a couple more hours, she would definitely pay and she didn’t want her daughter to see her disheveled like that. ❝ Don’t tell me to calm the fucking down Bill, you guys keep handing me these traumatizing cases and I yeah, I’m amazing at my job, but fuck, I don’t need to be more of a paranoid mother than I already am, ❞ considering all the things that happened in her past. She takes a seat at a bar stool and flags over the bartender holding up two fingers and mouthing whiskey, he understand, so he’s quick to pour and she’s quick to thank him. ❝ Look, I’m gonna go now and you all should really just consider yourselves lucky that I love my job, but I’m taking the day off tomorrow. ❞ He word was final and she shut down the call before Bill could speak again, slightly slamming her phone into the counter and sighing. ❝ Fuck this, ❞ she downed the whole drink in one big gulp, coughing as it ran down hot. She turned to the person next to her. ❝ I’ll buy your next drink for having to hear that. ❞

Whoever said teaching was easy was most certainly lying. Teenagers made life so much more complicated than it needed to be. How hard is it to not text for twenty minutes and to actually listen? The mind boggles. It was something that Heather had known was her passion, her vocation but there was always going to be times of doubt -- at least that’s what she told herself when she simply needed a break. Once that last bell rang, she was out that door like a shot. Her bag over her shoulder, car keys in hand, and ignoring the voices of two football players who had recently acquired ‘F’ grades, Heather was off the clock, mentally and physically. She dumped her bag and paper work just on the kitchen counter as soon as she got home, called an Uber and headed straight for the bar.

Sipping her glass of Pinot, Heather felt like she needed to escape from the minds of her students, from the intensity of life. Sitting at the bar, she listened to the soft music in the background, irresistible to the tranquility of her surroundings -- that was until she heard a woman on the phone, instantly recognising the tone of her voice to a similar level of frustration that she had earlier that day. Chuckling at the woman’s words to her, she shook her head, “honestly there’s no need, I was the exact same earlier today. Although if you’re down for shots, I will certainly not say no.” Feeling the woman’s energy, Heather hoped that she’d be down. “Sounds like a pretty shitty day, everything okay?” There really was something about drinking with a stranger that made everyone just want to discuss their problems.

Where: Bloomers, Myrtle Rock. 

Who: Open, @elisabethstarters·.

     The shop that Sunday afternoon was occupied by a handful of customers, enough so that the florist whom would usually help him in his pursuit was otherwise busy. There was a stark difference between being able to scientifically identify local wildflowers and having any remote idea what kind of arrangements were appropriate for someone as a gift. Dahlias seemed like they might be a bit much, carnations were generally a no – he knew that at least, roses seemed like a classic option but then there was the whole color debate. Michael stood looming among the displays looking a bit lost and disgruntled, only pulled from his turmoil when someone gingerly brushed by him through the narrow isle. “Pardon,” the man half turned after them. “You any good at–” he gestured in a broad hopeless stroke about the shop, “I could use a second opinion?” 

Flowers always reminded Heather of her family’s home in Atlanta. The entryway bustled with peonies, hydrangeas or any type of extravagant flower her mother could find. The scent of these flowers almost always transported her back through time -- back when she had a relationship with her family, which was partially why she adorned her home with the same flowers sometimes. Bloomers had become an essential for Heather, making it her mission on her days off to pick up some bouquets. 

@elisabethstarters·

“Oh hi buddy, what are you doin’ out here all alone?” Kneeling to the ground, Noel ran one hand along the loose dog’s head, the other reaching down to feel around the dog’s neck for a collar to no avail. “I bet someone’s missin’ you, you little sugarplum.” She cooed, smile growing on her features as the animal’s tail wagged and he leaned into her touch. “Where’s your mommy or your daddy, hm?” Gaze moving from the pup to her very unfamiliar surroundings, Noel searched the crowded street for a face that looked panicked, like they were missing a dog. 

“Excuse me?” She asked to a passing stranger, still kneeling down on the ground next to the dog. “Do you know who’s dog this is?”

A windy chill blew through the air as Heather tugged her coat closer to her body, the sound of leaves crunching beneath her feet with each step -- after all, Autumn walks were her favourite for that exact reason. The bustling of the streets made her heart full, mind blooming with ideas on people’s lives; had the man who was walking down the street with a boutique bag in his hands buying for his wife or his mistress or were the kids strolling with their grandparents aware of how lucky they were to have that experience? The possibilities were endless.

However, her thoughts were interrupted when a voice startled her. Looking down at the dog and the woman beside it, Heather also crouched down to rub the fluffy angel. “I wish, but my God, what a beautiful baby you are,” she said to the dog, scratching behind its ear. “I’m sorry about my dog voice,” she laughed, “I just get super into dogs and want them to be my friend. Do you need help finding its owner?”

               If she didn’t know any better (and she truly didn’t) Evie would think she was missing out on the game. A group of teenagers would howl with laughter each time the woman at the table beside hers picked up a new paper — what was the catch? Why was that funny? To Evie, it looked like a teacher grading papers. Unless they had written funnies or some garbage on the pages (which would be detrimental to them seeking a proper grade) then she failed to see what the humor was. “Umm…” A small laugh breathed right out of her as the suspected teacher seemed to pluck the thoughts right out of her head. “I think teenagers, no matter the generation, are annoying. It’s a stage in life that we all have to go through.” Another little chuckle. The funny bit of that statement was that Evie had been nothing like that. She was the nerd; always studying, always getting ahead, always working. “Did they write something on those pages or what?” Curiosity was biting at her heels. “I’m not intending to sit here in a busy shop with full focus, I just don’t understand the hilarity of you picking up yet another paper to grade…”

Growing up, Heather wasn’t one to be obsessed with her friends or social life. Her sister’s had that element of life taken care of. Books had a far more entertaining and thrilling element to them than any social aspect -- well, that was until she went to college but regardless, Heather felt like a different entity to the teenagers she taught now. Everyday in class, it’s a ‘no cellphones’, or ‘try to read a book and not a text’. The incessant giggles that echoed through the café irked her to the point of no return, hence her little outburst. “I mean, you’re not wrong but when we were that age, we hadn’t the same arrogance they do now,” she sighed, looking to the gaggle of teens in the corner. “I know we were all annoying but it’s a different vibe, yanno?” she shrugged. “I think it’s more the illiteracy in these papers than the humour of what they’re writing, but I’ve had four americanos since I’ve been here,” Heather laughed, swiping a strand of blonde hair from her eyes. “Honestly? I’m actually on the verge of giving up for today,” she sighed, sipping more of her coffee. “So, I guess you’re not grading papers here like I am. Please just distract me before I hurl these papers at those kids.”

          “Well,” Sydney began and paused as she took the sip of her brew she had been about to before the blonde’s question hit her ears, “in complete defense of my generation — I think it’s just this one.” It went without saying that as time moved on and further away from the classics and literary works of art that things changed. As she had sat, now working on her second cup and coming down from the end of her shift — really just delaying going home for a while — Sydney had glanced at the papers and gathered that her neighbor here was an english teacher. “Mind if I be completely nosy and ask what you’re grading?” Curiosity on the assignment was another distraction, a possible launch into conversation that assisted in her prolonging the inevitable. As the boys snickered in their corner of the coffee house, Sydney’s dark almond eyes surveyed — and she almost snickered to herself too. At first they were just annoying but now she was sure the boys were only there to peek and peer at their beautiful teacher. “Must be hard doing this with an audience of admirers…”

As Heather flitted through each of the essays in front of her, a thought cascaded her mind - ‘is it me? Am I the reason they don’t know more? Am I a terrible teacher?’ However, she knew deep down, it was more than likely the fact that no teenager enjoyed Shakespeare or his words of sheer magic. When Heather was that age, she did find herself buried in books, absorbing each word on the page, mesmerised by the way the words danced and bounced around deep in her mind. Maybe it was just her, comparing herself to the teenagers she taught. 

Her neighbour beside her caused her to chuckle. “I think it’s more the fact that I used to be obsessed with books rather than my friends at that age,” she sighed with a laugh. “Shakespeare essays -- honestly it’s better off having maple syrup drizzled all over it, it’s total waffle, I mean, read this,” she said, handing an extract over. “Misquoted and that spelling?” Heather exasperated, her hands thrown. Watching the woman’s gaze, her eyes followed to where she was looking at, immediately recognising them. “Wouldn’t you wonder what they’d be even here for? Like, is it even legal for kids to drink caffeine?”

Trying to grade high school English essays at a time like this was beyond frustrating -- kids these days didn’t care about school or Shakespeare for that matter. Adding to Heather’s annoyance was how loud everyone was. One could argue that she should have stayed at home for peace and quiet, but where’s the fun in that? There seemed to be endless distractions in the café -- all of which were caused by the same teenagers who’s papers were waiting to be corrected. A crimson lip stain etched itself onto the porcelain cup with piping coffee as she sat the cup back down, picking back up her red pen instead, her correcting pen, as she called it. Just a teacher thing, right? A couple of encouraging words jotted down as she contemplated how little these students could care about the greatest works of all time. A stack of papers sat beside her, a daunting task as any. Heather rested her head against the palm of her hand, her blonde hair slightly tousled. Anytime she tried to pick up another paper, her eyes would bolt to the group of teenagers that crackled like a pack of hyenas. Turning to the person at the table beside her, she quipped, “Were teenagers always that annoying or is it just this generation?”

introducing ↳

heather huntington, thirty, high school english and history teacher