The quiet is nice.

“How much school work do you have to get done tomorrow, love? Are there any grading things that I can help with, you know, multiple-choice type stuff?” Every week, Will always offers to help, and I have yet to take him up on it. I just appreciate that he’s willing to help. I love my job. I really do, but there isn’t a weekend that I don’t take grading or planning home, and I always feel bad that it takes time away from my family. Will understands that; it’s one of the reasons why we spend some much time at home, instead of going to all the town activities. Between tons of grading, and Will’s work schedule, we don’t have a lot of time together, so we tend to be stingy with the time we do have.

“Thank you, hun, but if you just keep the kids occupied for a few hours, I should be able to get it all done. I had to cover a few classes last week, so I wasn’t able to get my grading done during my planning hour. It shouldn’t take too long, though.”

“No problem, I can do that. How has school been? Any kids I need to make an appearance at school for? You know, show up at school in my uniform and scare them in to behaving for you.” He flexes his biceps to emphasize his ability to intimidate high school kids. I choke on the fry in my mouth and immediately latch on to my milkshake straw to wash down the food particle stuck in my throat.

“Oh, my God, that was hilarious! I think I can handle it, but thanks,” I say once the cold cream of the shake relaxes my throat and I’m able to speak again.

“Okay, do you at least have any new funny stories to share; you know I love hearing about the stupid things your kids do and say. I still think you need to keep a journal and then publish all the stories. You could make a ton of money; we would never have to work again.”

“True, the things they say are funny; I’m pretty sure parents would die if they knew some of the things their kids do. But I’m also pretty sure if I published those things, I wouldn’t have a choice about working in education again, because I would be fired.”

“Fiiine,” he says, drawing out the word as if surrendering, “you can just tell me then.” I love that Will and I can laugh together. There have never been major sparks of passion, or heat like I experienced with Brooks; we have something different. We have a friendship that grew into something more. We can always make each other laugh; we are a team–a secure, solid foundation that will last because neither of us would ever hurt the other. Over the years, I’ve thought about the relationship I had with Brooks, and what I have now with Will, and I really think I would rather have the friend that loves me and won’t hurt me, than the passionate lover whose adoration would eventually burn me. Every time I question my marriage to Will, I think about the hurt Brooks caused, and I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.

I giggle and then stuff my face with another massive amount of cheeseburger in an attempt to stall. I jog my memory to think of a story he hasn’t heard and would like. Washing it down with shake, I remember a few that I can share. “I have two for you; one is from a junior high kid, and the other is from my college literature class. Which would you like first?”

“Either, I don’t care.” He shoves the final piece of his burger into his mouth, and settles back in his seat with his strawberry shake to be entertained by the momentary stupidity of today’s youth.

“So, my eighth graders were doing some cross-curriculum work with their social studies content, and I found some stories about the Revolutionary War that they were learning about. They were at the end of the unit, by the way, and already knew what the purpose of the war was. So we were talking about the fighting style of the Revolutionaries, and how it helped them against the bigger stronger English military. One of my top students is listening intently and is on the edge of her chair, when she raises her hand. Of course I call on her, and she asks, “So who won?”

Will’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “She asked who won the Revolutionary War?”

I nod my head. “Yup, the whole class had the same reaction you did. Looks of complete confusion filled the classroom because of her question. I tried to walk her through it, because I knew that she knew the answer; she just spoke without thinking.”

“Did she finally catch on?” He laughs.

“Oh, yeah, but I had to ask her if there was a queen of the United States first. She looked at me like I was crazy, and then it finally clicked. She was so embarrassed, especially when the entire class laughed. She laughed too, and begged that I not tell her mother or older brother about her brain fart.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Of course, it was my funny of the day. I told everyone at the teacher lunch table. Those stories are some of the highlights of our day sometimes.”

“Your job makes me sad sometimes,” he adds, grabbing a napkin and rolling it quickly between his hands to wipe the grease off his fingers. I ball up my own napkin and throw it at him, feigning offense. “Oh, come on, Viv, that story was kind of pathetic, and if that was the highlight of your day, you may need to check your fun gauge.”

“Fine, how about this one,” I say, grabbing our trash and taking it to the nearest trashcan. Will holds the door open for me, and then leads me to the car by placing his hand lightly on the small of my back.

“We were reading stories about early colonization and exploration, preparing for our unit about The Crucible,” I say, climbing into the front seat. I wait for Will to get in as well before continuing. He starts the car and pulls out in the direction of the drive-in. Once he’s on the main road, his right hand automatically finds his usual spot on my knee and begins caressing it, letting me know he’s ready for the rest of the story.

“So, anyway,” I continue, “I was talking about how some early colonizers struggled because they were more interested in finding resources and profitable goods like gold than settling the area and devoting time to establishing agricultural products to eat. I tell them that finding gold wasn’t very helpful in the winter months, because you can’t eat gold.”

Will glances over at me, his expression clearly telling me that he doesn’t find my story funny. “I’m not finished,” I snip.

“Then one of my students lets out the loudest, nastiest farts I’ve heard in a long time; seriously, thank goodness for the ventilation system or we would have all suffocated. Then he says before I can chastise him, “‘Mrs. Mathews, that’s probably what it would sound like if they ate gold.’ I told him that he was probably right, because it would cause a bowel obstruction, and the only thing that would escape would be gas.”

I start to giggle, but when I look at Will, he doesn’t even smile; instead, he gives me his best pity look. “Fine, tell me one of your funny stories; you cops are probably just as boring as us teachers.”

“I can at least beat those stories, babe; those were not funny. I think you’re losing your touch,” he laughs, pulling into the drive-in and paying the attendant for our car speaker. We had been waiting a long time to see 21 Jump Street. Will loves cop comedies, and well, I like Channing Tatum, so it was a win-win this evening. He pulls in backwards, into our spot, and we jump out to make a cozy nook in the back of the SUV. I packed blankets and pillows so we could lie in the back and watch the movie. I continue to situate our area as Will begins his apparently hilarious story that will blow mine out of the water.

“You want funny; how about this?” He smirks like he already knows he’s won. I should hit him with a pillow to take him down a notch. Instead, I continue to make our movie-watching bungalow. “A few weeks ago, you remember when I stopped by on my lunch break to eat with you guys, and I had to storm out of the house for that pursuit? Everyone on shift was called out to chase the suspect who had attempted to rob a local convenience store.”