Not Today, But Someday(56)

“It wouldn’t matter if they were, Em. I don’t think anyone would notice them.”

Her cheeks turn a bright pink, and the panic on her face is softened with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Why aren’t you in class?”

“Miss Spindler wanted to welcome the parents first–”

“Did he come?” I ask her.

“He’s here.”

“Where?”

She peeks through the small window and points him out to me, a balding man who’s a little overweight. He looks uncomfortable. I scan the room for my mother, and see her sitting on the other side of the room next to Emi’s mom. They’re whispering quietly to one another.

“Our moms have met,” I tell her.

“I introduced them on their way in,” she says.

“Did you say anything to your dad?” She looks down briefly, then shakes her head. “It’s okay,” I assure her. “Are you ready?”

“I’m nervous,” she says. “I always get this way before a performance,” she explains, “but I’ll be okay once I get in there... as long as I can avoid him,” she adds.

“I’ll sit over there,” I say, pointing to a desk on the side of the room with windows, in front of our moms. “Just remember to watch me.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“I need to go in,” I tell her. “I don’t want Miss Spindler to think I bailed.”

“Okay,” she says again.

“Good luck.” I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly, hoping to calm her nerves. She nods when I pull away, and I hear her reciting lines as I walk into the classroom. Reciting lines. She’s going to think I look like an idiot when I get up there and try to wing it.

Miss Spindler is talking to one of Emi’s classmates in the corner, and everyone else is chatting amongst themselves. I give a little wave to Mom and Mrs. Hennigan before I glance across the room. Her father is looking at me. I set my books on the desk, but go directly toward him, taking a deep breath on the way.

“Mr. Hennigan?” I ask.

“Yes?”

“I’m Nate Wilson,” I introduce myself. “I’m a friend of Emi’s.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it firmly. “She’s told me a lot about you.”

“If that’s true, I’m surprised you even came over here,” he says with an anxious laugh.

“She’ll come around,” I tell him. “Give her time.”

His brows furrow in confusion, as if I’ve caught him off-guard. “Of course,” he answers quickly. “I will.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, returning to the desk just in time for Miss Spindler to welcome our parents to the presentation of the Canterbury Tales. The blinds are all pulled up, letting the bright sunlight into the room. She shields her eyes as she explains the story and the assignment to everyone.

“Each student has five minutes to tell us a little about the character who tells the story, as well as the tale that their character shares with the other members of the group. Our first storyteller is Emi Hennigan, and she will be explaining the Knight’s Tale.”

Miss Spindler walks to the door and goes out of the room briefly. Our teacher appears once more, telling the next student who’s presenting that he can go prepare in the hallway. After he leaves, Emi walks into the room gracefully, her head bowed down to the floor. She looks sweet and demure, just as Emily should look, just as Emi wanted to look today. The blonde wig is pretty on her, but the color looks unnatural against her skin. Even still, she looks beautiful.

Emi folds her hands in front of her and starts speaking about the knight. She walks slowly across the front of the class, back and forth, keeping her eyes low but projecting her voice, as she talks of chivalry and honor and respect and love. Once she finishes with the character description, she stops in the middle of the class and finally lifts her head.

The sunlight catches her eyes, bringing back the color I’d learned, that I’d recreated, that I’d committed to memory and would never forget.

The second she starts speaking as Emily, her voice now softer, more feminine and delicate, her focus comes directly to me. I swear my heart stops. Again, I can’t breathe. A smile involuntarily spans my face. She smiles right back at me, and I can hear other people turning to stare in my direction, but I can’t look away from her.





The eyes of Emily hath slain me.2


Although I’d only read the Knight’s Tale once, the line stuck with me then and speaks to me now. No, it shouts at me. Heart ceases to beat. Air refuses to enter my lungs. Dead. Slain. Unable to go on.


The eyes of Emily hath slain me.




Unable to go on without her.

“Nate, let’s be friends,” I hear her voice in my head. I watch her lips move, but they aren’t in sync with what I hear. “Not today, but someday.”





The eyes of Emily hath slain me.





What have I agreed to?

I keep her steady gaze as my breath returns in quick gasps. She breaks character slightly, I can tell. She looks concerned, and I realize I’m sweating. I still can’t look away. I nod at her, signaling that I’m okay, and she continues on. No one else seemed to notice her pause. My friend – just a friend– relates the story of Palamon and Arcite, the two cousins who vie for Emily’s love.