My former high school P.E. teacher, Mr. Abraham

He had recoiled far enough that even if he bent down low enough, he couldn’t even reach me, so from my position I could both recognize his face and the figure he sported when he taught physical education at my high school. “Mr. Abraham?” I asked.

He’s equally as surprised at my recognition of him as at my sudden wakefulness, and immediately right after, how guarded I am with the pillow over my lower body. “Do you know me?” he asks.

“You taught P.E. at Shannara High. Specifically, for the juniors and seniors,” I explained.

“I would know my students. I’m flattered that you know me, but I don't have any memory of you,” he says in his defense.

“That’s because I had been in your P.E. class for my junior and senior years. And I was a guy then,” I further explained. Confused with being presented with this news, especially since it sounds so bogus and far-fetched, he takes a seat on the armchair behind him. Feeling a lot less threatened by his presence, I sit up straight, the pillow still nestled against my pelvis. “My name is…” I start to introduce myself, accenting the word ‘is’ because in twenty-three hours or so, I would turn back to my male body. “...Charles Ruiz. But in this case, in this body and form, I’m Charlene.”

“Charles Ruiz. Sounds familiar. Weren’t you as tall as me, but half as muscular? And during indoor street hockey, didn’t you high stick…” Mr. Abraham starts, but I interject, naming the person I lightly injured in my senior year.”

“Victor Thompson. Honestly, it was so light that there wasn’t even any mark on his face. But he was so dramatic, falling back and screaming.” I stop in my rant, seeing his stern face, the same face he has when I did the deed. I lower my head and finish explaining. “Still, you sent me to sit out for the rest of the class.”

There is an awkward silence that ensues. Just like in this moment, Mr. Abraham had this way with the students. He was the boss when class was in session. Almost like he was a military leader or a drill sergeant. I hear him take a breath and he says, “And it’s no surprise that he’s a theater major.” It’s just so candid that for a moment, I’m confused or have no words to say. “So, you say you are Charles Ruiz… Charlene? What did he do for me a month before he graduated?”