Our seventh grade school year began with a buzz. The sleepy town of 350 people rarely had new residents, but things were clearly changing, and our little town was growing. There were a few new teachers that year in the high school. One was named Mr. Skerbur. “Matt”, he would let us call him. Everyone loved him. He was fit and funny and handsome. In addition to part-time teaching us math and computers, he coached the Boys Track & Field  team.

He was fresh out of college, and this was his first job. He drove a compact car that was such a rust bucket, my classmate and friend Liv Vilbra said she could see the highway through the floor on the passenger side as they drove together. Apparently she needed a ride home from track practice one night. So Matt, being the swell guy that he was, offered to give her and her younger brother a perfectly innocent ride home.

Liv had a crush on Matt. Mr. Skerbur. I think almost every girl in school did. She told me, “You know, Matt would never cross that line.” Of course not. He was a teacher after all. Same as the other adults. Adults didn’t date kids. There was no chance of real romance there. 

“Besides,” Liv added, “he’s got a girlfriend. A college sweetheart, I think.”

I didn’t want to know about anyone else’s crush on him. He liked me. We shared a mutual respect. He knew I was smart and came from a good family. I was a kid who respected the student/teacher line. I didn’t want to talk about him with anyone. But his name would come up in dinner conversations with my family, and I wasn’t the one mentioning him.

“What’s Skerbur doing, giving Liv a ride home?” My father asked.

“She was stranded after track practice, I guess. She said it was fine. He didn’t try nothin’.”

“A teacher should not be giving students rides. Don’t you ever get a car with a teacher. People will talk, and someone suspects something. That’s how lives can get ruined. Don’t ride with any adults unless we say it’s okay. Any.” My mother emphasized.

“Nothing happened. Everyone’s fine.” I said, staring into my tater tot hotdish.

I was going to spend the weekend at my friend Julie’s house. While I’d been friends with Liv since kindergarten, Julie had only moved to town two years before, and our two families attended the same church. Julie and I developed a friendship over lots of time spent together outside of school, and regular sleepovers happened a few times a month.

I loved going to Julie house. It was an old farmstead, and the house was a sinking log cabin. The barn was half collapsed, so we never went near it. Their farm was in a very remote river valley, and in an area of the county that saw a lot of poverty. I lived about 40 miles away near lakes and in a National Forest. No poor farmers near our land. We had resort owners and tourists.

Julie told me that her stepdad, David, was handy, and was fixing-up their farmstead. He stabilized the front of the barn and they got a cow. He built an addition on the house, and she had her own room.

While my parents had been sweethearts since high school, Julie’s parents had divorced, and her mother remarried. I remember her stepdad, David, being a very gentle soul. He was the kind of guy who would like to smoke weed and listen to records. Very chill and quiet. We generally gave him a wide berth, and he was fine with that. Her mother, Sarah, was a kind-faced old hippy with the most beautiful speaking voice. It was throaty and smooth, and I loved listening to her any chance I got.

Julie’s new room was awesome. David had designed a wonderful space for her, with a loft, and lots of other amazing built-ins. A desk, drawers, lighting, a wardrobe; it was all a high school girl’s dream room. We’d spend hours sitting up in that enclosed lofted bed talking about everything under the sun. From God and religion, to boys and sex acts. We’d tell our deepest secrets. 

“Matt likes me.” She said, in a low voice during a sleepover confessional.

“Matt…like Mr. Skerbur, Matt?” I asked.

“Yes. Look.” She reached her hand into a built-in cubby and pulled out several letters. 

Of course I instantly recognized the handwriting on the envelopes. I’d seen it on the chalkboard every day, all year.

“He loves me, and he doesn’t know what to do. He thinks my parents wouldn’t approve. He knows I’m not a child. I’m a woman, and he treats me like one. He’s the only one that sees it.”

I was probably too stunned to speak. So I let her tell the whole story of their romance. 

Apparently the flirting he did with everyone went a few steps further with Julie. He’d asked her if she would ever consider dating someone older. And shortly after, when she was tasked with baking cookies for a church event, Matt volunteered to help her and kissed her while they were alone, right in the church kitchen. Then he invited her over to his apartment.

He lived in a basement apartment in a house across from the school, which had proven perfectly convenient for their rendezvous. She’d visit him after school, and they would make out. She would sit on his lap and breathe in his ear. He’d feel-up her tiny tits and tell her he loved her. Now, over a long Christmas break, he’d written to her every day. Her mother had inquired about the contents of the letters, but never read them. I knew my parents would have insisted on reading any letters I received  in an unknown handwriting, let alone from a teacher. I thought her mother and step father to be recklessly neglectful in their lack of diligence.

And there it was, in blue ink on ruled notebook paper. “I love you, Julie. Wait for me.”

Had I known then what I know now, of course I would have blown the whistle and ran to tell. But I had the mind of an extremely sheltered and ignorant child. And I suppose a piece of me was jealous of her getting this attention. And so I never told anyone all that she told me that night until now.

Months went by and Matt came to know I was a confidant, and frequently found myself a third wheel. I would lie to anyone when necessary to cover for their whereabouts. She asked if I would wait in the school hallway to stand  guard for anyone who might be headed to the classroom while they were inside alone. Talking.

When she emerged from the classroom, she was smiling. “I broke up with him. I had to. I told my mom.” Julie told me. “He’s really sad.” She told me, sounding mournful.

A few evenings later during dinner, my father asked me pointedly, “Has Skerbur quit fucking around with Julie yet?”

I choked and managed to sputter, “It’s done…but I don’t know what all happened even.”

“He was messin’ around with her.” My mother paused, looked disgusted, and added, “What a creep. We don’t need him here. He’s gotta go. I don’t want you staying after class, like I hear he asks girls to do.”

“Has he ever asked you to stay after class?” My father asked, sounding angered.

“No. I’ve never even been alone with him.”

“Did you ever see him kiss Julie or do anything with her? You knew this was going on? He ever try anything with you?” He pressed intensely.

“No. Nothing. Never.” I looked up from the plate I’d been staring into, to make eye contact with them both to prove my sincerity.

Through the years, my father often insisted on me looking him in the eyes when I told him anything of consequence. 

“I didn’t break that lamp.”  I had said, looking him dead in the eyes. Or, “I don’t know who left the barn door open.” I didn’t even blink. Or, “I promise, I won’t have sex tonight. I’m saving myself ‘til I’m married.” I became great at lying to his face. Probably not the result he was hoping for.

While Julie’s house felt warm and inviting, my own family home was cold. Actually cold. There was a woodstove in the basement that kept the first floor warm. The first floor contained the kitchen, living room, and my parents bedroom. And contrary to what you may have heard about heat rising, upstairs on the second floor where my bedroom was, you could see your breath on those -40 degree February stretches. 

My house was much better suited for visits in the warmer weather, for this reason. One spring Friday, Liv rode the bus to my house after school for a sleepover. 

We listened to The Clash and talked about school, our siblings, and of course boys.

“Matt is gross.I don’t think he did any of those things people are saying he did with Julie. But I still think he’s gross. My family doesn’t like him anymore. He used to come over and run with my brothers to train for track, but they don’t want him coming around anymore.” Liv told me.

“Yeah, I think something did happen.” I told her.

“What do you know?” 

“Oh they were dating, if you want to call it that.”

“You can’t date a teacher.” Liz said, looking frustrated.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“Someone told me she knows Skerbur and Julie had sex.” Liv said.

“Well, it’s over now. She broke up with him. He wanted to keep spending time alone with her. She didn’t.” I shrugged.

“Well…he’s a creep. And she’s a loser.” Liv said, settling the matter in her mind and not wanting to know more.

We spent the weekend talking about boys closer to our own age we liked, Esprit and Benetton clothes, and going to see Footloose at the nearest movie theater, sixty miles away. 

“I can’t wait to leave this shitty little town.” I told Liv, as we were falling asleep that night.

“Me either.” She agreed.