Work Text:
Chalmers’ earliest memories weren’t pleasant ones. He was never close with his mother, and his father frightened him—so deeply that the mere thought of the man gave him night terrors. He remembered clinging to his mother’s hand the day they were separated. With a low voice, she told him he’d have a better life with his father.
"You just need to bear it for a while, Gary," she whispered. Then she was gone—vanishing with his sister and his twin brother. On the other side, his father stood waiting, staring at him, with eyes of someone merely fulfilling a duty.
Back then, Chalmers thought he’d been chosen. That it was his responsibility to stay behind and take care of his father now that the rest of the family was gone. His dad was scary, yes—but maybe this was a chance to understand him. Maybe they could spend time together. Maybe being alone with him would bring them closer. So he reached for his father, and together they go.
By eighteen, Chalmers had become the model student. He excelled in class, his attendance was perfect, and his future looked undeniably bright. But his father was unimpressed—because Chalmers wasn’t the best, only one of the best. In the graduation photo, his father posed stiffly behind him, one hand on his shoulder, a plastic smile frozen on his face. Then he left for work.
Chalmers had spent over a decade alone with that man. It had been excruciating—heart-wrenching, even. His father barely indulged him, barely interacted with him. He preferred the company of his clients. An esteemed psychologist, yet blind—or indifferent—to the cracks of their two-man household.
Like a passenger on a sinking ship, Chalmers could only wait until the sea swallows him.
He celebrated his graduation alone, downing a cup of soda water at a dingy fast food joint owned by some local clown. He let the silence wrap around him, letting old memories fill the void—his siblings, his mother. The fantasy of being chosen had finally withered away. They hadn’t left him to be a bridge. They’d just abandoned him and his father alike.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman his age sitting alone. Her eyes were glassy. She looked lost. When she caught him staring, she didn’t look away. Somehow, she knew. So he stood, crossed the room, and sat beside her.
They talked. They laughed. Her hand rested gently over his. And before long, they left together—disappearing into someplace private.
He packed his belongings slowly. The small dorm room, once cluttered and lived-in, now looked barren on his side. Books, gifts, trinkets—little keepsakes from friends and questionable lovers—all tucked away. There were too many to fit in one suitcase; he needed a second.
He had just graduated. It wasn’t Ivy League, as his father expected, but Ball State was nothing to scoff at. It had earned him a degree, and with it, a job offer in Pennsylvania—assistant clerk at a school.
Of course, his father hadn’t made it to the ceremony. Another excuse about urgent work. The whole shabang.
His heart sank a little more. He should have been used to it by now. But it still hurt. Every time. He wished his mother or his siblings could have been there instead—but his father had refused to give him their contact information for so long, he’d finally accepted the truth: they’d left, and they weren’t coming back.
He loaded everything into the second-hand car he’d worked years to afford—odd jobs, part-time gigs, scraping by wherever he could. Then, he departed as if he was never there.
Chalmers spent a little longer in the bathroom that morning. His brown hair was starting to thin, streaks of grey creeping in at the temples. He started combing a little more gently. He blamed the polluted air—and the polluted everything—in this new city he’d moved to. The power plant belching smoke, the field of burning tires. Even from his condo, nearly fifty floors up, the toxic fumes still found their way in through the bedroom window.
He’d been working steadily toward becoming a superintendent. Apparently, the turnover rate for this position in Springfield was outrageously high. He couldn’t imagine why.
But it meant opportunity. He had the credentials: Master’s earned through sleepless nights and mugful coffees, years of experience in classrooms, and the grim tenacity that comes with toadying your superiors. He’d even recognized some of the other applicants’ names—and knew full well they were either underqualified, unstable, or both. That left him the obvious choice.
Still, despite his teaching background, he was told he’d need to log a few more hours in front of a classroom to qualify. So, for the time being, Chalmers was assigned as a substitute teacher at Springfield High.
It sounded simple enough. Teenagers were more reasonable than children, after all.
Right?
Everything hurt. Even laying down hurt. Those delinquents didn’t miss a single spot.
He’d spent the whole night crafting their lesson plan to align perfectly with the district’s syllabus. He even wore his most expensive suit. And his reward? A punch in the face, and a battered body.
And yet, he wouldn’t be in the nurse’s office right now—being, well, nursed—by the gym teacher.
She patched him up from head to toe, twisting his leg, poking his back, checking for bruises and sprains. Her touch was firm, clinical—but behind it was care. Concern. And something else he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Chalmers found himself smiling like an idiot.
She noticed. She smiled back.
His cheeks flushed, and for a moment, the pain didn’t matter. Maybe… maybe getting beat up a few more times wouldn’t be so bad.
Her name was Rosemary.
Like him, she wasn’t a local. Her home was Texas, where she grew up with loving parents on a farm. An only child, she’d been raised with undivided attention and care. With her background, it made perfect sense that she became a gym teacher—who also taught math.
Chalmers listened closely and introduced himself in turn. He tried to paint his father in a better light—he didn’t want her to think her date had issues. He hadn’t seen the man much since moving to Pennsylvania, and that hadn’t changed even after the transfer to Springfield. Still, he was honest about his mother and two siblings. Rosemary’s eyes shifted, and her hand found his across the table.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
There was nothing for her to apologize for. Chalmers couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to someone this easily. He’d planned to show up confident, dashing—appealing. But when he thought she’d stood him up, he was almost heartbroken. Then she came rushing in with apologies, and somehow, the nerves never left him. No one really showed him much decency these days, not even an apology. Maybe that’s why her kindness hit so deeply.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t know if it was the right reply. He just knew it was what he wanted to say.
They stayed for hours. The bartender—Moe, was it?—didn’t seem to be closing anytime soon. And honestly, Chalmers wished that night could stretch on forever.
Chalmers rented out his condo and bought a family home at a bargain, thanks to a rather charismatic estate agent. The neighbourhood was peaceful, though there was a large empty lot across the street. A sign read ‘Under Construction’, but it didn’t bother him.
Rosemary was moving in. They had been together for a year, and they both agreed—it was time to take the next step. Over the past few days, he helped her pack up at her apartment at Pressboard Estates and finalize the sale. The timing worked out perfectly. She found a buyer: a woman named Edna, recently—sort of—divorced, and just about to start teaching at Springfield Elementary. Rosemary liked her immediately. The two bonded quickly before she handed over the keys and wished her well.
As he helped load her things, Chalmers found himself thinking back to his own move after university. Like him, Rosemary didn’t have much—it all fit inside a single suitcase. Everything larger than that stayed behind and Edna was grateful for it.
They climbed into his new car. Beside him, Rosemary chatted with her parents on the phone, laughing as she told them about the move. And something tugged at his heart.
He wondered, just for a moment, what that might’ve felt like—having parents like hers. Supportive. Proud. Present.
Without a word, he pulled out of the lot and drove on.
Chalmers felt time slipping by. His wedding felt like it was yesterday. It wasn’t anything grand. He had yet to know anyone in the city well enough to call a friend. Most of the guests were colleagues. Leopold stood as his best man. There was also a fat man who ate far too much during the reception. Rosemary denied ever knowing him.
Now, Chalmers sat by his wife as Rosemary fought for her life, and their child.
She reassured him, said it would be over in the time it takes to run ten laps. But the doctors warned him of complications. She refused to be put under the knife; she wanted to hold their child the moment it came. They obliged. And Chalmers could feel his fingers break as Rosemary squeezed his hand.
He wished he could share the pain.
But then—his phone rang. He excused himself, stepping out into the hallway. The number was unfamiliar. He picked it up. The voice was unmistakable.
“Gary?”
He wanted to cry then and there. After decades… he finally heard his mother’s voice again.
“Honey, I’m sorry. Your father…”
.
..
...
He remembered to breathe.
The line had been dead for a while now. Only the dial tone remained, ringing in his ears. He stood frozen for who knows how long—until a nurse tugged his arm.
His wife was waiting.
He followed the nurse back in.
There, he found Rosemary—worn, exhausted, but with a face brimming with love as she cradles their bundle of joy.
“Say hi to your daddy, Shauna.”
In a moment both cruel and divine, a life had ended—and a life had begun.
Chalmers sat alone in the living room. His chores were done, he’d had his meal, and with nothing else to do, he read today’s paper again. Now that he was older, he had finally accepted his balding head—though he still tried to salvage what he could. He kept himself active, and stayed fit by befriending the gym teacher. He even got a few new hobbies now, and even joined a few clubs and activities. He was, finally, the superintendent he’d set out to become when he first moved here. Most would call him a successful man. Someone who’d gotten his life together.
That is, until he looked at the family photo atop the fireplace.
Rosemary has passed away, leaving him behind to live on in her stead.
The house had become quieter since. And Shauna—she’d grown into quite the delinquent. His efforts as a single father are large ignored. But he tries to be present in everything she does.
He didn’t shed a tear when he attended his father’s funeral. He didn’t cry when his mother embraced him again, or when he reunited with his brother and sister, their faces just as aged as his own.
He didn’t cry when Rosemary left, either. Maybe because he found comfort in knowing he had loved her, and she had known she was loved—every single day of her life.
That evening, just as the sun began to set, he took a short drive out of Springfield. The rocky terrain outside town felt familiar. And so did the car already parked there, and the fat man sitting on the trunk of his dented car.
Homer Simpson.
Chalmers pulled to a stop, stepped out, and the two greeted each other. They didn’t speak further. They simply sat there on their vehicles, gazing at the moonlit sky.
His world had shrunk to the size of his palm.
And it rained throughout the night.
It took him countless tries with many different women. But never did he expect the void in his heart could be filled by a man. Even more surprising—that the man in question was the same incompetent idiot he’d despised since the start of his career.
Maybe it was because they were always a pair, always seen together. A team with no name and barely any chemistry.
And somehow, it worked.
The teachers had their suspicions. Plenty of support, too. But it wasn’t like anyone expected it to actually happen.
Oh, Mary… if you could see me now. Would you laugh?
Skinner had always been a little queer, if he was being honest. Chalmers used to poke fun at it—especially the way Seymour was always so clingy, so jumpy. Sure, he’d dated Edna once, but Chalmers could still smell the fruitiness on him.
And yet, on that road trip to Cincinnati, something changed.
For the first time, he saw a different version of him. Confident. Resilient. Resourceful.
Even if the trip ended without fireworks, it stayed with him—that Skinner could be more, if someone just gave him that little push. The push his own mother had denied him for most of his life.
Now, Chalmers finds himself smiling as he walks into the principal’s office, and the principal smiled back warmly.
“Superintendent. You’re early today.”
“You can drop the formalities, Seymour. No one else is here but me.”
Skinner chuckled to himself. "Understood, Gary."
It will take time, but the barriers they've built will eventually crumble. And, thankfully, he has all the time in the world.