Twenty Years

Part of OSAD - A teacher learns a lesson in tolerance

He hadn’t seen anything like it in twenty years of teaching.

There, sitting front and center, its legs crossed in a ladylike fashion, was a flamingo in a striped shirt with large, nerdy glasses. The teacher stared at him in awe until the pink foreigner’s feathers were sufficiently ruffled.

“Sir, the bell rang three minutes ago,” the flamingo said cooly, a biting tone in his voice, “Could we possibly cease staring at me and begin our lesson?”
“…You’re a flamingo,” the teacher responded, pointing a shaky, accusing finger at the student.
“Yes, I am aware of my species,” the flamingo sighed, severe irritation coating his voice, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I am eager to finish discussing Kafka’s Metamorphosis.”

The teacher’s eyes widened.

“…You weren’t here yesterday when we touched on Kafka.”
“I was out sick. I still read it.”
“Out…sick? You’ve NEVER been in this classroom!”
“What are you talking about?”

One of the girls raised her hand.

“Mr. Wentworth, I think you’re going a bit senile. Charles has been here every day since the beginning of the year,” she said, frowning, “He’s the transfer we got from Belize, remember?”
“…He’s a flamingo!” the teacher yelled.
“Yes, from Belize,” the girl responded calmly, smiling.
“But he’s never been here before!”

Mr. Wentworth looked around wildly, shooting a long gaze out the window to see if he could spot anything odd and dream-like. Clear and sunny skies, cars on the ground, birds in the air, a perfect normal day scenario. He looked back to the flamingo.

“Wait…Charles?” he asked.
“Yeah. Charles F.,” the flamingo said bitterly.
“Charles….Flamingo?”

The pink long-legged bird scowled.

“…Freeman,” he growled through gritted teeth, “Charles Freeman…”
“…Oh.”

Mr. Wentworth shook his head, his hand on his forehead, while Charles Freeman the Flamingo glared angrily at him.

“Mr. Wentworth, speciesism is a terrible thing,” he said boldly, “Just because I am pink and covered in feathers does not make me less able to learn. Steven Tyler goes on stage in pink feathers all the time, and he is a smart man!”
“No, no, Charles, I am not saying-”
“Furthermore! I have diligently done all of my work and maintained a perfect average! Check your books if you don’t believe me.”

Mr. Wentworth rushed to his books. Sure enough, Charles Freeman was listed, grades perfect, with an absentee mark on yesterday’s grid. He gazed at the flamingo again.

“…My mistake then,” he finally said, closing the book, “…Let’s continue Kafka.”
“Grand. Thank you,” Charles said, opening his book.

Mr. Wentworth tried to ignore the fact that a flamingo was in his classroom and teach like normal, but he couldn’t help his eyes continuously wandering to the four-eyed bird before him.

“Charles.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you um…mind switching places with Andrew?”

The flamingo looked behind him.

“Andrew’s in the back row,” he said slowly.
“I know…it’s just…you’re very tall and distracting, Charles. I worry your location is not conducive to the learning environment.”

The bird stared at him incredulously.

“…I WEAR GLASSES!” he exclaimed, “What would make you think that I deserve the back row when I CAN BARELY SEE?”
“They look like a very fine pair!”
“Not when you write in miniscule font on that blackboard!”

The flamingo jumped angrily to his feet.

“This man wishes to cast me away due to my status as a flamingo!” he shouted, “Is that fair?”
“That is pretty cold, Mr. W,” one student remarked.
“Yeah, you’re the one who always tells us to keep open minds,” another said.
“I’m not doing it because you’re a flamingo!” Mr. Wentworth screamed.
“Then why are you doing it?” Charles spat.

Mr. Wentworth went silent, then bowed his head and wiped away a small tear.

“…Because you’re a flamingo,” he muttered.
“AND THE TRUTH COMES OUT!” Charles shouted.
“Well it’s very distracting to teach when a gigantic pink animal is staring you in the face!”
“A-A-ANIMAL?”

Charles’ desk flipped, and the student all rose in rioting protest. They closed in angrily on Mr. Wentworth, who screamed and dove behind his desk, covering his head and crying in agony until he heard the door crash open.

“Mr. Wentworth, is there a problem in here?” a female voice asked.

He slowly rose above his desk. The students were all in their seats, confused expressions on their faces. One kid in front wore a big flamingo beak. The woman who had walked in, a fellow teacher, glanced at him and frowned.

“Take that off,” she scolded.
“Yes’m,” Charles sighed, lifting the beak off of his head.
“…So…there’s no flamingo?” Mr. Wentworth asked shaking, slowly rising to his feet.
“No, Jason, there is no flamingo,” the female teacher sighed, rolling her eyes, “How many times must I tell you this school doesn’t accept animals? Sheesh…”

As she away, Mr. Wentworth shot a look at her.

“…Speciesism isn’t cool,” he murmured.

Author's Note

Critique is welcome~