Day of School, 66(6?)

Chapter 27

Day of School, 66(6?)

    I wake up to my alarm clock blaring, my head just short of pounding and suffering some negative effects of four or five drinks last night, and I run to the window like an excited kid, gaze out into the darkness expecting to see a foot of snow blanketing the land �" but there’s nothing more than a dusting. I stare at that quarter inch of white powder, asking myself how could this happen? In this day and age, how could they be so wrong?

My mind conjures rage-fueled thoughts of vengeance against weathermen and women everywhere for their deceit, but I’m interrupted by my phone ringing before I have a chance to lay out my plan. Kate’s name flashes across the screen, sending a tingle up my spine. 

    “Hey!” I answer, immediately recognizing that I sounded way too excited, and hoping it wasn’t horribly obvious. 

    “Snow day. Snow reggae,” she moans in a deep, sarcastic voice. 

“Yep. Sucks, huh?” 

“Oh well,” she sighs, “Life goes on. How are you feeling?” 

“Surprisingly, not too bad. You?” 

“Eh, good enough. Anyway, I’m going to start getting ready for work. Just wanted to say have a day. Feel free to text me.” 

“You too, and I will!” 

><><><

I get ready for school after dismissing the notion of using a sick day after my recent debacle with playing hooky, and choosing to forgo my vengeance against weather people everywhere. I struggle to decide which of my Christmas ties to wear today before choosing flamingoes in Santa hats, and as I wrap it around my neck, I know hell awaits me  I’m sure by now my students have all received the text alert that I went out drinking last night, and soon they’ll be congregating in a top-secret location, plotting against me. 

 I drive to Leia’s new day care, which is about fifteen minutes further than her old one, but Lurch-free, and as I drive, I’m wondering what it will be today... A fire drill gone awry, perhaps �" a bomb scare, a fight, a rabid squirrel attack, a sprinkler malfunction, a missing kid. I know something’s going to happen �" as the wildest scenarios of doomsday spiral through my mind, I start to think about how far I’ve come in the almost three and a half years I’ve been a teacher, about how even those wildest problems, while not ideal, don’t phase me like they used to. I’ve been through so much, faced so many challenges, been through hell and back so many times that I have the confidence in me now to know that no matter what obstacles I face, I’ll always find my way out. 

><><>< 

As I pull into the parking lot, having spent the last twenty minutes engaged in a conversation with Mister Thomas, math teacher �" I’m reminded of several particular variables, in addition to having gone out last night, that could present themselves as strange, peculiar challenges today. 

There’s the added disappointment of what I like to call a faux snow day, which will undoubtedly be the subject of many conversations and student complaints throughout the day… I can’t blame them either. 

 It’s also the week before Christmas break, and this stretch can be a struggle. It’s not like the other vacations we have throughout the year for Thanksgiving, in February, or spring break... and of course the king of them all, summer break.

All of those are shorter and none of them elicit the combination of sheer excitement, angst, and complete insanity among the students like December break does. Some of my wildest, weirdest, and darkest days in teaching have happened during this week… But it’s my job, and despite the variables, I’ll get through it. It’s my job, and after all this time I’ve gotten pretty good at it… 

Like my mom would say, “I’ll live,” and that’s my only mission. I walk into the building in survival mode. My goal for today is simple: get to 3:00 without major incident. No fights. No meltdowns. No tears. No visits to dark places… 

><><><

    I stare into the eyes of my advisory students, tempted to start firing a line of questioning about their whereabouts and activities in the hours before school this morning, but something inside me tells me that after over three and a half years of battles, drag-out-wars, and journeys through hell together, they are no longer my adversaries. 

They’re not kids anymore. They’re seniors now. Some are even eighteen and legally recognized as adults - which is a mind boggling, terrifying reality in many ways, but I’ve seen them grow so much that even if they aren’t ready now (as if any of us ever really are), I’m pretty sure they’ll figure this adulting thing out some day. 

Besides, I love these kids and would take a bullet for anyone of these kids, and I’m sure they know that. So even though I’m on edge and preparing myself for whatever chaos ninth and tenth grade is certain to bring, I’m in good spirits. I had a great time last night, could feel much worse than I do physically, and I have a story to share with my students for the first time in a long time. 

I stand up in front of my advisory. “I hope you all know, I’d take a bullet for any of you…” I remind them, just in case, “As you all know, I went out last night…” 

    “How would we know that?” Marky snorts. My eyes glare into his… and I trust him. Maybe seniors aren’t invited to the meetings…

    “Right… so, I went out last night thinking school was going to be cancelled…” 

><><><

    I downplayed my level of drinking �" “one or two” I told them, but judging by the fact that they’ve decided now is the perfect time to start banging on their desks and screeching in my ear that I “got wasted on a school night” - I suspect they see through my attempted deceit. Still, they’re happy for me it seems and the general consensus is that Kate seems like, according to Marky and Jadyn along with a few others who chimed in with contributions, just enough of a nerd that I may have a small chance with her if I don’t blow it. 

><><><

    It’s 9:06… Ninth grade honors English… 

The biggest trick I’ve learned to manage the heightened emotions over this potentially tumultuous week before break is to provide structure and keep the kids working, but not on anything difficult or significant. Some teachers put a movie on in hopes that it’ll keep the kids quiet, but in my experience, you’re just asking for trouble. Others just push through their lessons, preaching to inattentive ears information that will be little more than a vague and distant memory to the students by the time they come back from break, only to have to teach it all over again. 

For days like these, creative writing is my go-to. My students are writing short stories, which will not only keep them relatively quiet and busy as well as give them some sense of structure, it also tackles many Common Core writing standards, and will give me something to read during vacation. 

 I’m watching them like a hawk, studying their every move and waiting for them to unleash their terror upon me �" but as first block comes to an end and my planning period begins, I start to question if they’ve decided to hold off on administering their punishment for my transgression of going out last night, at least for one block.  

><><><

    “Mister Thomas!” A booming voice snaps me to alertness. Christian appears at the door, winded and breathing heavy, “I found it!” 

    He throws his backpack onto my desk, reaches way down and pulls out… Treasure Island. 

    “You… swore… on… your… mother…” I joke with him. 

    “Sorry, I swear I thought I gave it back,” he says. 

    “No worries. Thanks for bringing it back.” 

    I put my fist out, the first step of our ridiculously long, awesome secret handshake… and for the next two minutes between complex steps, pirouettes, and sound effects - I’m reminded that I have the best job in the world. 

    ><><><

It’s one of those rare and mysterious planning blocks that I have no meetings to attend, no grades to catch up on, no lessons to plan. Well, there’s always grading that needs to be done and future lessons to plan �" but nothing pressing. I kick my feet up, lean back in my chair, send Kate a “Hope your day is going well” text. I gaze down at my long-lost copy of Treasure Island, mentally preparing myself for a beautiful future literary voyage… deviating into momentary remembrance of bookstore girl… when my phone chimes. A message from Kate. 

Kate: Hey! Going great! What’s your email? I’m going to send you the first chapter of my book. Could you check it out and let me know what you think? :) 

Me: That would be awesome. It’s  [email protected]

Kate: Great! Sending now! Can’t wait to hear what you think. 

Me: Can’t wait to read it! 

No more than a minute later I get an email with the subject “Feast Your Eyes on This” and my body tingles with excitement as I open it. 

><><><

I just finished reading Kate’s first chapter of Sunrise on Autumn, and I’m a little confused. There’s no style, no flow, no characters or setting development… no plot at all really…it’s just a random scattering of shower thoughts without depth or deeper meaning. I must be missing something… 

><><><

I’ve read it again. Twice. I wasn’t missing anything. I know I said earlier that Samantha was worse at pool than anyone has ever been at anything, but I must regretfully redact that statement. Kate’s writing is horrendous to the point that it’s almost laughable, so atrocious that as a writer I’m offended she would put it on paper, so god awful that as a teacher I’m appalled. The first line of her novel is the, “The yellow sun rose high in the sky,” and the rest looks eerily similar to something I turned in first grade… 

Okay, maybe it’s not that bad - but she called it a masterpiece… compared it to To Kill a Mockingbird… This is more than a little deflating… What do I even say back to her? 

><><><

    It’s been about twenty minutes, and my usual text of “Oh yeah?” when I don’t know what else to say will not suffice in this situation, but as I sit here, stewing over the possible responses that are honest but not soul-crushing, I’m reminded of the many times excited students have come running up to me to show me something they’ve created. I’ve seen drawings, paintings, poems, stories, amongst other things - and the kids are always thrilled to hear what I have to say. Sometimes their creations are beautiful, other times, not so much… but I’m their teacher, the caretaker of whatever passion burns in them - so I try to be genuine, but never harsh. I’ll never extinguish those flames. But this a grown woman, who likens herself to Harper F*****g Lee, someone who wants to be a writer. I won’t s**t all over her dreams and tell her to find a new passion, but if roles were reversed, I know I’d want honest criticism.

There’s a trick I’ve learned when you have to give feedback and not everything you have to say is particularly positive. I do this all the time in parent-teacher conferences. I start off with a bright spot, something nice, then I criticize honestly, and end with positive words of encouragement. 

Now I just need to find something positive. 

><><><

    I’ve sent Kate my honest (but tempered) critique of her work - and while I don’t feel the same for her after I’ve read her “masterpiece”, I’m not ready to close the book on her. I had fun, and would gladly go out with her again - maybe even give her a few pointers. Even though we had a good time, it was only one date, so I log onto Match and do a little window shopping. I scroll through today’s cluster of potential matches…

Rachel, 32 �" Looks a little… unhinged. Left swipe. 

Maggie, 29 �" Cute, but her grammar is atrocious. Left swipe. 

Kaitlyn, 28 �" “LOL” appears about thirty times in profile. Left swipe. 

Catherine, 27 �" Doesn’t use periods at the end of her “sentences”. Left swipe. 

Jamie, 33 �" Looks very serious and could never be in The Snow Jams. Left swipe. 

     Left swipe. Left swipe. Four kids? Left swipe. Too much makeup. Left swipe. Can’t understand two thirds of what she’s trying to say. Left swipe. Rhiannon? How the hell did she get back on here? Hard left swipe. 

 I put my phone on the desk and reach for my long-lost copy of Treasure Island, cradle it in my arms like my baby’s finally come home, then set it down and open the cover. I read the inscription written in beautiful cursive on the inside cover. Why today? I wonder…

I often find myself marveling at what some might consider strange coincidences but I prefer to believe are signs from the universe. This book and I have a connection, and while I frequently find myself connecting in many ways with my books �" this bond goes deeper.

I first came into possession of this book during the summer before I started teaching about three and a half years ago. Things with Elaine had hit the lowest point of our relationship. We had a huge fight about a week earlier about god knows what, and had gone so far as ending the relationship. For the life of me I can’t remember. Maybe it was over nothing. She did always make mountains out of molehills, but it could have been one of the million other reasons that we should have never been together in the first place. She snapped �" vocalized the most hateful, cruel and repugnant things I’d ever heard and they were all about me.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I was sick of being in a miserable relationship, exhausted from being treated like s**t all the time, and tired of looking at the face of a person I still felt something for, but couldn’t stand the sight of anymore. I packed my s**t and left, moved back in with my mom, piled everything in the basement until I could find myself a place, and vowed to myself I was never going to go back. 

One morning while living the single life, I went to a yard sale. Elaine hated them and refused to go with me, but I’ve always loved yard sales, especially big ones with tons of old, cool stuff and random gadgets and gizmos �" and I’ll get lost for days in a flea market, but this was one of those mangy yard sales - end of the day, the tiny yard was a muddy mess, slim pickings and could be easily confused for someone’s actual garbage - but I saw books when I drove by, and I can’t drive by books without stopping. 

An old drunk guy, beat red from being out in the sun all day watched, over me curiously as I  rummaged through the pile that was mostly new romance novels and some classics that had been colored all over with a green crayon, and there in the middle of the pile sat this copy of Treasure Island, a novel that holds great significance in my life because one of my earliest memories was spending a magical day as a child, listening to my grandfather read it to me, and as I was swept away into the mythical world of pirates and sword play, I wasn’t just listening, but was truly feeling and living every second of it, and from that moment on I loved reading. It’s not the greatest book ever written, but it holds a special place in my heart, as does the man who first read it to me. It was the first book I ever loved (Thank you grandpa!). 

I had a copy of it, but didn’t know where it was. I had read it countless times, but I figured if it wasn’t scribbled all over, I would grab it to bring it to school. I was about to check out the inside when the guy yelled over to me, “Take it!” and then proceeded to guzzle down a freshly cracked beer in about two and a half seconds. 

    “You sure?” I asked.

    “Yeah man. Take them all.” 

There are few things in life that I’ll never have to be told twice, and “take this giant stack of free books” is among them. I piled them into the car like a man possessed, brought them back to my mom’s house, threw them in the basement with the rest of my stuff where they sat for a few days.  

    As you already know, if you’ve paid close attention to the timeline, I went back to Elaine despite my vow. I don’t know why �" it was a horrible decision, and even though almost every part of me knew we’d grown apart, weren’t the same people we were when we met, and that we were wrong for one another to begin with �" at least a small part of wanted to believe we could make it work, so I went back. 

 Things didn’t get better between us. She now had a new weapon to add to her verbal arsenal whenever she screamed at me about nothing - reminding me of the time I walked out on her. I stayed for more than two years after that, and I’ve never been more miserable. But when things reached their breaking point and I left for good, got my own apartment and began unpacking, I stumbled across my long-forgotten yard sale score from years earlier. Rummaging through the box, I found the copy of Treasure Island and opened it. Flipping through the pages which appeared in pristine condition, a flash of something caught my eye just before the cover. I opened it back up, looked down at the beautifully scribed cursive on the inside cover where I read this.

Dear Thomas,

Life is filled with many challenges, but you made the right decision. I wish you nothing but the best, and hope you find the happiness you deserve. Love always, M -

Coincidence, my a*s. 

What are the odds of every little shred of circumstance that occurred that led me to that moment in time, that place, with that book in a pile, to not open it three years ago, to open it when I did, to look down and see that message written to someone with my name? Well, if you want to get technical, my name’s not Thomas. That’s my last name, but when you’re a teacher, you pretty much hear your last name ninety-nine percent of the time.  Still, this book was meant for my hands. 

I’ve often wondered about the real Thomas, and the situation he found myself in. Was he a young boy? A teenager? A grown man? What is this mysterious decision he made? I don’t know, but I like to believe that whatever choice he made was the right one and that his life was filled with nothing but whatever happiness he deserves. And this A - Who is he? Or is it a she? Maybe they were some old, wise figure there to guide Thomas through life’s most daunting challenges? 

Then again, Thomas might have been the old drunk guy in the lawn chair, but I’d tend to prefer the more poetic theory. 

Staring down at the inscription once again, I can’t help but wonder if this book’s sudden reappearance today is a sign from the universe. Why today, of all days? 

My phone buzzes, a message from Kate. 

Kate: Wow, thank you for crushing my soul and shitting all over it. A*****e. 

Damn, I didn’t think I was that harsh. I tried to be honest and not crush her. I scroll back to the message I sent. 

Me: Kate, thank you for sharing this interesting work with me. (Interesting was all I could come up with as a positive). After reviewing the first chapter, I find myself very confused about the plot, setting and characters. This seems to be a bunch of scrambled ideas mixed together without rhyme or reason, and the language used lacks depth and complexity. I apologize, but I don’t understand any of what I’m looking at. However, thank you again for sharing. It’s very interesting. 

Okay, maybe it was a little harsh, but if you’re comparing yourself to Harper Lee then you’re opening yourself up for it. Even though I held back, I do feel a little bad for what I said. I start to message her back, but my finger clicks the wrong spot on my phone and it closes my messages and opens Match. I’m about to go back, but the sight of the person on my screen freezes me, sends a little jolt coursing through my veins...