Chapter 11

At school I am sitting in my classroom behind my desk leaning back in my chair, watching students walk in slowly and the desks fill in slowly. Everything in the morning happens in slow motion. Students yawn and their yawns are drawn out moans, like zombies, hungry for brains. Yet I wish these kids were actually hungry for brains, eager to learn and expand their knowledge, increase their awareness, or just f*****g read a book.

The diverse smells waft in every time the door is open and the wind blows these smells over to me; perfume, cologne, deodorant, body odor, lingering tobacco smoke. And the sounds occur all at once; whispers, yawns, gum popping, fingers tapping on the desk, laughter, books slamming, obnoxious conversation. Some of them smile, some of them glare. I return these gazes with a calm, relaxed, mellow, stoned grin. I can see myself in their eyes, and I laugh a little. 

A girl sees me laughing, and I realize it's Ericka from the grocery store. I stop laughing but maintain a smile. She doesn't look away and I don't either. She blows a bubble of pink, expanding gum and it pops in front of her face and my trance is broken and I blink and realize all the desks are filled and I stand up and put my hands in my pockets and start laughing.

“Good morning, guys, welcome back to your favorite place on planet earth! I hope you all completed the Christmas break assignment.”

They all look at each other, confused and concerned, and whispering. 

“Don't worry, there was no assignment.”

Exhaling sighs of relief are released and I laugh again.

“Well,” I slap my hands together. “Does anyone want to share any exciting, amazing stories? Any Christmas miracles happen?”

Several hands go up and I point at Ericka.

“Ericka, please share.”

“I saved your checkbook.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot all about that.” I had not. “Thank you again for that. I left my checkbook at the grocery where Ericka works--”

“Ericka works at the grocery store, what the--”

“Hey, shut up Jeffery, did I call on you?”

The class shouted in laughter, and I noticed Ericka blushed. I winked at her and she smiled.

“Jeffery, please share with us a Christmas miracle.”

“My grandma died.”

I had to laugh. 

“What the hell, Jeff, how the hell is that a miracle?”

“I don't have to rake her leaves anymore.”

The class indulged in some uneasy laughter, and I eyed Jeff.

Then I realized. I raked her leaves before too. Jeffery Couch. Linda Couch.

“Your grandma is Linda Couch right?”

“Yeah, how did you know her name?”

“She lives next door to me. Lived, I guess I should say. I'm sorry, Jefferey.”

Jeff's smile faded. “You live next door to my grandma, what the f---”

“Anyways, class. Today I am going to have you guys write a paper on whatever it is you guys chose to do with your time off. Write about your thoughts, feelings, experiences, anything about your break, and turn it in before class ends.” 

“That's it?”

“Yep, that's all we're doing today.”

The students resumed their talking, pulled out their phones before they pulled out paper, and I went to my desk and opened a drawer. Behind all the pens and pencils and erasers and clips and sticky notes was a little plastic bag with a marijuana brownie in it and I grabbed it and stuck it in my mouth and chewed slowly. 

First period was about to end and I was on my school laptop looking at a website for Russian brides and the students were handing their papers to me and it was when the bell rang that I realized that I was falling asleep, or in a dream, or dead, or stuck in time, or I was just high. Ericka walked towards me and I felt her radiate a calm, comforting emotion that wafted up my nostrils and into my brain where her sweet adolescence whispered to my consciousness. 

The blue of her eyes, the dark blonde of her hair, like sun stained corn skin, the fainting cloud of her lips, the peak of her nose, the long legs under tight jeans vanished out the door with the rest of the kids. Kids. She's just a f*****g kid. You can't be hinting at social involvement with a teenaged girl who is obviously climbing to the top of the tree of forbidden fruit. And you're hanging from a thin branch.

The door opened again and Ericka walked back in smiling. 

“Sorry, I just left my pencil.”

“It's entirely okay, Miss Reno.”

“You know, I think this class is the best class. I think you're a really good teacher Mr. Greene. I know you may think that the other students may not appreciate you, and your lectures and assignments. But I feel like I really benefit from them, this class, from you.”

She snatched up an invisible pencil from her desk and walked slowly over to me sitting behind my desk, watching her like she was an actress on the stage of some early twentieth century play, listening to her speak words that no modern teenager breathes.

“I know you may think of me as a naive, thoughtless bimbo who nourishes off of the glow of her cell phone, but that is not true. I believe in the everlasting importance of education, especially English and literature, and words. Without people like you, teaching us your own words, special words, and how to use these words properly, and grammar and sentence structure, and thesis papers and all the other bullshit that you may be obligated to teach us students, without you, we would never blossom, we would never mature and become the people who we want to be, are destined to be. Math teachers can't teach that. Science teachers may teach us about our literal composition, like cells and muscles and organs and glands, but they don't teach us about the art of our souls. The meaning of our existence that bleeds out unconsciously through the words that we write, the words we tell to others, fiction or truth, you teach us something excessively more valuable than any other school subject. You teach us how to be ourselves, and how we can truly act the parts we are given, how to be the character that was hiding away deep in our minds. You teach us how to reveal to ourselves who we really are through words, and stories. Literature and novels are just the history textbooks of ourselves, of everyone.”

“Ericka, I,--”

“I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you.”

She turned and before she opened the door, she smiled and winked. Then she was gone.

I sat, staring at doorway where she last was, where the remnant of her body was, outlined against the door. I was stunned. Completely astonished. Flabbergasted. 

She is the first student who has ever said anything like that to me. The first person who has acknowledged my profession positively. It feels like the first great thing that has come out of this job, impacting someone like that. Of course she could just be kissing a*s, trying to get me to like her. Shes flirting.

I shift the erection in my pants and hold up Ericka's paper. It was scribbled with the fine, feminine, curvy text, and I read the first line:

During my Christmas break, I had the pleasure of helping out my favorite teacher, Mr. Greene. 

A smile grew on my face, and I folded up the piece of paper and put it in my pocket. I don't know why, I'm baked.

The sound of students walking and shouting in the hall sent me out of my chair and I walked and stood in the center of the room. I felt the poke of the folded paper in my pocket and smiled again.

Gee whiz. 

At that moment, ironically, my eyes found a folded up piece of paper on the ground, by Ericka's desk. I looked to the door. She wasn't going to poke her head back in and see me picking up notes off the ground. Not a chance.

I grabbed the alleged note and unfolded it. It was definitely a note. My eyes adjusted to the small, secret text, and I read the question in shock.

Would you do Mr. G?

I dropped the note trying to flip it over in haste and whispered a curse and picked it up with a  sweaty, eager hand and read the answer:

yes, what do you think. I would totally.

The handwriting. The f*****g handwriting was hers! I laughed and my penis laughed too. The door opened and an Asian kid named Joey Vue walked in and saw me laughing with an erection pushing itself against my pants and turned around and left. The door shut and I laughed until I cried.