Smitha part 3

“Mr Harris,” the quiet and calm class was quite rare for me especially on a Monday except during a test which I always gave to my class when I’m too lazy to teach. I was never one of the best at the school. How I had even got the job was still a mystery. One moment no school wanted me because of my lack of experience, substandard results and my beautiful dark past and the next thing I’m getting a call from a school I have never heard of nor applied to. Mom saw this as a second chance in life, to start someway. In reality, I neither liked teaching nor was I good at it but if it meant freedom from this world mentally and financially I was never letting it go. Even the fact that it was a Catholic school never deterred me.

“Mr Harris,” some orderly looking lad from the middle school, I think, repeated himself.

“I heard you the first time. What’s up?” “Mr October wants to see you sir. He said it is urgent.”

A nod was enough to dismiss him as I reluctantly wheeled myself to his den.

Mr Octen October was the head, principal, president you name it. It was his vision, work and money which gave rise to the Octen School. It was not the only one as he had several primary and elementary schools all over Richforte and the country. Although he preferred the Octen School, he made sure that all the other schools received the same treatment as well as having a Catholic atmosphere. Word was that he was a priest in waiting before something tragic came up, he fall in love. Nevertheless he never lost his faith and religion which was said to guide his every move. It was just word. Being called to his office was like being sentenced to court, he hardly dealt with the teachers leaving it in the hands of the so called "school head”, Mrs Sage a nice lady.  When he was to see you, Sage would have washed her hands and passes the baton to him. Mostly it meant a painful lecture, suspension or dismissal. He had never seen Mr October but he was a legend of the school.

Somehow I was not a nervous rack although I could smell trouble in the air. The question was what I have done this that really deserved his urgent attention. Only he could tell me what I have done. A soft knock was enough to allowed admission.

He looked serene. His bald head was staring at me as he seemed to be focused on the papers on the table. His office was huge, cosy and modern. Well equipped with the state of the arts office chairs, sofa as well as a plasma television. The desk seemed dear and foreign. Although he was seated, the jacket stocked on his chair seemed cosy.

He signalled me to take a seat without a word without lifting his head. Slowly and theatrically he lifted his face. I already hated him. He looked middle-aged probably in his early 50s. He stared at me, “So you the infamous Harris?”

Questions like this usually do not require an answer unless you want to provoke the boss.

“Let’s cut to the chase, you know why I called you?” “Nope!”

He leaned forward leaving losing his gaze. “Fair enough, let’s say you’re in real trouble. You are officially the worst teacher I have ever seen. Your class results are pathetic a disgrace to this school. Even some of the students are saying you extremely lazy …”

He went on with my rundown with the senior teacher as well as my stubborn amongst other stuff. The list became extra-ordinary long that I failed to keep up and eventually lost concentration.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I stopped him stunning him. ”I get it. I’m a very bad man and currently on top of the “to be fired” list. I get it so what now, I pack my stuff and leave?” I had no idea what had got into me and his gaze tightly focused on me.

“You start to sound like your mother. She is way too hard-headed and knows how to sneak out of trouble. That made her special” I did never like where it was heading. He had definitely caught my attention.

“You're sleeping with her?”  “Nope I’m happily married with kids too.” He lifted his hand to reveal a marriage ring.

“You said that she was specially. How special was she to you?” fury was slowly creeping inside me ready to tear him apart.

“Look your resume was not bad but your past not good. No one was prepared to employ an ex-con convicted of rape…”  I had no idea what got into me as I leapt over the desk and shoved hard off his chair knocking of some of the papers and stuff on the table,” I NEVER RAPED HER!”

As if conscious caught me, I knelt beside him apologizing for my action. He was ok although rustled. “I never raped her, DNA proved it and she confessed! What more do I have to do to convince everyone?”

“How about you control your temper.” He rose and went on,” your mom begged me to take you in despite your history. After she had to do for you to here, don’t disappoint her. Consider this your first warning.” He was soft when he pulled some papers from the drawer which I prompted signed and left the office. I was surprised by the mob of eavesdroppers who had accumulated at the door.