by Nella Tyler
The children did exceptional on the project, and I was excited to give them back.
In my opinion, if I taught something and my students could recreate it in their own artistic way, I had done my job. I felt that not only did they understand what I taught them, but they were also able to think about it critically enough to form their own rendition of the events. Sometimes the facts weren’t exactly right and for some, creativity strays from the truth for the sake of art, but even still, I appreciated the effort and the imaginativeness that went into the project.
Therefore, it was a joy to return the projects to the children.
It was rare that I had to give a bad grade, and thus, I hoped that each returned project encouraged the children to think for themselves, creating something unique from the information they were given.
As I was finishing up organizing the projects on my desk, a fellow teacher came in.
“Good morning, Sharon,” I responded to her knock.
“Morning, Mazie,” Sharon answered, walking into my classroom, “Well, you look busy this morning.”
“No,” I replied honestly, “I’m just getting a few things settled before the kids come in. How about you?”
“Ugh!” Sharon huffed, rolling her eyes and buckling her knees as though the response she was giving caused her stress, “I am trying to stay afloat until vacation.”
I grinned, though I didn’t share her enthusiasm for the upcoming winter break. While I enjoyed Christmas, and was looking forward to the holidays, having time off from work was not something I was counting down to.
I enjoyed my job. Perhaps it was because I was still young and eager to change the world, as I had been accused of by a particularly bitter teacher, but I genuinely enjoyed coming to work.
“Do you have any plans?” I inquired, trying to stay in the conversation.
“Yes, I plan to not step foot in this school for two weeks. That is cause enough for celebration,” Sharon insisted, but when I didn’t answer her, she continued, “So, what are you doing?”
“I plan to spend time with the family, enjoy Christmas traditions, and relax.”
“Only two and a half weeks!” she grinned as she headed back to the door, “Well, I’ve got to get back to my classroom before the children arrive.”
With another eye-roll, she strutted down the hallway.
As she walked away, I returned my attention to my organizing, shaking my head and wondering how anyone could ever do this job if they were so overly-eager to leave it.
After all, I loved being with the kids. Of course, there were challenges and not every day was perfect, but my job was fulfilling.
It didn’t take long for the kids to start arriving, and their presence drew me out of my thoughts.
I greeted the children one by one, and once they were settled, I started our day.
After the morning routine, I returned their projects, which happened to be about family traditions during the holidays.
I wanted to get a feel for what the kids looked forward to during the holiday season in hopes that they would be eager to share. I enjoyed this particular lesson because it gave me insight into the children I was teaching, while it also provided an opportunity for the children to share some unique traditions.
“All of the projects were extremely creative. It sounds like all of you have some fun traditions to look forward to,” I told them, “Would anyone like to share what they wrote with the class?”
A few of the regular participants raised their hands, and I chose one of them to get up in the front and break the ice for the rest of the class.
Most of the kids talked about baking cookies, decorating, and spending time with family, but it was interesting to see the differences in the specifics of their traditions.
When nearly the whole class had presented their projects, the school principal, Mrs. Neilson, burst into the classroom excitedly.
“Good morning, class, Ms. Lawson,” she called as she arrived.
“Good morning, Mrs. Neilson,” the class responded altogether.
“Good morning,” I grinned, “How are you?”
Mrs. Neilson was the woman I aspired to be. She was a compassionate, successful principal who had dedicated her life to the education system and never lost sight of what was important. Unlike many of the teachers that I come across, Mrs. Neilson always maintained a passion for her job.
While I wasn’t sure if I would ever have ambitions that extended beyond my second-grade classroom, I hoped that I would be able to maintain my own passion for whatever job I ended up in.
“I am wonderful!” she exclaimed, “I am going to all of the second-grade classrooms to tell them of the wonderful news. Next week, we are all going on a field trip to see Santa Claus!”
The enthusiasm Mrs. Neilson portrayed was contagious. I felt myself getting giddy right along with the kids as they burst into elated chatter.
“I’m giving you this news now so that you all remember to be especially good for the rest of the week. Mind Ms. Lawson and your parents because Santa always knows,” she beamed, “And besides, it never hurts to put in a little extra effort around this time of the year.”
“That is going to be so much fun!” I replied, pleased to see the excitement and wondrous expressions on the children’s faces.
“Yes, indeed!” Mrs. Neilson agreed, “Well, I’m off to spread the good news to the rest of the second-grade classrooms.”
With that, like a flurry, she was gone.
I turned back to the now supercharged children, their excitement contagious, and continued to pump them up for the big day.
I handed out the permission slips that Mrs. Neilson had left on my desk while they chatted amongst themselves.
Although I was certain that it would take a little while for the kids to settle down, I didn’t mind. I remembered how wonderful it was to go see Santa.
Having no children of my own and with this being the first year the kids had the ability to do something like this, I hadn’t gone to see Santa in years.
Therefore, I had a feeling it was going to be every bit of an adventure for me as it was going to be for the children.
I couldn’t wait!
Dexter
It had been a long, rough weekend.
Even though the details were fuzzy, the pounding in my skull from the moment I regained consciousness to the swishing of my stomach told me that I still wasn’t completely over whatever the hell had reduced me to this state.
As the fog of the first sleep I’d had in over twenty-four hours lifted, my mind started to sketch the details of why I felt like shit.
I might not be drunk anymore, but I was still dehydrated…and hungry.
Did I even eat yesterday? I wondered, finally remembering that I had spent most the day talking to lawyers and trying to get Garrett and myself out of jail as smoothly as possible.
After the fight, we were thrown in the drunk tank, but the damn bastard had chosen to press charges, so we were booked and taken into custody.
That sucked.
Eventually, though, I had gotten out of the worst of the charges by agreeing to do community service, and since my father was a friend of the judge, he promised to keep this under wraps.
As a favor to me, which I knew I was going to owe one day but didn’t care all that much about, the judge was also going to keep this information from my father, or so he said.
I hoped he was telling the truth, but as I cursed the sun streaming through my window and nearly threw the alarm clock through the glass, simply so it would shut up, I knew that wasn’t my main focus.
Whether the judge kept his end of the deal or not was now out of my control. Currently, I had other things to worry about, and that was to look sharp for the meeting I had today.
Thankfully, I had finished my presentation Saturday morning but I still needed to be presentable, and so, I mentally prepared myself before even opening my eyes.
When I finally decided to get up, I th
rew the covers off me and sat up. I groaned and massaged my temples before swinging my feet around to find my house shoes. With one broad stroke, I found them and chased after the missing one until they were both on my feet.
Once my feet were warm, I shuffled through the dirty laundry and possibly women’s lingerie that littered my bedroom floor, making a mental note to have the maid come back to clean.
I was too busy for household chores after all, and as a bachelor, I needed someone to take care of the necessary, but painfully revolving tasks.
I slunk past Garrett who was passed out on my couch and went into the kitchen where I could smell the automatically brewed coffee.
Garrett was snoring loudly, and it was annoying, so I threw something at him so that he would shut up. I knew it was only a temporary fix but between my level of stress and intense aggravation, Garrett should count himself lucky I didn’t smother him, especially before I’d had my coffee.
I poured a cup, not caring whether my friend woke up or not, and started breakfast.
After all, unlike Garrett, I had to go to work today, and what was worse, was I had to conduct one of the biggest meetings of my life relying on Visine and Red Bull.
This is going to be fun, I thought sarcastically as I blundered around my kitchen, looking for some pots and pans to make my breakfast. I was in the mood for something greasy, so it didn’t take me long to settle on a pork roll and egg sandwich.
I would have preferred to get it from the deli up the street, but I didn’t have the time or patience to worry about interacting with people before I was properly fed and fueled by coffee.
I did have an image to uphold, and even though I had yet to catch a glance at myself in the mirror, I was certain that image was severely lacking from my current appearance.
As I finished creating my sandwich, I heard Garrett groan at the commotion I was making, but since he didn’t wake up completely, I continued right along with my business.
After draining the coffee pot of the coffee and polishing off a large breakfast sandwich, which oozed delicious grease and grime, I returned to my room to take a shower.
By the time I had finished my shower, I felt much more presentable. I stepped out of the steam with a new perspective, now mentally charged to take on my day.
After trimming my perpetual five o’clock shadow and adorning an expensive splash of cologne, I walked out of the bathroom and into my closet where my dry-cleaning still hung in bags. I tore the plastic away, along with the paper across the hanger wishing for me to have a nice day, and pulled out one of my sharpest suits.
The azure suit jacket and complemented my eyes and the white-collar shirt always formed perfectly to me, showcasing all the work I was doing at the gym.
After all, if no one sees it, what’s the point of having it?
The loafers I chose to wear were shiny and more expensive than they should have been, considering you walk all over them. However, in business that was an old-world consideration whose roots are far too embedded into the culture not to take into account when planning the closing attire.
The belt, of course, matched the shoes and the shoes matched the socks. Everything was exactly as it should be.
By the time I exited my bedroom for the final time before going to the office, I couldn’t have been dressed sharper.
Everything was in the proper place, and I was prepared to take on the day.
When I returned to the living room, I found my friend had not moved at all, and I figured he might only be getting up when I returned.
While I had opted out of another night on the town, Garrett had decided that the hair of the dog was precisely what he needed to make up for the sins of the previous night.
Why he had chosen to return here, I didn’t know, but that was not uncommon.
For all I knew, my friend didn’t have anywhere to go. It wouldn’t be the first time he had lived large in place of paying rent, and while that was pure stupidity to me, as my best friend, my couch was always waiting for him.
I grabbed the keys to my Maserati and headed out to face the day, hoping to God this would be a step in the right direction for this meeting.
When I reached the office, I had put aside all my concerns and perfected the face of a winner.
Looking at me now, I was certain no one would know that I had a lot on my mind or that I was even thinking about the meeting.
“Good morning, Gladys!” I called, hooking one elbow up and sliding it across her desk, “How are you this morning, beautiful?”
“Good morning, Dex,” she giggled and blushed, “I’m well. How are you?”
“Never better,” I exclaimed, “What’d you do over the weekend?”
I had no interest in Gladys. She was a little older than me and attractive, but the only reason I flirted with her was because she enjoyed it. Neither one of us would ever cross that line, but after her dick of a husband ran out on her last year, she needed a little extra attention.
“The kids had games. There were school projects…you know, the usual,” she answered honestly, which was part of the reason I liked her. She wasn’t complaining. She was simply telling me the answer to the question that I asked. So often, especially in the marketing world, that is generally looked down upon. Therefore, I found her honesty refreshing.
“I don’t know how you do it and still remain as stunning as ever,” I told her.
“You’re too kind,” she replied.
“I’m honest,” I responded as I slid around the desk to greet a few of my other coworkers before dragging myself to my father’s office, hoping to God the judge had kept his word.
I knocked on the door sternly, my posture straightening inherently, trying to lessen the ever-growing list of things my father found to bitch at me for.
“Come in!” a stern voice boomed from behind the barrier.
I let out a deep breath, rolled my eyes and opened the door.
“Good morning,” I insisted, trying to keep things civil between my father and me.
“Dexter,” my father responded in acknowledgment of my presence, for which I assumed he thought I should be grateful.
The fact that I’m his son aside, the fortune I have made this man should have at least bought me a fucking nicety… I thought but knew that it wasn’t worth the effort to contemplate that any further. It would do no good.
“I have the meeting this afternoon with Mr. Wilson,” I informed him, though I was certain he was aware of my schedule, “Did you get a chance to read over my proposal?”
I heard my father snap a ruthless chuckle in my direction.
“I thought you of all people would be above fishing for compliments. Have I taught you nothing? No news is the best news of all.”
“Yes, Sir,” I answered immediately, wanting to replace the politeness of my words with a much cruder syntax. Although, I refrained, “The only reason that I bring it up, is that it is such a big client and I was hoping to—”
“What? Get my approval?” he jeered, “Do you want me to pat you on the back and buy you goddamn ice-cream, Dexter? I’m your boss, and if you don’t have the balls to know what’s worth the client’s time, you don’t deserve to work here,” he shook his head, “I could write the damn thing myself and if you don’t present it correctly, the failure to close the deal is no less devastating to your career.”
“I have no doubt that I deserve to be here and I certainly don’t want you to pat me on the back, considering you never did that while I was growing up but…”
My father rolled his eyes.
“Are you finished, Dexter? Have you said what you came here to say?”
I stopped short, aggravated at being cut off but not in the mood to show it.
“Yes, Sir,” I responded as another knock came from behind me on the already open door.
“Brent!” my father exclaimed, standing up and putting his hand out, across the desk as though I wasn’t even there. “Come in!”
Closing my gaping m
outh, I turned and coolly greeted Brent Lawson, my father’s partner and partial owner of the marketing firm.
My father, like myself, could talk to anyone and make them feel welcome. The man could charm a snake with his words, but when it came to his family, he was venomous.
“Hi, Mr. Lawson! How are you doing?” I asked after Brent shook my father’s hand, as he reached for mine.
“Great! How was your weekend?”
“It was…as eventful as always, you know…” I chuckled, hoping the leap in my heart rate wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.
“Same here,” Brent insisted, simpering slightly, making me wonder if he knew something that I didn’t.
Brent Lawson wasn’t a bad guy, but he did seem to be a bit of a kiss-ass, even for owning part of the company. When it came to the decision-making process, it was my father who held the lion’s share of the weight. While Lawson would always give his opinion, if my father wanted it another way, it was usually his partner that conceded.
Although, in all fairness, that was my father’s exemplarily employee, friend, and confidant. The more you did for him and the less you expected in return, the more secure your job in my father’s company, as well as what minuscule amount of respect Leo Myers decided to dole out.
“Did I interrupt anything, Leo?” Brent asked, looking back at my father.
“No, no! Not at all. Dexter was just leaving,” my father insisted, shooting me a sideways glance that spoke volumes to those who understood what he meant.
“Yes, I guess we were done,” I hissed, turning to Brent, “Have a nice day, Sir.”
“Thanks, you do the same,” he answered, and as he slapped my shoulder as I passed him, he asked, “Oh, hey, so, are you going to be going to the Christmas party this year? It’s at my house, you know.”
I grinned, but my father answered.
“Dexter, I really need to talk to Brent; would you mind?”
“Of course,” I expressed, this time earnestly, not having any idea what I was going to do about the party. After all, I had damn community service to deal with all because Garrett couldn’t control his anger.
