by Dave Cravens
Parker watched Heller like a hawk as she entered the room, wearing a proud smirk as an accessory to her stiff navy-blue pantsuit. Heller’s eyes locked with Parker’s. Unlike Joe’s instance, there was no mistaking the contact.
“I’ll begin with an announcement from Heller,” Holly continued. “We should all be aware that as a result of the ‘Riley Incident’ on the playground last week the act of throwing dodgeballs will no longer be allowed during the game of dodgeball.” Holly’s declaration garnered a few polite claps. “Yes, I know, it’s about time. I’m relieved Heller has taken such decisive and brave action to reduce the risk of concussions to our children.”
Parker resisted the urge to slap her forehead. Did Heller deliberately start the meeting with such a dumbass announcement to throw me off? Parker felt obligated to test the waters and shot her hand high up into the air. “Ummmmm—question!”
“Oh yes, of course!” a delighted Holly replied. “Everyone, this is Parker Monroe, one of our newest PTA members! She will be presenting to us shortly. What is your question?”
Parker tried to choose her words carefully. “How are kids supposed to play dodgeball if they can’t throw the ball?”
Holly blinked, perhaps to stave off a twitch. “Oh, well, children are quite creative. I’m sure they’ll find a way to make it fun.”
“Of course,” answered Parker. She was about to sit down when a nasty itch of common sense overcame her. Parker stood back up. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to spend any more time on this then we have to, but I just want to offer the simple observation that someone throwing a ball is a key component to someone being able to dodge that same ball. I mean, that’s just physics. Am I making sense?”
Holly licked her lips. “Ms. Monroe, I really don’t profess to be an expert in the game of dodgeball. I didn’t create the rules. I’m only explaining for what the rules allow for now. As PTA President, it is my duty to ensure I spread the word appropriately to parents and help keep our children safe.”
Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. Just – stop. Stop talking, Parker. Don’t engage this any further. Save it. “I’m sorry, Holly, you’re right. Neither of us are dodgeball experts.” Nice. Let this die. “Luckily, we do have an expert among us tonight who could fill us in on the finer points of the game.” Fuck, what are you doing? Parker pointed to GI Joe. “Joe, you’re the physical education teacher. Educate us. How is dodgeball supposed to work without being able to throw balls?”
Joe sat in the middle of the room. His face blushed a hot red as all eyes turned on him.
Heller put her hands on her hips and stepped forward from the back, so Joe was sure to notice her. “Yes, Joe, please enlighten us.” Her tone somehow proved threatening and encouraging at the same time.
Joe sucked air in through his nostrils and exhaled. “If I must,” he said as he stood up. “In a normal game of dodgeball, there are two opposing teams divided by an imaginary line that throw balls at one another. If a player is hit by the opposing team’s ball, they are out. If a player catches the other team’s ball, the thrower is out. Both teams play until all the opposing players are eliminated. So, yes, without the act of throwing, the game of dodgeball doesn’t really work. Though, I suppose there might be a version where students rolled the ball to each other – but that would be horribly – lame.”
With wide eyes, Parker delicately placed her right and over her heart to feign shock. “Wait. So, I’m right?”
Heller put her hands together as if praying. “Oh, you’re more than right, Ms. Monroe,” she eagerly agreed. “Thank you for helping me see the error of my decision.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed. “You’re—welcome?”
“The only real solution,” Heller continued. “Is to ban dodgeball altogether from the playground. Like we did with Tag and Kickball.”
Heller’s statement earned several groans and statements from the PTA audience.
“What? No, don’t take away dodgeball too!”
“She must! The children! The concussions!”
“Why does Parker hate children?”
“No, Parker clearly hates fun! And dodgeball!”
“Is Parker her first name or her last?”
Parker stared Heller down and offered a silent sarcastic clap in recognition. Well played, but the night isn’t over.
Holly’s eye twitch was on full display as she leaned closer to the microphone. “Okay, order! Order please! We still have lots of things to go through tonight! Please settle down!” The cacophony of complaints finally simmered. Holly took a deep breath to tame her one eye. “Thank you. Now, a few more announcements before we move on. The Back to School dance is next Friday night in this very room from 5pm to 7pm. The theme is ‘Safety Dance.’”
Yes! I love that 80’s song! Wait…
“We’ll need some volunteers to demonstrate proper boundaries and the dangers of invading one’s personal space on the dance floor. Any takers? Jill? Great. Any others?”
Yup. It’s not the cool Safety Dance. It’s literally a dance about safety.
“And let’s remember that twerking of any kind is prohibited.”
It was all Parker could do not to raise her hand and ask: “Do you need volunteers to demonstrate twerking?” Fortunately, Glory sprung to life and did it for her. “Because I’m happy to help!” He added enthusiastically.
“Um, no,” answered Holly, clearly disturbed by the question. “I think we’re good.”
Glory raised his hand again.
“Yes?”
“What about Popping? Locking? Krumping? Breaking? Turfing? Jerkin’? Or Tutting?”
Holly had to cover her twitching eye with her hand. Lost, she turned to Vice Principal Heller. “Um, do you have any information on those, Vice Principal Heller?”
Heller’s smile finally broke down into a scowl. “Use your better judgement, Mr. Wonder.”
Glory offered two thumbs up. “You bet!”
“Alright, then,” Holly spoke quickly, anxious to get off the podium. “If no one else has any other business to bring up, then I will yield the floor to Mrs. Parker who seeks permission to start another fundraiser.”
The statement prompted strong murmurs from the crowd as Holly dashed away.
“Another fundraiser?”
“It better not interfere with my fundraiser.”
“Why do we need another fundraiser?”
Glory clapped loudly as Parker made her way to the podium and adjusted the microphone. “Hi. Hello,” she greeted. “My name is actually Parker Monroe. And for the record, I don’t hate children.” She squinted to see in the far back and made contact with Baby Face. “Can we? Can you -- start my power point presentation?”
Baby Face clicked a button on the laptop, but only an empty square of blue appeared on the viewing screen next to Parker. Confused, Baby Face started pressing more buttons, trying to fix the connection.
Parker sighed. I’m going to have to wing it. “Okay, well, it looks like we’re having some technical difficulties back there. So, while that’s getting fixed, let me just dive in.” The microphone squeaked loudly suddenly from feedback. “Shit,” Parker readjusted the mic. “I mean, fuck. Sorry! This mic looks like something from the Price is Right.”
“Why do we need another fundraiser?” shouted a voice from the back.
“Is this going to take money away from our other fundraisers?” shouted another voice.
“What do you have against the Price is Right?”
Parker chuckled. “Alright! Great, wow, you’re engaged already. That’s good,” she said. “That means I’ve got your attention. And if you save your questions until the end, I promise I’ll explain everything. You see, the truth is, I don’t want to start another fundraiser.”
Parker’s statement immediately quieted the room. She felt that all eyes were suitably glued to her. Wait for it.
Finally, a hand shot up in the back. “Then why are you here?” asked a mother.
Parker s
miled. “I’m glad you asked.”
27.
Invoking the great Bob Barker…
Parker pulled the microphone off its stand and walked away from the podium to better engage her crowd. “I don’t want to start another fundraiser,” she repeated. “And I know neither do any of you. I get it. I might be new, but I get it. PTA already pays for everything. Right? You pay for the new computers in the science lab. You pay for all the balls on the playground, though it sounds like we won’t need as many after the whole dodgeball thing. You pay for the playground equipment. You pay for the art supplies in the classroom.” Parker made an effort to connect with every mother in that room – except for Julie whose jaw was agape as though she were sleeping. “You pay for those fifth graders who can’t afford to go to science camp in the spring, so no child is left out of the experience. You pay for field trips. You pay for special awards to acknowledge students. You pay for every new book that gets added to our library. You fund every special event that teaches our children to steer clear of drugs, make healthy eating choices, and build self-esteem. After the last school bell rings, you pay for the education that continues outside of the classroom and inspires us. You, the PTA pays for all of that and more.” Parker stopped her pacing. “Why?” Parker looked directly at Vice Principal Heller. “Why doesn’t the school pay for these things? Or the district? We pay our taxes. We get grants from state and federal programs. Where does all that money go?”
Heller’s nostrils flared.
Parker answered her own question before Heller could butt in. “Teachers. Oak Creek Elementary puts every cent it can toward paying its hard-working teachers. But, let’s be honest. Even with all that focus our teachers live on pathetic salaries. I credit our school for putting teachers first. They are the backbone of our kids’ education. But we all know it’s not enough. It’s never been enough to push our school’s education to the first class, award winning experience that Oak Creek Elementary prides itself on giving.
“You know this. Which is why you bust your asses volunteering. Which is why you work hard to raise the funds that you do. To provide your kids with the best. Because they deserve the best. I admire you for that.” Parker took a moment to study the crowd, noting several nods by the mothers before her. “All of you have given everything you’ve got to this school and yet somehow you still find ways to give more. Honestly, I don’t know how you all do it. I can barely get my kids to school on time. I don’t want to do another fundraiser. It’s too much. I cringe about the commitment I’m signing up for. But in the presence of such great women, who’ve given so much, I can’t in good conscience sit idly by and watch Oak Creek’s music program fade away simply because the money isn’t there. I don’t need to remind everyone how critical and life changing music education can be to a young mind. You’ve read the articles. You know the statistics -- that kids who learn to excel in music score better in math and science. You know that music provides a healthy emotional outlet. You know the benefits of good practice habits and the discipline it takes in learning to master an instrument or play a piece of music. I don’t want to do another fundraiser. I don’t want to have to save the music program. But I have no choice.”
The room remained quiet. Parker allowed herself a modest smile. I think I may have gotten through to them. Maybe. Parker looked over to where Vice Principal Heller stood -- only to find her missing. Parker scanned the room. Heller was nowhere to be found. Did Heller bail just as I was hitting my stride?
Parker cleared her throat and refocused on her audience. “I’ll do all the work,” she assured them. “None of you will have to lift a finger. All I’m asking for is your permission to move forward. That’s all. It won’t cost any of you any more time, money or blood sweat and tears. It’s just a matter of saying ‘yes.’ So, I’m asking you, please, will you allow me to start a fundraiser to—” A bright light flashed in Parker’s face as the video projector in the back of the room suddenly came alive. “Oh!” Parker threw up a hand to shield her eyes. “Wow! It looks as though we finally got my power point presentation going! Nice timing!”
The audience appeared confused by what they saw.
Curious, Parker turned to look at the projection screen behind her. But instead of the first slide of the presentation she had emailed to the PTA, she stared at a photograph of her silver Toyota Highlander.
“That’s my car,” stated a confused Parker. “What is my car doing--?” She paused. Her heart sank. She finally recognized where her car was parked. It was a photograph of her car in Heller’s driveway from the first day of school.
“Wait! That’s your car?” a mother shouted from the back of the room.
Oh, sweet mother of shit. Parker hung her head, realizing she’d just made a blatant confession in front of a roomful of mothers. This might be a game changer.
28.
“That’s your car!”
another mother blasted from somewhere in the room.
Parker looked up at the video screen that displayed the front page of Oak Creek’s social media page. The most recent post headlined: “Oak Creek’s Most Wanted! Be on the lookout for these traffic offenders and remind them that safety and courtesy come first!” Posted by Helcat1913. The post went on to showcase other horrible parking jobs by various parents. A BMW parked in the handicapped space near the front of the school. A picture of Dodge Ram parked in front of a fire hydrant. And so on, and so on.
“Did you park in the Vice Principal’s driveway?” asked another mother.
Fuck it. Face the music and change the conversation. “Yes,” answered Parker. “I did. I’m not proud of it.”
The room erupted into judgement and chaos.
“What kind of person does that?”
“Doesn’t she know Mr. Heller is a very ill man?”
“And she wants us to trust her?”
Parker raised her hands to quell the growing wave of descent. “If it makes you feel any better, my car was towed! I paid a ridiculous fine! Please, please don’t let this detract from what we’re trying to accomplish tonight!”
“Heller was right!”
“I’m not helping her!”
“She only thinks of herself!”
Then it happened.
Julie, who had remained dead quiet on Glory’s shoulder during the entire meeting, suddenly sprung out of her chair and turned to face the crowd. “All of you shut up! Shut up!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “I said shut the fuck up!”
The crowd simmered in silence, stunned as Julie held her throbbing head.
“I’ve got a monumental headache,” Julie yelled again. “And you horrid bitches aren’t helping!” Julie bent over and put her hands on her knees. For a moment it looked as though she might throw up. The mere threat of it kept everyone quietly on the edge of their seats. “Now, you’re all well within your right to judge this woman.” Julie pointed blindly in the general direction of Parker. “She is an asshole. And like all assholes, she shits everywhere and on everything. That’s what assholes do.”
Parker winced. Not sure if this is helping or hurting, but no one is currently yelling at me so I’m going to let it play out.
“What I’m saying is -- shit happens,” Julie clarified. “Especially where assholes are concerned. But don’t any of you pretend that your shit doesn’t stink. It does. I’ve known most of you phonies for a long time. Mary, in the back there, you cheat on your workouts in the gym. That’s right! Your push-ups are a joke. Blanche? We all know about your botched lip job. I mean, look at those things. Your mouth is a fucking flotation device. Jane? Your husband left you for a twinkie two months ago. Not your fault, but stop pretending, okay? We’ve all seen him and his boyfriend making out at the gay bar downtown. Carrie? Your oldest boy is cruel to animals, constantly plays with his dick in church and will likely grow up to be a serial killer. I’d consider sending him to military school.”
The horde of insulted mothers was about to erupt into righteous indignation, bu
t Julie’s next yell stopped it dead in its tracks. “Shut your god damn pie holes!” she screamed. “I could go on and on! Like about how Natalia over there likes the taste of her gardener’s filthy cock when her husband is away on business. Yup! Word gets around, Natalia! The fact is none of you ho-bags are perfect! All of you have made mistakes from time to time. Parker may have fucked up with the whole parking thing, but let’s be honest, Heller acts like a Nazi-bitch sometimes and she probably had it coming. And don’t even pretend that you like Heller, either, because I’ve heard you all complain about her. Now, Parker is trying to do something good, really good. I guess. Not just for her dumb ass kids, but for your dumb ass kids. She’ll do all the work. God knows I don’t want to help her. I’m busy. But for some god forsaken reason she’s volunteering to do it! She paid a hundred dollars just to show up and talk to you Stepford wives! So, shit, just let her do the fundraiser, alright? I mean -- damn! Enough, already! Now, are we gonna vote on this, or shall I go down the list about every shitty little secret I know about each of you?”
“Let’s vote!” Holly clapped her hands together enthusiastically.
“Smart choice, Holly!” said Julie, pointing to the PTA president. “Because you were next.”
Holly joined Parker on the stage. “I hereby motion to allow Ms. Monroe to do a fundraiser to save Oak Creek’s music program. All in favor say ‘aye’ and raise your hand!”
An assortment of hands with “aye’s” shot up in the audience, prompting Holly to count them one by one. “That’s eleven who are in favor,” she declared. “All who are opposed, say ‘nay’ and please raise your hand.” Another assortment of hands shot up, and Holly counted them in turn. She frowned. “That’s, um, also eleven who are opposed. Huh.”
Are you fucking kidding me? Parker couldn’t help but to wonder what the vote would have been had her photograph not suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Make that twelve who are opposed,” announced Vice Principal Heller as she re-entered the room. “I’m sorry, Ms. Monroe, I know I told you I would support this, but I’m convinced now more than ever that another fundraiser would detract too much money from our current ones. We simply won’t raise enough to continue with our established programs. I have no choice but to vote no.”
