An Absence of Principal

by Jimmy Patterson

  She grabbed him and kissed him and Doggett took advantage of the interlude for several moments before nudging her away.

  “I can’t do this right now. I have a few things I need to get done. Could you be a big help to me and print out the teacher reports? I need to focus today,” Doggett said. It was a bit more assertive than normal for him. Shanna had never been on the receiving end of a ‘no’ from Doggett. He was usually putty in her arms.

  Doggett’s redirecting of the conversation was an excuse just to get the young woman out of the office so he could refocus his energies on his personal well-being and on the work at hand, at least for the moment. He finally picked up the phone to call his wife. Her voice always comforted him; always made him feel human again, not quite so much the creep that he had recently become as he lied his way through his life with her.

  “Good morning, honey. Just wanted to call and tell you I love you,” Doggett squirmed. He wiped a trickling bead of sweat from his forehead. “How ‘bout let’s have us a big family dinner tonight and get to know each other again. Seems like work has gotten the best of me lately. I just wanna make it up to you.”

  Angela Doggett embraced the moment and made him feel like a good husband again. He promised her he’d be home by six and swore his undying love for her. Again.

  “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart. You’re the best,” Doggett said. He hung up the phone and realized again what a despicable jerk he was. Cheater. Internet gambling addict. Neglectful father. Selfish. Self-centered. He could normally sit and think of scores of words that ate into his self-respect when he sank this low. How far the mighty had fallen.

  Angela made him feel so worthy. Actually the feeling he had was more relief than anything now that he knew that she wasn’t wise to his cheating and his gambling yet. As quickly as the feeling of depression was there, it was gone again, replaced by a feeling of self-worth which was always provided by his understanding wife. He used that fleeting feeling to congratulate himself, and so he logged on to Jackadiamonds.com and placed a simple bet. One hand of Black Jack. Just one, he tried to convince himself. He had 18 showing and was on his fifth card.

  Dealer: Stay or play?

  Ben41: Play.

  Ten of hearts. You bust.

  Wha, wha, wha.

  The muted trumpet sound effect imitated a crying baby, and Ben was getting really tired of hearing it. It’s why he preferred BookemDano — no stupid loser music when you bust. And you will bust. Often. If Ben heard it again, it would be all he needed to send him over the edge. Two-thousand dollars lost in less than sixty seconds! He was now a good twelve-thousand in debt. What he had lost in online gambling could have easily paid for a semester at college for the twins and the cruise with Angela. He would never know how to tell her that her dream of a lifetime had been squandered away.

  The hole he was digging for himself and his family was growing deeper by the hour. He couldn’t turn away from it. He’d been giving his situation some thought in his insomniac hours late at night and soon realized there was only one way out of his mess. One unfortunate way.

  When the school bell rang to signal an end to Monday, Doggett stood in the hallway and waved goodbye to Timothy Turner, Margaret Camby and the couple of hundred other rug rats that would have, under any other circumstances, sometime in his pre-gambling Ben days, brightened his afternoon. In that other life, he would have lived up to the kind of person the kids thought he was. The way Doggett felt these days, though, all he wanted was to get as far away from the screaming munchkins as possible. If the school board found out what kind of man he really was becoming, they should show no mercy on his soul. Ben Doggett knew that.

  Doggett picked up the phone. It was a call he had hoped to not have to make. When he made it he promised himself that what he was about to do, what he had to do for the sake of his family, he would do only long enough to get himself out of debt and the family finances back on track. He would come clean about his problem and he would settle things with his wife and he would promise to turn away from the advances of his secretary every time, as soon as this little unfortunate kink in his life was ironed out.

  He hung up the phone and began to cry over the thought of what he had just arranged. Timothy Turner, an eight-year-old habitual forgetter, had left his homework and his English book in his desk and had decided to run back to school to fetch it before his mom got home from work. He walked by Mr. Doggett’s office in time to see him in his anguish.

  “You OK, Mr. Doggett?” Timothy asked as he stood at the principal’s door.

  Doggett looked up and brushed away the tears. He made something up and assured the kid he would be fine, even though he knew he wouldn’t be fine. He scooted Timothy down the hall and thanked him for his concern. He picked up the phone again, called Angela and told her he was sorry, something unexpected had come up and he would be late, but would still be home by seven. A teacher, he said, had called and was having some car trouble out on the interstate. As soon as he helped her he’d be home. It would be the first of many times he failed to follow through on a promise he made to her.

  The referee’s whistle cut through Ben Doggett’s searing headache when he blew it, and the screaming, the running and the jumping children just made the pain worse. If he was a drinker he would have understood the constant headaches he was having in the mornings, but these weren’t drink-induced pains. Doggett’s living-on-the-edge lifestyle and his other addictions were what brought on the morning agony. The stress had become insurmountable.

  Shanna walked up behind him and brushed against him accidentally on purpose. Doggett, busy serving as master of ceremonies and head referee at Stephen F. Austin Elementary’s 47th annual Field Day and Soda Bash, could not be bothered. Besides, he convinced himself as he blew the whistle again that he had sworn off Shanna’s advances. It was his first step back to respectability and to being a decent husband and father.

  Doggett knew he could give up his extramarital fling with little effort compared to the task he had ahead of giving up his gambling. That would be impossible, and he in fact had no idea how he was to even go about it.

  “Mr. Doggett, what’s goin’ on, man?” The voice came from behind him and it was instantly recognizable. Tony Nail had walked up behind him. Tony was Stephen F. Austin’s head custodian and a popular man on campus, mostly because of the fact that he never had to administer discipline to the students. Tony would likely win a popularity contest between the still much-admired Mr. Doggett due to his carefree ways and not having to send students to the woodshed.

  “Hey, Mr. D, saw you last night down in the rough part of town,” Tony announced loud enough for Shanna and a couple of nearby teachers to hear.

  “Where abouts?” Doggett asked, fearing the worst.

  “Odessa. Second Street. Bad neighborhood, Mr. D. Don’t mean to tell you your business, but, man, that’s a dangerous place.”

  Doggett brushed it off, trying to explain to Tony he was on his way to helping a teacher friend who had broken down on the west side and had stopped to ask for directions, even though an excuse like that didn’t seem likely given the fact that the only place Tony could have possibly seen him was in the parking lot of the 49-Dollar Inn waiting to meet up with Junior Walker.

  “Oh, dog, you telling me it’s a bad place, Tony. Don’t ever wanna go back there. Say, man, what were you doin’ over there if it’s such a bad part of town?”

  “Got my homeless ministry up and running on the west side. I’m over there a lot. Takes a little extra effort to spread God’s goodness in that part of town, but, man, it’s worth it, lemme tell you,” Tony said.

  Little Timothy Turner crossed the finish line dead last in the 50 yard dash, a full three lengths behind Margaret Camby and a kid with a sprained ankle from Mrs. Morgan’s class. In keeping with the supportive spirit of the school system in Midland, though, the cheers f
or little Timothy in last place were just as loud as they would have been had he broken the tape when he crossed the finish line. Timothy fell into Mr. Doggett, exhausted, and the principal helped him up and gave him his trademark fist bump.

  “Timbo, you tried your hardest, little buddy,” Doggett said to the boy. “I’m awfully proud of you.”

  “I’m just not into athletics, Mr. Doggett.”

  “Well, I thought you did great. I like the way you never quit. Says a lot about your spirit, Timbo. But if I know you, you have bigger things in your future. Doctor. Lawyer. Astronaut.”

  “Or maybe I’ll be a principal someday like you, Mr. Doggett,” Timothy said.

  “Maybe, Timothy. May be. You can do whatever you want, kiddo.”

  “Hey, Mr. Doggett, are you OK? You seemed kinda sad last night when I came back to school.”

  “Oh yeah, yeah, I’m good, Tim. Got some sad news on the phone about an old friend. But everything’s OK.”

  Doggett was telling lies as fast as he could make them up, another sure he was on a downward spiral. He could barely keep up with the deception his life had become. Shanna walked back up to Doggett as the children dispersed to go back to their classrooms. It was the last day of school. At least he could be thankful about that. Summer would give him a chance to work a little harder at getting himself and his family out of debt.

  “How about a little meeting in your office after school? Might be the last time we can be together for awhile?” Shanna asked, twirling her index finger on his lapel and looking into his eyes with desire.

  Oh, what’s once more? Doggett thought, knowing that he probably wouldn’t see her again until the new school year came, and well, who knows what might have happened by then?

  Doggett smiled and winked at her, his unmistakable sign for her to drop by after the final bell of the day.

  “Children, teachers, this is Principal Doggett, wishing each and every one of you a joyous and safe summer. Be good, have fun and we’ll see everyone in August, except for all you sixth graders who will be moving on to junior high. Congratulations to everyone for your high report card marks. For those of you who have chosen to attend summer school, Stephen F. Austin has been chosen as the host campus this year. If you need some extra assistance with your summer studies, I look forward to seeing you in a couple of weeks. Together, we’ll work through whatever is giving you trouble and we’ll do our best to make sure you are where you want to be when the fall rolls around. Have a good summer, everyone!”

  The bell rang on cue, and thirty seconds later Shanna was in Mr. Doggett’s office for her own little recess. Doggett decided that he would postpone any efforts at changing his life and correcting any transgressions for at least one more afternoon.

  Two hours later when his paperwork was done (not to mention his unscheduled play time with Shanna), Doggett walked tiredly into his home, ready to make good on a life that had gone terribly wrong. He was met at the front door by Angela.

  “What is this?” she asked, holding up a piece of paper that Doggett couldn’t identify since it was shaking in his wife’s trembling grasp.

  No kiss. No hug. No “I love you.” Just a demanding tone that would change the course of the entire evening.

  “What is what?” Doggett said defensively, his forehead beginning to perspire. Was it a gambling bill? A picture of him and Shanna in action? Or something that showed he was on the bad side of Odessa the night before, which would actually be quite easy to lie away.

  Doggett reached out and took the piece of paper from Angela before committing to just exactly what he had done.

  “Oh, this? This is nothing,” Doggett said, as he finally saw what Angela was holding.

  At least he could explain this one. It was just a good thing he put his gambling debts on another card he had tucked away at the office.

  But Angela wasn’t buying his phone bill explanation.

  “You call a cell phone bill three months overdue nothing? Ben, it’s our only form of communication. If we don’t pay it by noon tomorrow, you and I and the twins will be without cell service. How could this happen? I thought you had our bills under control?”

  He stammered around for a minute before he was able to come up with the right words.

  “I do. I think what happened was … you remember, I’ve told you that sometimes, occasionally, I’ll hit the pay button on the Internet, and I think it’s gone through, the payment I mean, but it apparently doesn’t? It happens to a lot of people, Angie. I’ve heard it’s one of the main reasons people get behind on their bills now.” He was making that one up, too, hoping she’d buy it.

  “Baby, you’ve got to be more careful. We need these phones. Especially with Tawny being so far along in her pregnancy and Britton needing rides after school.”

  CHAPTER 2

  As much as he was cherished by the staff and students at Stephen F. Austin, Principal Doggett would likely never be nominated for any father-of-the-year awards. He was just weeks from being a first-time grandfather, and his online addiction would further put him and his family in financial turmoil. He loved Tawny, but her getting pregnant while in high school was no way for a principal’s daughter to behave. He remembered having that thought repeatedly.

  Doggett’s envy of Nail’s most favored status with the children had always been a sore spot. The fact that Nail was a minister, even if he was just a street minister and didn’t even have a formal church, occasionally annoyed Doggett, even more on those occasions when he found himself more and more prone to being judgmental since his downward tumble had started. For some reason, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he found himself resenting Nail. He didn’t know if it was jealousy or envy, but he really didn’t give much thought to the reason why he disliked him as much as he did. He only knew he did. It was mostly a recent development. And that was odd, even to Doggett, because even he knew that Nail was a very difficult person to dislike.

  When Nail mentioned he’d seen Doggett in Odessa, it irritated the principal, and he didn’t appreciate being called out, even though it was, in Nail’s point of view, harmless. Nail had no real reason to believe Doggett would be in West Odessa for anything illegal. It was simply Doggett’s guilty conscience that built the feelings that now bordered on anger.

  Doggett, of course, didn’t really want Nail — especially Nail — to know that his little foray to Odessa’s seedier side was to pick up two kilos of cocaine. The principal had always heard and read in his professional journals and other publications that a person could turn a quick profit through the sale of drugs. He figured it would help him get out of debt and back on track before his family found out. And it would be something he could easily back out of when he had reached financial stability again.

  Two hours after the confrontation at the front door with Angela, Doggett told his wife again that he needed to run out, this time to Wal-Mart for a few personal items: shampoo, soap, toothpaste, hand lotion. He was running low on them all, he said, and he’d be right back.

  “Been using a lot of hand lotion since it’s so dry and hot this spring, and I know you’ve been too busy to run out to the store, so I’ll take care of it,” Doggett said, trying to cover himself.

  Angela gave her husband a quick hug but her doubt about his reason for leaving was obvious.

  “I love you, babe. I’ll be back inside forty-five minutes, I swear,” he told her.

  Doggett walked out the front door and before the lock even clicked Angela had walked into the shower and bathroom and noticed half full bottles of his favorite shampoo and hand lotion. He was far from running out of either.

  Doggett sped away in his new silver four-door Honda, a car he was finding increasingly difficult to warm up to, especially once he realized that Nail had one just like it. When he had gone car shopping a month earlier, he’d hoped for something in a red two-door, but
Angela thought it made him look too much like he was in the middle of a mid-life crisis. Instead, he was forced to drive a car that blended in with all the others on the road, something that annoyed him. There must be a thousand of these on the road tonight, he thought, when he drove it off the lot.

  Ten minutes after Doggett pulled out of his northwest Midland home, he slithered into the cheap hotel and used car lot district along Front Street in west central Midland. It was Midland’s equivalent of West Odessa; a sleazy part of town, and Doggett hated being there.

  He pulled behind the Royal Delite Hotel, a single-story, rodent-infested pimp palace. Doggett had told the man he’d be there in ten minutes. It was no surprise the man he was to meet up with was late.

  “Where is he?” Doggett worried to himself, becoming increasingly agitated the more the seconds ticked by. “This isn’t good. Not at all.”

  What kinda name is Cootie?, Doggett wondered to himself. At that moment, the man named Cootie suddenly materialized outside Doggett’s driver-side window. Doggett couldn’t look up and see his face, but he saw the raggedy Knicks jersey he had on and noticed the pistol tucked inside his belt.

  Doggett jumped out of his car and gave a good look to the low life who would soon be his temporary business partner. The two of them sized up each other for several seconds before moving past the small talk. Doggett had seen the man’s face somewhere before. He didn’t know from where, but he was definitely familiar.

  “What’s up, my friend?” the principal asked his new deliveryman. He thought maybe if he was chatty it might lessen the tension of the moment.

  “You got it, old man?” Cootie responded brusquely, sniffing, wiping at his nose and constantly looking from side to side to make sure no one was listening in on or watching their conversation.