When I reopened my eyes, I could not escape the fact that my condition had deteriorated beyond any hope of concealment. Evidently, the throes of my most recent episode triggered an excitable round of repartee among the kids. Even my typically languorous students had seemingly disinterred themselves from their sarcophaguses to participate in a spirited debate on my unbalanced behavior. Had they demonstrated this sort of verve on a regular basis, I might’ve willingly passed out in front of them months ago. But I should’ve surmised that even the faintest sign of fallibility in a teacher served as a springboard for horseplay among the most inflexible minds.
For a few seconds I let them chatter at my expense. After all, I hadn’t assigned a task to keep their gazes fixated on anything other than my affliction. In times like this I wished that John Donne’s philosophical stanza in Meditation 17 hadn’t been so precise. Sometimes a man needed to be his own island, and at the moment I couldn’t imagine myself in a better place than a castaway. As it now stood, a sea of bemused faces bobbed around my desk. Some troublemakers already had their phones out in record-mode, apparently aiming to make my malady the Internet’s next viral hit.
Since there was no practical way to segue from what must have appeared as an epileptic fit into a literary discussion, I elected for a conventional strategy to regain control in the classroom. “Okay…everybody sit down now,” I commanded, although my voice was as brittle as Mrs. Fassal’s joints by now. Naturally, I had to repeat my directive twice before they sluggishly retreated to their desks. Perhaps I should’ve taken a few minutes to explain the source of my strife to them, but I decided to let them concoct their own theories. Not one of them thought to ask me about my problem directly, which enabled me to conclude that the rumors about my health already circulating around the school were far more entertaining than the truth.
Because I was too exhausted to conduct a cogent lesson at this point, I gave no assignment for the remainder of this class, on the condition that they didn’t disturb me. Since this particular mixture of students was accustomed to protracted periods of overtiredness, few complaints were registered. Only Melissa Hibbin’s ire leached over her pensive brow. She glared at me as if I had just committed a mortal sin, while methodically tapping her chipped, black-polished nails on the desktop.
Rather than attempt to assuage Melissa’s incessant angst, I permitted my mind to drift from the matter at hand. My wife’s image wasn’t far from capturing what little lucidity remained in my head. I wondered if Rachel had reconsidered her obstinate position since leaving the school. Maybe she just needed some time to sort through how she planned to soften the impact of her confession. If this was the case, then she might’ve sent me a text message. I used my desk as a barrier to prevent the students from watching me check my phone. I slipped the phone far enough out of my hip pocket to observe its blank screen. No messages. If I required any more evidence to verify my wife’s indifference toward my feelings, this was it.
Too much energy had already been sapped from my body from harboring thoughts of reconciliation with my wife. I was like a sad clown gazing into a circus mirror, hoping that my frown would’ve comically distorted into a grin. It had become a burden trying to fool myself into believing that Rachel still viewed me as a viable candidate for her amorosity. My wife simply didn’t love me anymore, and there wasn’t any apothecary alive who had a potion or pill to counteract the ailment of lost affection. I could’ve brooded another year behind my desk and still never fully understood or accepted how I failed to secure the devotion of the only woman I ever really loved.
The period ended with no further fanfare from any of my students. It was always remarkable to watch how animated the kids became at the conclusion of a class. They scurried out of my room as if flames licked at their heels. After I was alone again, I considered calling my wife. I even went as far as tugging the phone from my pocket and cradling it next to my ear. But what more did I really need to say to her? I didn’t presume that she’d confess to adultery in a telephone conversation. Fortunately, distractions were never too far away at this high school, and the present one temporarily removed a possibility that I’d humiliate myself anymore egregiously.
My attention was snatched by another figure lingering at my classroom door as if he contemplated turning away before entering. Surprisingly, based on the pending consequences he still faced, Shawn Winger appeared astoundingly collected when he finally approached me. Besides a faint trace of perspiration staining the armpits of his shirt, I didn’t detect any blatant anxiousness in his mannerisms. At the same time, Shawn rarely greeted me between classes outside of lunch, so I assumed our earlier discussion held an influence on his behavior now.
In true Winger fashion, he swaggered up to my desk as if to display another accommodation from the principal’s office. His eyes, shimmering like chlorinated pool water, appeared assertive as they zeroed in upon me. The anguish I recognized earlier in his expression had miraculously (and perhaps prematurely) diminished. He stood before me now flaunting a milky smile that might’ve rivaled the talking heads on the Hollywood evening news. Before addressing me, Shawn stopped and focused his attention on the image I had displayed above the center of my whiteboard. He looked curiously at the reproduction of Rimmer’s depiction of Apollo before commenting on it. “That’s a nice line drawing of Icarus,” he guessed commandingly. I smirked openly, only because he rarely made a mistake in terms of his references to art or literature. When considering Shawn’s current plight, however, perhaps the waxed-winged boy from Greek myth was a more appropriate conjecture. I didn’t bother to correct him.
Shawn quickly found other visuals within my classroom to critique, namely me. His mouth nearly unhinged after observing the present state of my physical health. “Holy god, Corbin, you look like you’re getting sicker by the minute. Why the hell are you still here?”
“Trying to do my job,” I replied flippantly. “But I’m starting to think that I’ve wasted my time by coming in today.” As I spoke, I hoped that Shawn understood the implications of my words. I wanted him to sense my disappointment in his choice to act so glibly in the wake of what he revealed to me this morning. But this man’s ego wasn’t as penetrable as melting wax. Unlike Daedalus’ impetuous son, Shawn Winger glided through life without any evidence of forced ascension. It was imprudent for me to believe that he’d ever plummet into a sea of humbleness.
Although his lack of shame embarrassed me, I was presently too exhausted to remove myself from the situation. I still didn’t plan to evade the intent of his visitation, however, and he must’ve suspected as much. He cleared his throat a few times while checking to make sure that he had closed my classroom’s door upon entering.
“Are you busy right now?” he asked.
“I have a few minutes.”
“Good. Look, I just wanted to thank you for listening to me ramble on about my personal problems before. I shouldn’t have gotten you so involved, though.”
I wondered if this was a bid for modesty that I hoped to observe from Shawn, or just another effort to screen his wrongdoing. “I guess you’ve decided how you’re going to handle it, huh?” I offered, even-temperedly. Shawn paced back in front of my desk and crouched into the nearest seat to me. He now looked flustered by my contained emotion.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, “but I’m sensing a little friction between us right now. I hope what I told you isn’t going to damage our friendship.”
I found it amusing that Shawn suddenly attributed our acquaintance as anything beyond the realm of circumstance. Because my colleague harbored such sordid secrets, I contended that he wished to align himself with someone who didn’t pose as an immediate threat to his indiscretions. His choice to confide in me, while undoubtedly impulsive, was still his purest option for an unprejudiced voice.
“It wasn’t fair of me to drop all my troubles in your lap,” he insisted. I should’ve just worked it out by myself. I’m sorry.”
“As I told you before, there’s
no need to apologize,” I assured him. “But you’re now going to tell me that you’ve come to your senses, right?”
Shawn hesitated as he tried to shield his guilt from my inspection. Something off-putting in his expression served as a prelude to my disgust. I waited until he managed to confirm my suspicion. “I…I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I’ve got planned,” he stammered. “But I’m leaving Jill.”
I responded in a voice as cool as this morning’s rain. “I must’ve misheard you.” Had not my face already been whitened by disease, I would’ve cast a reflection onto this man as pallid as a new moon. I decided to inject a syringe of common sense into his muddled mind. “Do you realize that you’re not only abandoning your wife, but also your three-year-old son?”
“It’s not going to be like that, Corbin. My son isn’t going anywhere. I’m still his father.”
“You sound like a delusional idiot, Shawn,” I retorted.
“I know it doesn’t look good,” he continued, “but trust me…I’ve been wrestling with my thoughts all day. This is the hardest choice I’ve ever made in my life.”
“Then you’re not thinking clearly. There’s more at stake in this than your selfish feelings. Have you no understanding of the law? Just think about the embarrassment that you’re going to cause your family when the truth breaks.”
“Come on, Corbin, I don’t need a lecture from you. I’ve gone over the possible solutions a hundred times, but I can’t get Desiree out of my mind. I need to be there for her now.”
“And what about your wife and son? Aren’t they worth more to you than a fling with a seventeen-year-old temptress?”
“That’s not right to say,” Shawn returned. “Desiree’s a special girl. I love her.”
“Love has got nothing to do with it,” I countered. “You have a responsibility to make things right. I’m sure you’ve concluded that divorcing your wife isn’t going to spare you from the ramifications of a criminal act.”
Shawn’s cheeks became ruddy as he summoned the audacity to spout forth his defense. “I know it looks pretty bleak for me right now, but am I just supposed to pretend that Desiree isn’t important to me?”
“She’s just a kid, Shawn,” I reminded him.
“In your eyes that may be accurate, but I don’t see her that way.”
“Does she still call you ‘coach’ or ‘Mr. Winger’?”
“Please don’t be sarcastic now, Corbin. Look, I’m not proud of the fact that I fell in love with a girl on my basketball team. But I can’t describe to you how I feel whenever I see Desiree. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Whenever we’re apart, all I do is think about her.”
If I thought Shawn sounded pathetically inept beforehand, now it seemed as though he had bypassed the margins of ignorance and stumbled into blatant stupidity. The remorse that he might’ve displayed earlier had faded from his features. Only the bravado that defined him for most of existence flashed in his eyes in these moments. It incensed me to hear his rationalization on conduct that had no moralistic defense.
“I’ve played by the rules my whole life,” he went on, “and I have to tell you, Corbin, most things always came easy for me. Even around this school, people have gone out of their way to treat me like royalty. I wish I had a sob story to explain my actions, but all I got is the pressure of trying to stay on top. Unless you’ve been in my place, I don’t think you can understand what I’m saying.”
At least Shawn was correct in his estimation that I had no ability to comprehend his restlessness. Most teachers would’ve yearned for just a morsel of the recognition bestowed upon this charlatan. I couldn’t relate to his rebellion toward the system anymore than he could’ve adapted to my near invisibility. I had strove most of my adult life to achieve some level of appreciation for my efforts. Nothing had come to fruition for me, and this caused me to cringe in my chair as I listened to Shawn’s maudlin pitch for sympathy.
“For years, every morning I woke up, I got this nagging sense that I had to live up to the expectations of other people. It didn’t matter if I was at home or working. Folks had it in their minds that I never made any mistakes. A Winger boy doesn’t screw up. That was my father’s mantra. I guess I just couldn’t ever shake the echo of his words. Coming in second, no matter what the game, wasn’t good enough in my father’s eyes. That’s the curse he left me with. Until a few months ago, I was resigned to living the rest of my life as the ideal husband and teacher. But I’m so damn tired, Corbin. And it’s only since Desiree entered my tidy world that I realized how miserable and alone I really was before I knew her.”
“So you decided that this was the best way to end your misery?” Shawn’s eyes shifted away from mine, apparently in search of an avenue with less congestion to navigate his thoughts. “Shawn, if you were hoping for an antidote for your woes by sleeping with a teenager, I’m sure you can see the irony in it now. After you get caught, your agony is going to increase tenfold.”
Shawn’s gaze returned to mine, but this time there was a hint of mockery swirling in his ice-blue eyes. “Who said I’m going to get caught?” he whispered. I wanted to believe that he was kidding, of course. Perhaps his apprehension of the consequences caused him to resist the inevitability of this outcome.
“We already talked about how this is going to turn out,” I urged the narcissist.
“A pregnancy is too much for a girl her age to handle without support. She’ll need to confide in a friend sooner rather than later. Once that happens, it will mark the beginning of your end.”
“But what if she doesn’t tell anybody?”
“You’re starting to sound like a new teacher, Shawn—full of blind optimism.”
“I told you before,” he said, “Desiree isn’t like other girls her age. She doesn’t want to lose me, and she knows what’s at stake if she opens her mouth.”
It suddenly occurred to me that Shawn had managed to coax further promises from his young lover since our earlier conversation, and this whole situation wasn’t just about preserving her reputation more than it was his own. I suspected that his only recourse now was to manufacture a safeguard to justify his perversions. He resorted to standing up again and pacing back and forth across the classroom’s floor as if he was on the sidelines coaching a basketball game.
“Despite what you might think about me right now, Corbin, I’m not a pedophile. I don’t lust after young girls. What happened between Desiree and I was just a freak thing that turned out to be more meaningful than either of us could’ve ever thought possible.”
“Your interpretation of events doesn’t change anything,” I said. “The law is the law, and you crossed the line.”
“Give me a break. It can’t be so black and white all the time, can it?” he countered. “I’m guilty of falling in love with someone a tad shy of eighteen. Is that a punishable crime? Should I be locked in the stockade in front of the whole world and made to wear a red letter “P” on my jacket?”
“Falling in love with Desiree, if that’s what you choose to call it, wasn’t where you committed the crime, Shawn. But once you took that girl to bed, you sealed your own casket.”
“That’s what all the hypocrites will say, too,” Shawn fumed. I didn’t expect his discontent to turn on me so abruptly, but given the knowledge he empowered me with, I suddenly appeared no more tolerant than those who’d ultimately judge him for his indiscretions. He was resolute on convincing me to look at the situation from his vantage point. “There’s not a male teacher in this building who hasn’t had a sexual thought about some of these girls prancing around this school. You see the way they dress, Corbin. Girls like Desiree are physically mature women. I’m not saying that’s an excuse for what happened, but I don’t think my actions were so abnormal.”
“When I was a kid my mother used to tell me that I couldn’t just run into a candy store and grab a handful of sweets without paying for them. I think the same rule applies here.”
; Shawn stopped cold in his stance and swung his eyes toward me like two icy battering rams. “You’re just going to sit there like a moralist, aren’t you?” he asked. “Do you really think I believe that you haven’t had a tawdry thought or two about the pretty girls coming in and out of your classroom? It’s not such a farfetched notion. But you don’t have to pretend around me, Corbin. I see things as they really are.”
I remained reticent, if only to permit Shawn to absorb the lasciviousness laced in his own words. But the longer I remained silent, the more I debated my colleague’s suggestion. Was a mere taboo daydream involving an under-aged student tantamount to the uncultivated deed? On one side of the argument I wondered what harm could’ve resulted from a subconscious thought? If left unspoken and untried, who was troubled by it? Yet on the other side, where a moral inscription was methodically chiseled in my brain with the finesse of a jackhammer, I wondered why the carnal idea existed at all. I therefore offered Shawn a practical rebuttal.
“You can’t blend fantasy and reality and expect to have a logical conclusion,” I affirmed. “That’s why so many dreams stay in the confines of our minds.”
“I know that. I just don’t want you to look at me like I’m some kind of a monster. I’m a normal guy with regular impulses.”
Perhaps Shawn wasn’t as commonplace in his ruminations as he wanted me to believe. After all, I still contended that the difference between a thought and action was as dissimilar from the sun and moon. They both occupied the same celestial realm, but the space and purpose between them produced the light and shadows of our lives. Of course, Shawn hadn’t achieved his status as a leader and motivator by conducting himself submissively. He also had developed a knack for anticipating my feelings by simply studying my face.
“I don’t blame you for not answering me,” he resumed. “Let’s face it, only a complete idiot would willingly admit to being turned on by a high school girl, right?”
“We both know you’re far from an idiot,” I returned, “but let’s look at it from another perspective. Now, presuming that you really love Desiree…”
“I do…more than anything,” he interjected.
“Fine. So going on that ideal, wouldn’t you want what is best for the woman you love?”
“Of course. Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do? I’m leaving my family to be with this girl. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“Yes. It tells me that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to save yourself from the shame and ridicule of getting arrested. You’ve already told me that Desiree will only keep quiet about your affair if you agree to leave your wife. Maybe I’m just confused about what it means to really love a woman—or a girl for that matter.”
“What do you want from me? Do you want to see me go to jail? Do you realize what those prisoners would do to me once word got around that I was messing with a high school girl?”
“The courts might go easier on you if you turn yourself in. Judges have been known to show some leniency toward those who they believe are truly repentant.”
“I can’t take that chance, Corbin. I’m not going down that way. Shawn Winger has never lost a battle in his life, and now isn’t a good time to start.”
Once again I remained reposed in my chair, offering no purposeful expression to advance my opinions. During these seconds Shawn appeared increasingly vulnerable to me. His good fortune suddenly seemed squandered on a bad investment. He looked as forlorn as a disenchanted broker after a Wall Street crash. Shawn may have been verbally defiant toward my counsel, but I believed that his surrender to common sense wasn’t far removed from his conscience. But he still sought to solidify one point more than any other as he stood in front of me now.
“No matter what happens from here on out,” he said dejectedly, “I’ll never go back to behaving like the man I was. I can’t see the benefit of fooling myself any longer.”
“What do you hope to become?”
A current of corruption filtered through his cool aqua eyes as he pondered my question. Shawn left little doubt that he was completely at ease with the transformation of his character. “I’m better than I was before,” he murmured. “I now plan to do things because they feel right for me, and not just because of any sense of obligation for someone else.”
“That’s a slippery and narrow line to tow,” I admonished him.
“Maybe, but I’m done wearing masks. As it is, you might be the only guy on the planet who knows that I’m not really the man who I seem to be. But am I any different from most people? I’d say there are two halves to every man, Corbin, and the weaker of those two lives in pretense. We’re all hiding our own wicked secrets, aren’t we?”
“I suppose.”
Shawn progressed back toward the center of my classroom and again focused his eyes on Rimmer’s drawing of a winged Apollo rising in front of a descending sun. “I think my father used to have a decal of that on an old T-shirt,” he mumbled. “I wanted a shirt just like it, and he promised that he’d get me one. You know, now that I think about it, the bastard never followed through.” As he spoke, his voice became increasingly diminutive. “I hated that damn shirt anyway.”
He shuffled a few additional feet without looking in my direction, but then turned sharply before his hand grasped the classroom door’s handle. Instead of looking directly at him, I concentrated on his shadow stretching out across the whiteboard like an awakening beast.
“Before I go,” he stated, “I just wanted to make sure that you don’t plan on going back on your promise. Do you understand me, Corbin?”
My response didn’t come as spontaneously as Shawn would have preferred, which signaled that I might’ve reconsidered my earlier vow of secrecy in regard to his behavior. “I think I promised you that I’d give you to the end of the weekend to sort through this mess,” I replied.
“It sounds like you’re reneging on me.”
“No, Shawn. Even though legally you’ve put me in a bad spot, I intend to give you the time we originally agreed to.”
“And then what? Monday morning is only a few days away. Do you plan to sabotage my life then?”
“I don’t have that power or desire to do such a thing.”
“Then you’ll keep my secret safe?”
“Let’s talk more about this on Monday,” I insisted. “I really want you to think hard about everything without any distractions. Can we just leave it at that?”
Shawn’s eyes narrowed, indicating that he was still naturally anxious about my cooperation. He then offered me these words: “I hate to be wrong about anyone, Corbin. And the one thing I learned from you over the past few years is that most people are predictable. Take your life for instance. You’re the type of fellow who always does exactly what’s expected of him.”
“Is that why you trusted me not to say anything?”
“In part.”
“Well, I hope I don’t disappoint you someday.”
Before exiting my room, Shawn flashed a bone-white smile that somehow registered as artificial as his motivations. I imagined an odor of arrogance wafting between his footsteps as he moved along the corridor. As unsettling as Shawn’s presence was, my thoughts didn’t dwell on him long after his departure. Instead, the source of my misery reverted to my wife. It seemed that I harbored my own resentful impulses in regard to Rachel. I might’ve tried to stave off this compulsion, but her betrayal of my trust now made it impossible for me to do so. A part of me contended that she deserved just a fraction of my torment.
In light of such revelations, how could I view myself as being any better than Shawn Winger? Was there a tinge of truth in his conceits? Did we all truly possess an aptitude to devise and implement heinous acts upon one another? While in Shawn’s company, I attempted to reject his theory on the hidden rancor festering within us, but I couldn’t deny my own proclivity toward vengeance any longer. Nothing was sacred to me anymore, and I might’ve sacrificed my own welfare to serve as the supplier of sorrow t
o those who’ve willingly wronged me.
I became instantaneously fearful of the dark persona pulsating beneath my flesh like a spasmodic nerve. Yet, I couldn’t resist its power to consume me. My body grew rigid again as I thrashed against my chair. Another tour through the shadowy regions of my subconscious mind was now upon me.
Chapter 44
1:09 P.M.
The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs Page 44
