Yes, uh, huh. He forgot his scissors so he couldn’t cut out the pictures for his research report.”
“They will ‘understand human diversity and communicate in a second language, applying appropriate cultural norms.’ Hey, wait a minute, I thought normal was a dirty word.”
“Ah, now, a second language is good,” Myrtle said. “Maybe we should make it English.” Sid went on. “They will— ‘interpret human experience through literature and the fine and performing arts, apply science and math concepts and processes, showing an understanding of how they affect our world— ‘“ Myrtle slammed her knitting on the table, shutting her eyes.
“God in heaven, who writes this gobbledygook?”
“You’ll notice they didn’t say they would be able to multiply or divide without a calculator,” Karl said.
“Or write,” Aurora said. “Or spell. Or do anything that can be objectively graded. It’s failure proof, and they can stay in school and try and pass the tests until they’re twenty-one.”
“Okay, here’s the last one. They will ‘understand positive health habits and behaviors that establish and maintain healthy interpersonal relationships.’”
“Beautiful!” Karl said. “I knew they’d have to get condoms in there somewhere!” Sid tossed the brochure away and it fluttered to the floor. “Do the people who write this stuff believe they’ve really done something?” Solange put away her lunch. “They say it’ll improve self-esteem.”
“Hey, hey! Make a note of that, Helvey!” Sid tossed away his apple core, disgusted. “Let’s hear it for self-esteem! Maybe while we’re massaging their egos, a few of them will accidentally learn something.”
“Kids are number one!” said Karl.
“So, what?” Myrtle asked. “Is that it? The future of education? Not requiring anything that can be tested? Being satisfied with a sixteen-year-old who can’t add, can’t spell, can’t write, can’t read, as long as he thinks he’s the cat’s meow and knows diversity when he sees it? Well, I think it stinks!”
“And something else that stinks,” Solange said without thinking, her voice scaring her.
Sid raised his eyebrows. “Okay, Ms. Assistant Superintendent, what stinks?” They were all watching her, and suddenly she wished she had kept quiet. “The district has a strict policy on alcohol and drugs, too, right?”
“That’s right,” Myrtle said.
“Yeah, they did,” Solange said, “and I...I didn’t think it was right.”
“Well, you know what?” O’Connel said, voice low. “Neither did we.” Myrtle reached over to pat her hand, and for a long moment no one spoke. Solange felt a lump grow in her throat. For two years, she had spent lunches alone. This welcoming was much more than she expected. It was like coming in before a fire after too long in the cold. She noticed O’Connel was almost smiling.
The intercom crackled. “Dai, you there?” It was Celia.
“I’m here.”
“Mrs. Lovejoy has Mrs. Noble in her office. She’d like to meet with you now.” He looked down at what was left of his tuna sandwich and sighed.
Solange studied his face as she groped her mind for a reason why this particular board member should be requesting a meeting with him now.
He pushed away from the table. “Okay, Cel, I’ll be up.”
“And Mr. Parnel says he’ll be ready for elementary teachers to pick up their classes at the cafeteria in five minutes.”
“Oh, crumbs, we’re coming!” Myrtle frowned. “God bless rainy day schedules! Don’t you let the old bag buffalo you, Dai.” Crushing his foil-wrapped sandwich into a ball, he sank it in the trash can across the room and lay a hand on her shoulder as he passed.
“I’ll do my best, Myrtle.” He stopped at the door. “Coming, Ms. Gonsalvas? You don’t want to miss this.” She hurried to follow.
He was right—she didn’t.
Not a word.
• • •
It seemed she was always chasing him.
On the way to the office, he went out the front door into the rain, motioning her after him. What, was he crazy? The branches of the oaks soughed overhead, the wind holding strong. Raindrops stung her face.
“What are we doing out here?” Pausing on the steps, he pointed up at the front of the school where four-foot letters hung from the second floor windows advertising the Fall Carnival. Leather jacket dripping, he smiled, eyes filled with mischief Such eyes... No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her distance. She had no idea what he meant, and she was getting cold.
“What? What is it?” He rushed past her and up the stairs. “Come on.” She followed, struggling to keep up, feet paining her. Why hadn’t she worn her walking shoes? She stopped at the foot of the staircase, confused. “The office is that way.” Taking the stairs three at a time, he called back. “In a minute.” And she sat on the bottom stair rubbing her feet until he came down carrying one of the gold letters.
In the office, he left it behind Celia’s desk, answering her puzzled frown with a finger to his lips and devilish smile.
Mrs. Lovejoy, Elk River’s curriculum coordinator, hair piled in a beehive, scowled disproval. Seeing Solange, she puffed up like a rouged toad.
“Mr. O’Connel,” Lovejoy began in her most reasonable voice, “Mrs. Noble is concerned that her son, Dusty, received an F on his first quarter grade report. She says she wasn’t informed that Dusty was not turning his work in, and she has asked me how he can bring up his grade.” O’Connel held up his hand. “If I called every parent whose kid missed an assignment, I wouldn’t be doing a hell of a lot else.”
“Mr. O’Connel, as a professional…” She looked at Solange as she pronounced the word, as if to say she used the word with reservations. “…it’s your responsibility to keep parents informed how their children are progressing.” She spoke as if he were a child, making it plain what she thought of him. The woman was trying to impress her, Solange realized with distaste. How could she not know how little she thought of her? Lovejoy reminded her of an old hen she’d seen her mother scald and pluck on the roof of their apartment house. She decided it was her nose, blue-veined and sharp like a hen’s protruding breastbone.
“Hey!” he waved his finger in the air, as if experiencing a great explosion of insight. “I’ll bet that’s why we have report cards, isn’t it.
Now, of course, we have mid-term reports, and we’ve got a whole lot of kids carrying around weekly reports.” He shrugged. “It hasn’t made a whole hell of a lot of difference, has it? Maybe what we need is reports on the hour, huh?” He leaned back in his chair. “These children are three or four years from adulthood, and we can’t expect them to turn in a homework paper without Mama nagging them to do it? We’ve got a mother here that comes by every single day to check to see if her angel, a fifteen year old, has turned in his homework and gotten his work for that night. She may even do it for him, for all I know. Now she’s a concerned parent all right, but she’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“We’re here to talk about Dusty, not some other student,” Lovejoy said.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Please forgive me. If I might ask, Mrs. Noble, what grade would you like for Dusty?” Mrs. Lovejoy spoke up again. “I don’t think the grade is as important as the fact that Dusty makes up his work.” He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, then after he makes up the work, you’ll be satisfied with an F, is that right?”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Noble. “Dusty’s perfectly capable of earning an A.”
“I thought so. Well, in that case, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I don’t allow my students to make up work they just didn’t bother to do, but because Dusty’s such a fine young man, and because his mother’s a school board member—” Mrs. Noble clutched her purse in red-nailed hands. “This has nothing to do with me being a board member! I’m here as a parent.” Mrs. Lovejoy’s face had turned a bellicose red. “Mr. O’Connel, I don’t think being flippant and disrespectful is to your advantage,
considering your present situation, do you?”
“Of course not!” He leaned forward and gave Mrs. Noble a sly wink. “Especially not in my present situation. So what I’m going to do is to give you exactly what you want, but not because you’re a board member. Do I have that right, now?” He stood. “Also not because Dusty’s earned it, because he hasn’t.” He went out and came back with the four foot tall, gold foil-covered letter A.
“Ta daaa! It is with great pleasure, that I present you with an A for your son.” Mrs. Noble sat open-mouthed as he leaned the letter against the vice principal’s desk.
Lovejoy held her mouth as if she smelled something long dead.
He dusted off his hands. “Now that that’s taken care of…” He sat on Mrs. Lovejoy’s desk, leaning close to Mrs. Noble. “I was wondering if you’re going to spend the rest of your life cleaning up your little boy’s messes.”
Mrs. Lovejoy, trembling with rage, rose to her full bantam height. “You will apologize to Mrs. Noble this instant!”
Solange cringed, wondering if she had used this method to intimidate her students.
He ignored her. “You know, little Dusty’s in for a shock when he gets out in the big world where Mama can’t make everything all better.”
Mrs. Noble gathered her things. “I’ll be seeing you at this Thursday’s hearing, Mr. O’Connel!”
The bell rang. Solange gave silent thanks.
“Love to chat some more, ladies, but those rascals upstairs are thirsting for knowledge, and I dare not tarry.” He waved, flashing a bright smile. “Bye, now.”
Solange followed on his heels, face burning. Those women, the situation—all of it—made her ashamed. She was here to defend this? To get rid of the only man with enough guts to rock the boat? Was this why she did what she did? to protect board members who blackmailed teachers for their lazy kids? Celia looked at him as they passed, shrugging, hands wide in puzzlement, although before Solange she dared say nothing.
“God,” O’Connel said, “I’ve always wanted to do that!” Out in the hall, they merged into the lunch hour crush. Struggling to keep up, Solange stopped to adjust a heel and was straight-armed in the solar plexus by a football player chasing a squealing girl in a short skirt. She lost her briefcase and went down hard on her back.
O’Connel caught the kid by the neck of his jersey as he passed and jerked him to a halt, tearing the shirt halfway down his back.
The big kid, head shaved, turned ready to swing, saw who had him and shot off his mouth instead. “What the hell you think you’re doing?”
O’Connel put him against the wall. “Stay there, Wagner.”
She felt cold air on her thighs. Dress awry, she tried to cover herself— but couldn’t. Kids stared down at her, smiling, laughing, concerned.
O’Connel dropped his jacket over her legs and the warm satin on the inside of the heavy leather comforted her. Kneeling among the moving tennis shoes and boots, he cradled her head in his hands.
She had to get up, but couldn’t breathe.
“You hurt?” Panic ballooned inside her. She flailed, pushing him away. She had to get air! He held her, fending her off.
“It’s all right. Give it a minute. You hit the floor pretty hard. Don’t fight it, your breath will come, it’ll come.” His voice, a fluid whisper, calmed her.
Moaning with embarrassment, she lay in his arms gulping air. Jesus, she must look like a carp.
He nodded, eyes reassuring. “It’s okay, relax, now.”
Damn. Her father’s eyes.
Little by little her breath came back.
“That’s right,” he said, shielding her from the thinning crowd with his shoulders and elbows. A boy sprinting to class caromed off O’Connel’s arm and went down.
O’Connel looked up. “You okay, Moses?” He was, and set off again at a run.
O’Connel smiled down at her. “Better now?” She looked up at him through tangled hair. A rock, he shielded her. When he might have stood off to the side in embarrassment, he stayed.
Why? She wanted—she needed—to know. Why? She tried to think of any man she knew whom she might rather have holding her, and—how sad— could think of none. Her father twenty years under the black earth of the rain forest, brothers scattered—lovers—now that was a joke. There’d been no time, and no one worth what time she had, not for a long long, time. No, there was no one else.
But for the boy waiting, sullen, against the wall, the hall was empty. She could see his feet pacing in place, eager to go.
O’Connel told him to wait in the office.
“I got class!”
O’Connel turned to look at him, voice deadly calm. “What you got, is deep trouble. Now, go.” The kid went, hissing through his teeth.
O’Connel brushed hair gently out of her face. “Got to watch yourself around here. It’s not the district office.
Ready to get up?”
Not sure of her voice, she nodded.
O’Connel slipped his arms to the elbows under hers, gently drawing her to her feet. She turned her head away, feeling the heat of him near her. How good to be standing. At least it was over.
It was then she began to feel odd.
Finding herself on the floor again, she felt a delicious warmth spread over her thighs, and realized to her horror that she had wet herself. Once more, he cradled her.
Not willing to look at him, she struggled to rise, a small whine coming from deep in her throat. This couldn’t be happening—not here, not now.
“Take it easy. It’s okay. That didn’t work so well. You pulled a fast one on me, I’m just glad I caught you. You better just sit up this time first, huh?”
She did as he said, bracing elbows on her knees. God! Why her? “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before,” she said. “I can’t believe this.” Face on fire, she clamped her jaw tight, tears of embarrassment welling into her eyes.
He sat, shoulder warm against hers. The hall, deserted now, a muted sound like the hum of a hive came through the walls from classrooms above and around them.
He looked down the hall at the stained green carpeting. “Okay, that’s the last straw! We’re just going to have to replace this rug.” She saw he was kidding and, despite her embarrassment, laughed, sending mucus running.
He handed her a tissue, and waited while she blew. Mrs. Noble left the office, pausing to frown in their direction, before continuing out the door. They laughed again at her scowl, and Solange felt another surge of embarrassment wash over her. God only knew how she must look there on the floor.
“I’ll tell you a story while you rest a minute,” he said. “When I was in college, I ran, long distance, mostly. One meet, halfway through a ten K, I got cramps like—” He shook his head. “I thought I was going to split wide open. I could either quit and run to the toilet, or I could finish the race.” He stood. “You ready to get up? Here we go.” For the second time he helped her to her feet, and this time it was going to be okay. She looked down to see a dark stain on slacks and was thankful for the empty hall.
She had to know. “Well?”
He smiled his crooked smile. “I ran. People laughed and pointed as I went by. When I crossed the line, I just kept on running right into the showers. They never let me forget that one. So, hey, don’t let it bother you. It happens. Life goes on, you know?”
Did it? She looked at her watch. “You have to teach now, don’t you? You’ll be late.”
“Lott will cover for me, it’s no big thing.”
He walked with her to her car. “You be here tomorrow?”
She nodded, slacks clammy against the cold leather seat. “I’ll be here. I’ll take your deal, by the way.” She started the engine, and he tossed the door shut with just the right amount of force, so that it shut tight, but didn’t slam. Few people got it just right. She smiled at her foolishness. It was insane thinking like this. She opened her window.
“Okay, first period starts at 7:30. You be late and I’ll be
on the horn to Doc asking where you are.” He smiled, turning away.
She felt her throat tighten up, but kept her voice steady. “Mr. O’Connel…”
He stopped, not turning.
There was too much to say, and too much she couldn’t.
“Thanks.”
He waved it away as he went up the steps and inside.
• • •
It was all such a mess.
In the shower, her head against the tile, she let the scalding spray pepper her as the events of the day wormed their way into her mind.
Even here, the memory made her cringe. What did it matter if he thought she was a hag? She was there to terminate him—and she would.
As superintendent, she could stop the hypocrisy she saw today.
In the top job she could reach not just a classroom of kids, but a whole district of them. She could help make their teachers more effective, more compassionate. She could see to it all Silver Mountain’s teachers held themselves and their students to high standards.
The way he did.
Oh, Christ—
She felt like a worm on a hook—the more she squirmed, the deeper in her flesh it set. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it, sliding down the tile to sit, arms on knees, under the pelting spray.
With a drop out rate pushing twenty-five percent, and the lowest test scores in the district, Elk River was no one’s first pick of assignment. Rookies were sent here to sink or swim. Those that survived moved on as teachers at the larger schools retired. A few spent their careers there—she could think of four— Helvey, Calandra, Lott, and of course, O’Connel. They’d been there long enough to remember when things were better. Compassionate, caring teachers, they were stuck. Too high on the pay scale to start over at another district, branded as troublemakers for their outspoken manner, they stayed on, doing what they could with what they had.
Most of Elk River’s parents worked at the mill. Children of Oakies fleeing the dust bowl, few thought much of school. Dropouts themselves, they did fine. If they didn’t need school, why should their kids? Even parents who cared about their kids’ grades had a hard time getting them to. What, after all, does school have to offer a kid who can pull down $12.85 on the plywood line the day he turns eighteen, diploma or no? But Elk River was changing. Vineyards followed in the wake of raw clear cuts, snaking the contours of the hills, gaining on retreating timberland more each year. And vineyards brought laborers to Elk River. Labor planted, tied, staked, trellised, pruned, sprayed and harvested. Labor made wine, and just about all of it was Mexican.
A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room Page 5
