A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room

by Dave St. John

  She bared her teeth at him. “Ha, ha. Let’s just drop it, all right? I’m fine.” Jesus, what was wrong with her? He didn’t deserve to be treated the way she was treating him. One more thing for her to feel guilty about—swell.

  They got to his classroom just as the bell rang. In two years, Solange had forgotten what it was like to live by the tyranny of the bell, the buzzer, the horn. She didn’t miss it. She got her case and they began the trek through the bustling hall back up to the third floor.

  “I don’t know how you do this everyday,” she said, following him up the stairs with her bags. “All this moving from classroom to classroom. It’s insane trying to teach like this.”

  He smiled. “You get used to it. You can get used to anything.” At his room, he turned, holding the door. “This is it, last class, looks like you’ll be back in your office tomorrow.”

  She brushed past, feeling the heat of him as she went. The class came in, a different group than she’d seen before, mostly juniors and seniors. The schedule said it was AP Lit. These, then, were the best students Elk River had. She looked them over from her seat in back.

  Paul was there, looking superior as always. So were Armando, Chelsea, Moses. They were excited about something, whispering back and forth, watching her. She could guess why.

  O’Connel perched on the edge of his desk, waiting for their attention. He cleared his throat and they soon quieted. “Merchant, scene three. You were to read it, I assume you did.” Chelsea’s hand went up as she flashed Solange an angry look.

  “We’ve heard she’s here to fire you, and that this might even be your last day. That’s not true, is it?” O’Connel seemed to think over his answer. “It’s true, but it’s not her fault. She’s just doing her job.”

  “But we don’t want you to go, why do you have to?”

  “It’ll be up to the board tomorrow night.”

  “But you’re a good teacher! She knows that, she must, she’s been here with you all week!” She turned to Solange. “Don’t you know he’s a good teacher?”

  Solange, face flushing, met Chelsea’s eye, but found her throat too tight to speak. Besides, what could she say? It was true, she did. She looked to O’Connel for help, expecting none.

  “It’s not up to her.”

  Chelsea kept her eyes on Solange. “Mr. O’Connel’s classes are the only ones I’ve got where there aren’t a couple of kids who take up all the teacher’s time. They’re the only classes where I learn anything! Doesn’t that matter to anybody? Doesn’t it?”

  “We should do something,” Armando said, “sign a petition, something.”

  “Oh, don’t get too radical, there,” Paul said, sneering.

  “Yeah,” Moses said, “We could have a rally or something. I saw a movie once about teachers where the kids did that.”

  O’Connel shook his head. “This isn’t a movie. You guys don’t need me. You’ll succeed no matter who’s up here. You don’t earn A’s because of me, you earn them because of you.”

  “So what can we do?” Chelsea said.

  O’Connel shrugged. “You can sign a petition if you like. It could be a learning experience, but it won’t make any difference. You guys are what, sixteen, seventeen?”

  “And eighteen,” Moses said.

  “Okay, some of you are adults, then. It’s time you learn the way the world works.”

  “So, what,” Chelsea said, looking betrayed, “you’re telling us to be cynical?”

  “No, no, no!” O’Connel nudged back his glasses delicately with a thumb, shaking his head. “What I’m saying is to open your eyes, see things for what they are. Then, if you want, roll up your sleeves and do something about it.”

  “But you did that,” Moses said, dark intelligent eyes sly. “Look what happened to you. Why would we want to?”

  O’Connel nodded, smiling. “Good question, Moses, why would you? I’ve got no answers for you, you’ll have to decide that one for yourself.” He pointed at him. “Understand. Learn. Breaking the rules to do what you think is right carries a price—I’m paying it now. And I’m getting off easy.”

  Chelsea frowned. “But if you’re doing what’s right, then why should you have to pay?”

  He smiled. “Just because you do what you think is right, doesn’t mean other people will see it that way, Chelse. The day will come when you’ll face it—you’ll see a situation that’s not right, and you’ll make a choice. But think long and hard before you decide. Rocking the boat doesn’t win any popularity contests.”

  O’Connel boosted his glasses, shrugged. “What’s to say? You guys are why I cross the river every day. And everyone of you is going to make it—I know it. I hope you do, because if you do, there is nobody on the face of the earth who can keep you from it. Nobody. Now, we’ve got a play to study.” They groaned.

  “That’s right, stop your moanin’ and groanin’. I want scene three from Shylock’s point of view in modern English. If I’m here Monday I’ll let you see what some actors do with it. Now get to it.”

  Moses smiled his clever smile. “But you may not even be here.”

  “That’s right.”

  Moses’ face fell. “Okay, I know.” He sighed long. “Like you always say, I’m doing it for myself— right?”

  O’Connel smiled. “That’s right. Hey, maybe you learned something from me after all.”

  Fighting off a growing distaste for herself and for what she had to do, Solange entered a note about the prayer. Hands trembling too badly to type, she balled them into fists, squeezing her eyes shut. How stupid it all was, how futile, as if she didn’t already have enough on him for the hearing. Yet Hugh wanted more.

  The fact was, whether or not she was the one to do it, O’Connel was going to lose his job. If she couldn’t help him, at least she could save Hugh. She could save herself. She could save what she’d lived for, worked for. And if she couldn’t sleep tonight, then she couldn’t. She was getting used to that.

  Dark clouds hanging low over the hills made it seem later than three. Rain caromed off the big windows with a sound like a thousand nails tapping, searching their way inside to warmth and light.

  Would it ever stop, would the world ever be dry and safe again? Period over at last, she gathered her things as O’Connel gazed vacantly out the window.

  “So...” he said, “In service tomorrow, board meeting tomorrow night, no school Friday. That’s it, then.” She watched him curiously. “You talk like it’s over.”

  He filled a box with things from his desk. “Isn’t it?”

  “Not until tomorrow night, it’s not.”

  “Ah, come on, I don’t kid myself. This didn’t start with you, it’s been going on for two years—I know how it’ll turn out.”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came. What doubt could there possibly be? He was right, there was none at all.

  He took up a box with battered teapot and books, and she followed with another down to his truck. They watched rain cross the flooded parking lot in curtains driven before the wind. Awed, she watched water pour off plugged gutters, a solid sheet.

  “My God,” he said, “I’ve never seen it come down this way. It’s melted the snow in the hills, too. The Siuslaw will run a wanton tonight.” At his room they found Chelsea waiting.

  “Mr. O’Connel,” she said, pointedly ignoring Solange, “I know it might be your last day, but could you help me just for a minute with my physics? Mrs. Olney said she had to go home. It’s just one problem.”

  “Sure, Chelse.” He looked at his watch, then at Solange. “I can get the rest of this. Go on home.”

  “Go ahead, help her, I’ll wait downstairs.” Solange took down another box of books. What was another few minutes? At last it was over. At last she could go back to her life. Still, the rain came hard, with no sign of let up, and for several minutes, she stood alone under the overhang mesmerized by the fury of it.

  His last day, his last class, and he stayed late to help. The worst of it
was she knew he wasn’t doing it to impress her. He did it because that’s the kind of teacher he was—the kind of man he was.

  O’Connel appeared, arms loaded. She opened the door, standing back as he set the boxes inside. “Well, that’s all of it.” Just then Celia came out, running for her car. Puzzled, she stopped, frowning at Solange. “You’re still here? Did you know Wolf Creek’s flooding over the road? You’d better hurry, or you won’t get to Eugene tonight.”

  • • •

  O’Connel squinted, rain pelting him in the face. He watched Solange run to her little car and saw theirs were the last in the lot.

  From the front of the school, he could see Wolf Creek at the base of the hill as it churned, ugly brown, over the bridge swallowing fifty feet of tarmac on either side.

  The water was too high. Much too high to cross. He went to tap on her window, the driven rain soaking him through the seams of his jacket.

  She cracked the window to look out at him, hair sodden from her short sprint through the wet. “What is it?” Her eyes were frightened. “I’ve got to go.”

  He yelled over the roar of the rain hitting the roof of her car. “I don’t think you should try it.”

  She looked at him as if he’d told her the sun was shining. “What do you mean, not try it? How else could I go?” He thought, rain running chill down his neck. “You could try going Florence to Newport, but I don’t know if you could get through. If it’s this high here, the odds are, things will be a mess down there too.”

  She considered. “How far is that?”

  He wiped rain from his eyes. “Four, five hours, maybe.”

  She looked forward out the glass, thinking, then turned back, mind made up. “I’ve got to try it.”

  He slapped the roof with the flat of his hand, sending water into his face. “Dammit, it’s too high! You’ll get out in the middle, and stall. Once your exhaust pipe’s under water you won’t have any power.”

  She frowned, not understanding. “No power?” She revved the engine. “I’ve got plenty, I’ll make it.”

  He made one last try. “Look, this isn’t a joke, that water could sweep you right off the bridge.”

  She nodded, not listening, said “I’ll see you,” and pulled away.

  He sprinted to his truck to follow. By the time he made the road, she was already headed into the coffee brown flood, sending up wings of white water in her wake, as if speed would take her through. Stomach knotted tight, he watched as she plowed her way to the center of the bridge. That was as far as she got. He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. The stupid, stupid bitch.

  He hit the water in second gear, opened his door, watching swiftly sweeping java rise to his floorboards as he steered to the right guard rail and set the brake. That was it—any deeper and his tailpipe would go under. He was still twenty feet from her, but it would have to do. Taking a tow belt from behind the seat, he stepped gingerly into muddy water. Gnawingly cold, it clawed its way to his knees, and instantly, his legs and feet ached.

  As he came around his open door, the fast moving current slid her car up against the guardrail where it stopped, water backed halfway up the door. Over roiling water he heard her muted scream from inside. The water was rising. It lapped at the guardrails now.

  How long did he have before it reached his tailpipe? Five minutes, ten? Numb hands fumbling, he wrapped the yellow tow belt once around the bumper, looping it over the tow hook. There wasn’t much time, now. The water undercut the eight by eight guardrail posts and the rail would go—her with it.

  Sliding aching feet forward through the current, he grimaced, careful to keep tension on the belt so it wouldn’t slip. What was he doing out here soaked in icy water to his thighs? It was her own stubbornness got her here. He could be warm in the cab of his truck, halfway home by now. And if she was swept down the creek so much better for him. Yet here he was making an ass of himself—again.

  Solange climbed out to sit in the driver’s window, arms braced on the roof. “What do I do now?” She sounded scared. He made it to the back of her car, looped the belt around her submerged bumper. Bracing a hand against the cold steel, he eased one cramping leg, feet dead as wood.

  “Get out here, come on, on the root come on, come on!” She watched the swirling water fearfully, wiping tangled hair out of her face. “But my car— “ He had no time for this. “Leave it out of gear, we’ll get it if we can. Let’s go.” She tossed him the bag with her laptop and scrambled out over the roof, sliding down the back window, soaked skirt climbing her thighs.

  He noticed that somehow she’d managed to stay in her heels and hot guilt flashed through him, leaving him thrumming, breathless. If his feet hadn’t hurt so badly he might have smiled at the absurdity of it. He drew her to him over the trunk by an ankle, keeping his eyes on her face, then turned his back. “Climb on.”

  “I can walk.” Just then he was nearly swept from his feet by a log skimming just under the surface. It grated painfully across his shin as he struggled to step over it. He swore elaborately. “Look, my feet are frozen, I’m not in the mood to argue. Get on or I’ll drag you off and toss you over my shoulder.” On the trunk lid she considered, rain dripping off the end of her nose. “Okay, turn around, then.” She clung to him piggy-back fashion and he began shuffling back. Gripping the sopping tow strap with his left hand, he supported her with his right under her knee, warm skin burning his hand.

  “Would you mind?” He looked back, incredulous, water swirling about his knees sucking at him. “What?”

  “Your hand.”

  “My hand what?”

  “Move it, is what.”

  He strained his neck to look back at her, not believing. “Pardon the hell out of me.” As soon as he took it away he felt her begin to slip. She tightened her hold around his neck, and he had to pull at her wrists to get air.

  “Jesus, cut it out, will you?”

  She shinnied up his back, thighs clamping down. “I’m slipping, I can’t help it.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, slipping his hand again into the satiny crease behind her knee. “I promise I won’t enjoy it.” His Toyota greeted them with ominous silence.

  Stalled.

  He set her inside on the drivers seat and she scrambled to the other seat, bare legs flashing. Climbing in after her, he groaned, dragging numb feet after him. Water lapping at the floorboards, he turned the key.

  The engine caught, and he let out the clutch slowly, taking up the slack in the belt. Slipping into low range, he tried to back out and tires spun, churning muddy water.

  “Uh, uh,” he said, easing forward to slacken the strap. “Your car’s wedged, can’t get it.” He unhooked them, let the strap go, watched as it was swept away on the current, then backed them out. On dry pavement, water still sloshing around their feet, he stopped, letting bilge drain onto the road.

  Numb, tired, he cranked the heater on high, and waited for it to bring the feeling back to his legs. They peered out fogged windows as a splintered maple bobbed down the creek, rolled over the upstream rail, limbs flailing, finally coming to rest against her car.

  “Oh.” She moaned. “My car— “ Acting as a dam, the tree backed the brown flood until it topped the roof. “Can’t we do anything?”

  What did he care about her car? His feet ached like they’d been beaten with hoses. “We did it. I feel like I’ve been worked over by the Greek secret police. I’m going home to warm up.”

  She hugged her legs to her, rocking on the seat, trembling. “Doesn’t this junker have a heater?”

  Jesus, she had guts. “This junker just kept your ass out of the Siuslaw.” He slid the temperature lever back and forth, but it stayed cold. “Sorry, thermostat’s gummed up again.” She shivered, hair slicked flat about her face. Her blouse clung to her, soaked through. She was a mess. A damned appealing one.

  Drying his face with a towel from the back, he tossed her the towel. She looked a defenseless sixteen sitting there soaked
through. Looks could lie.

  “What about me? How do I get home now that you left my car out there?” He’d had it with her whining. “I give up. Walk? Fly? Maybe you can order somebody to take you across, huh?”

  She glared at him. “You are a bastard, aren’t you. I don’t know why you came out to get me.”

  That was an easy one. “I’d do the same for any stray cat—or bitch.”

  Looking mad enough to spit, she reached for the door handle.

  He leaned across to belt her in, guarding the buckle with his hand.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” She flashed a dangerous glance, balling her fists, teeth bared.

  He was afraid she might claw, bite. “I want out,” she said, voice rising. “Take your hand off that!”

  He was calm now. “You know anybody out here?” Her breathing came fast, breasts rising, falling. Every third breath a small tremor shook her, chattering her teeth. She looked like a cornered kitten. He was bitten once by a kitten.

  “In Elk River? Only Myrtle,” she said, voice trembling as she pointed across the creek. “She lives over there.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Making a decision, he gunned the Landcruiser, heading for home.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “The only place I can think of —home.”

  Her eyes flashed dangerously at the word. “Oh, no.” She shook her head no.

  Hearing panic in her voice, he looked over at her. “Don’t make it sound so lascivious. Hot shower, fire, soup, blanket—that’s the deal. Or I can dump you right here.”

  She looked out the window at trees flashing past. “I have credit cards,” she said, voice breathy, weak. “Is there a motel?”

  “Not on my way, and I’m not taking a three hour detour to Florence. Look at the road, at the sky, it’s still coming down. There could be ten mud slides blocking the road between here and the coast already.”

  She hugged her legs to her chest, head on her knees. Wave after wave of tremors washed over her, leaving her gasping. Moaning softly; she rocked, eyes shut.

  Suddenly tired, he wanted to make peace. “Look, I’m tired, I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I’m not any more thrilled with this than you are. I just want to go home. Don’t waste your time being afraid of me.”