Hello, Dear Readers. Time passes and Real Life intervenes. So long since we last saw this pair, I wondered, do we still care? Thanks to all those who answered with a resounding Yes! I obviously can't say it enough, but feedback is what inspires writers. Well, at least this writer. The juice, the muse, the literary caffeine. On your words, there will be more of mine.
Chapter 22: Falling from
"So, Mr. Dimitri, is this what you were doing last night?"
The words, Alexa's words, sliced through the chaos of mumbling and complaining and shifting of desks, books, pens, pencils as I handed out the pop quiz. The words that indicated that a process was already underway, steps had been taken, but I didn't know that then.
"What?" I responded, incredulously, wondering, what could she know, what could she mean?
Alexa glanced at the girls sitting on either side of her with what could only be described as a knowing smile, but she said, demurely, "Nothing."
Involuntarily, my eyes shifted to Grace, and our eyes met briefly, so briefly, then darted away, but in her eyes I saw the same questions that must have beamed from mine: What does she know? Is there something to know? I finished passing out the quiz and sat at my desk, ostensibly going over papers for my afternoon class, listening to the hurried scribbling of pens. But my mind raced, I was unable to concentrate. I remembered Alexa, questioning Grace about the book, about the planned trip to the movie. I thought of Grace, sitting beside me at the theatre, the lights and shadows of Rashomon flickering across her face, her hand tightening around my arm. Tuesday's child is full of grace. I willed myself not to look at her, and read mediocre essays.
While Alexa's words made me wary, I remained ignorant of the falling chain of dominoes they represented; it was just another Wednesday. There'd be no Gay-Straight Alliance meeting that night – we had opted to work on various planning tasks and meet again the following week. I'd be having dinner with my sister and her family, seeing my niece in her spring play.
Wednesday's child is full of woe. Already the phone call had been made, already the rumors were spreading, but I was oblivious that day, still feeling a warmth when I thought of Grace the night before, a stirring as I thought of her in my kitchen, sexy in her tight sweater and leather skirt, the soft feel of her hand in mine. I avoided the teacher's lounge that day, wanting to be alone with my thoughts of Grace. Otherwise, I would have heard the rumors that were circulating there as well.
I knew I had ventured into dangerous territory, but I still thought I was playing it safe. Avoiding the obvious, I know now. Keeping my mind shielded behind a stone wall of my own making, a wall that enabled me to hide and daydream; at lunch I walked, just walked through the streets around school; it was a cool, drizzly day, where everything looked impressionistic and blurry and hidden and like what it was not – bushes as crouching dogs, cars boulders, buildings looming suddenly. I felt safely enveloped and insulated from the world.
*****
Thursday's child has far to go. Thursday, the day named for Thor, God of Thunder. Thursday, the day that wall came crashing down, when reality broke through the illusions I had constructed around me.
No warning, I thought, but I had had a warning, heard that voice again, knowing and more certain than her voice had ever been in class, So, Mr. Dimitri.
Thursday dawned clear and bright, deceptively beautiful. I woke early, with the sunrise. The dew evaporated in a mist from the grass, a warm day following a cool night. Tomorrow I'd see Grace at lunch, today she might hand me some new writing. Fragments of poems came to me, but I felt no rush to jot them down now, no urgency, for it seemed the words would linger, I could shape them as the day progressed, a sonnet of the days of the week, and I played with intermingling nursery rhymes and mythology Sun, Moon, Tyr, Odin, Thor, Frigga, Saturn as I brewed my coffee, as I rode my bike, as I walked into the almost empty school building.
I enjoyed being at the school at this time of day, before students or many teachers arrived, the floors still gleaming from the previous night's janitorial polish, the halls and classrooms beckoning, full of promise. I settled into my classroom, placing the travel mug of coffee I had carefully packed on my desk, pulling lesson plans from my valise, settling into preparations for the day. It would be a good half hour before students started arriving.
I was just sipping my coffee, rereading papers I'd hand back to my regular junior English class, when I became aware of footsteps, rhythmic, official sounding, that paused by my door. It was Virginia Conway, the head of the school board.
"You're here early today, Mr. Dimitri," she said. Always so formal.
"Making hay, and all that," I said.
She didn't smile, just looked around the classroom suspiciously, oddly. "You here alone?"
"As far as I know... Are you looking for someone?"
"Should I be?"
I didn't know quite what to say, so I said nothing. She continued, "Mr. Dimitri, we'll need to see you in a meeting today, after third period. In Dan Brooker's office."
"But I have a class--"
"We've arranged for a substitute. We'll see you then."
And she was gone.
I was mystified, wondering the reason for this meeting, and apprehensive; Virginia had been so curt. And a few hours later she actually came to bring me to the meeting, as if not trusting that I would show up on my own. With her was Barbara Temura, the roving substitute. I handed her my notes for the day and briefly discussed the lesson plan. Then Virginia said, "Wait for me in the hall, a moment, Mr. Dimitri." Barbara raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Both women waited as I left the room.
The hallway was a swirl of noise and movement, a contrast to the awkward quiet in my classroom. Students moving in all directions, opening lockers, sorting through books, backpacks, socializing. And then I saw her. Grace. Standing, halfway down the hall, and even at that distance, I felt our connection, that tie, and the noise of the hall faded, and I felt inexplicably drawn to her, took a step forward, felt uplifted as I saw her face break out into a smile, as she took a step toward me, and then it hit me. She was the reason for this meeting. I wasn't sure why, or how, or what exactly, but the meeting I was about to go into, the meeting for which a substitute teacher had been hired, the meeting that would take me away from my classroom, had something to do with Grace. Alexa's words of the day before echoed loudly in my head suddenly, Is this what you were doing last night.
I heard Virginia's high-heeled steps coming toward the classroom door. The connection snapped. I shifted my eyes from Grace and turned. I turned my back on her, a move both painful and necessary. "Mr. Dimitri," Virginia said, stepping into the hallway.
"Yes," I answered, like a student responding to a teacher.
"Would you follow me?" she said, walking in front of me, through a doorway that led to Dan Brooker's office.
*****
I wonder, now, if I hadn't seen Grace in the hallway, if the topic of that meeting would have been a total surprise. I think I had become so involved with Grace internally, so consumed with her, really – I hesitate to use that loaded word obsessed – that I had lost all sense of perspective. Just lived from day to day to see her, to be with her in the way we were, letting go, giving into feeling, though not acting on it. Or so I led myself to believe.
In that meeting, with two people who were my professional superiors, but with whom I had, as a popular teacher, always enjoyed a friendly rapport, everything in my life changed. Now it was them against me, I was the kid in trouble, caught, or not caught exactly, but certainly accused. Dan sat behind his desk, and Virginia pulled up a chair alongside it, leaving me to sit on the bench. The hot seat, I thought, and felt 17 again, when I was caught spray painting Gwendolyn Brooks's "We Real Cool" on the southern wall of the gymnasium. Guilty as charged then; punishment: cleaning up the "mess." The irony, of course, lost on the administration.
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
Somehow, things wouldn't be so simple now.
Dan and Virginia spoke at the same time. "Do you know why you're here?" she asked, and "We received a disturbing phone call last night from a parent," he said. They stopped, looked at each other, and Virginia nodded her head slightly toward Dan.
I didn't answer her, but waited for Dan to continue. "Apparently, her child witnessed you behaving inappropriately with a student, Grace Manning, Tuesday night."
I sat up straighter. "What?" I exclaimed, thinking, I had been so careful, so respectful, so chaste. "I would never—"
"The parent said her child thought there was to be a meeting at your house, but only Grace was there. You were seen embracing, then driving off in a car, alone together." I caught my breath, and Dan looked up. "Is this information incorrect?" he asked.
Carefully, I said, "Grace is my student. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. I had recommended to a few students that we see Rashomon, as we are studying points of view. The other students didn't show up, but Grace was there, and I saw nothing wrong in going with her. We certainly did not embrace."
Virginia broke in, "You went alone to a movie with a female student?"
"Yes, but I thought it was an important film for her to see." Even to my ears, I sounded lame.
The interrogation continued. Alexa's name was never mentioned, but the list of accusations – favoring Grace, my attitude toward her affecting the rest of the students, were clearly the words of Alexa, channeled through the mouth of her protective mother.
And could I blame her, really? I thought I had been so objective and neutral and decent, but that was not how I was seen, apparently. I saw my relationship with Grace with a sudden, external clarity. I contemplated attraction and affection. To feel affection, love for someone, and then that added element that gets called chemistry, that thing that affected my affection for Grace, that turned it from professorial fondness to something inappropriate. Alexa had seen this, finally honing her skills at observation. The irony.
The administrators stopped speaking, and I said, "Is this a formal inquiry, an investigation? Am I to go back to teaching today or tomorrow? You're telling me what one parent said; I'm telling you the accusations are groundless. What's next?"
Virginia and Dan exchanged glances. Then Dan spoke. "You know, August, these are serious accusations. And I realize it's coming from just one student, but it's enough. We have to investigate the matter further, and we'll start by meeting with Grace and her family. And no, you won't be teaching any more this week, till we have that meeting. We're aiming for tomorrow at 4."
I stood. "Can I get my things from my classroom?"
Dan stood as well, and he extended a hand. "Of course. I'm sure things will be fine, August. But you understand we do have to investigate."
And I did, and he should have, and I said as much.
Nonetheless, I was stunned. The gravity of the situation – I knew the potential consequences, but things had happened so gradually, those consequences didn't seem real. Had I done anything wrong? I knew this student had feelings for me, but in part she did because I invited her to have them. I think, looking back, I felt a hint of attraction from that first day, in the confrontation we had about journal writing, which may be why I pushed her so hard, challenging herself, challenging her to behave in the most student-like way possible, so those odd stirrings I felt would never amount to anything.
But I couldn't help myself, feelings were there, whether I wanted them to be or not, and I felt a surge of anger toward Grace, for being a student, for causing me to feel, for being attractive to me, for being who she was, because who she was was a person I wanted to be with, was a person I wanted to touch, to embrace, and those desires were pointless and ultimately self-destructive.
I reached my classroom and walked in, pulling the door shut behind me, looking for a moment of calm in this space that had been a second home for over a decade. Except I wasn't alone.
She was there.