Chapter 3: Crashed & Burned

Emboldened by my previous and oddly continuing success during the week (there was one more repeat match of the two charming ladies, but the other lady did come back, and we did make it through another section of Howl with twenty minutes to spare; and which turned into an impromptu ranting session/discussion of reactions. In other words, I win again). Thus, I decided on Saturday evening to have a series of parent-teacher conferences that next week. We would (hopefully) have poems written by the kids by then, and I could talk about strengths and weaknesses (which would, again- hopefully, be more than my typical bullshit).

I took a deep breath and readjusted my sitting position on the mattress, hunched over my laptop and with a bowl of long gone cold Chinese take-out on the floor nearby. I had always been good at reading people and so had a pretty good feeling of most of the kids, if not all. I knew the kid in the back had a wicked sense of rhythm from his pencil tapping and would probably kill at rhythmic poetry. There was a girl in the middle on the far right (one of my combatants, actually) who had a taste for words. I knew this because every time I slipped some interesting vocabulary into my talking, her ears perked up and she started listening. And then, there was the girl, my bright spot. Since the day she handed me that sketch, there had not been any other interaction between us besides making eye contact in class. But she was always drawing and every time I managed to grab a peek (not an easy task, let me tell you), it was always something plaintively beautiful or heart achingly detailed or both. I won't lie- I was most interested in meeting her parents and it was during my musings when she reached my mind that I decided to definitely go through with my plan.

So, I pulled up my records for the students and started calling numbers. A lot went to voice mail, some were picked up by rude ten year olds, and the other by parents of both the confused and disgruntled varieties. I explained the situation as best I could, insisted and soothed that their child was not in trouble and that I just wanted to introduce myself and the class and let them know what I had noticed about their student so far. One parent summed up the night:

"Well, shit, if that's all you want to do, can't we just continue talking on the phone?"

I explained I had been talking on the phone all night, and I would hopefully see them next week. I groaned, rubbed my temples at the incoming storm, and laid back. After a few seconds of respite I grudgingly lifted up the sheet of crossed off names and looked to see if I'd missed anyone. Just one name: Namine Mneme. I sat up, remembering my earlier thoughts of wanting to call her parents last since they'd probably be the nicest ones. The phone number listed had a different area code- must be an old cell phone. I dialed the number, pushed the phone against my ear, and waited.

After several rings, I heard the click and a smile pushed its way onto my face.

"Hello?" a tired voice answered. Obviously not a parent- too young sounding, probably a sibling.

"Um, hi. I'm Axel Lea. Can I speak to your parents?"

"Who?" a sigh pushed static through the line. "Listen, it's almost 10 o'clock, isn't it a little late for you sales people?"

"Excuse me? No no no, I'm her English teacher."

"Excuse me?"

"Ha, that's what I just said. I said I'm her English teacher. Mr. Lea?"

"Oh. Right. The crazy red head with a thing for some guy named Ginsberg."

"Bingo. Except if you don't know Ginsberg, you obviously need to be in my class."

"Sorry, been there, done that. And, why exactly are you calling? Namine's not in trouble, is she?"

"No, no, nothing like that. She's actually one of my bright spots."

He laughed a bit at that. It was kind of cute. "She says the same thing about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I could hear noises in the background, clinking of cups and then a sink being turned on. "Says you're the only teacher she has who isn't afraid to shake things up. My words, not hers. Anyways, you were saying?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm just calling to tell you I'm holding a parent-teacher conference night. Would you pass that on to your parents?"

The line went quiet.

"Hey, you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah," judging by his voice, he was obviously not there anymore.

"Well, it's Thursday night for 3rd period and there are a lot of kids, so just have them swing by anytime between four and eight, okay?"

"Yeah, got it. Is that all?"

"Well, yeah."

"Bye then."

"Bye," I heard the click as the phone went dead and stared at it for a while. That was odd.

"You're doing what now?"

"Demyx, can we just agree that no matter what I say in regards to my teaching, there's going to be the mandatory shock and disbelief? That said, would you mind terribly if we agreed to skip it and move on to what you actually think?"

Demyx crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, staring me down, offended and overly dramatic, as usual.

"Oh, don't be like that."

"Well, if you really want to know what I think- it's a waste of time. I mean, whose actually going to show? Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Axel, and if these kids are hard to deal with, then I can only imagine what the parents are like," he shuddered. "Why are you doing this again? You should've just stuck with being a poet; because as far as I know, books don't talk back."

"You'd be surprised. And, I'll choose to ignore that last question," I smiled wryly. "That's not the point. Maybe half of them won't even show, but I want to be there if any of them do. It's worth that. And to meet Namine's parents and impress upon them how talented she is with art. She's so secretive, I wouldn't doubt they don't know about it."

I could see Demyx relax. A smile reluctantly pulled at his lips, slightly defeated and exasperated, but not in a bad way. "All right, I don't get it, but all right. Well, for your sake, I hope all of them show up."

"Agh! Don't say that! I'll be there all night!"

"You asked for it!" Demyx sing-songed and laughed.

"I guess so, huh?" I conceded, grinning.

It got quiet for a time as I went back to my laptop and Demyx went back to scavenging for food.

"You're really throwing yourself into this, aren't you?" Demyx asked a few minutes later.

"Yeah, I guess I am," I looked over at him, my chin resting in my palm and my fingers covering my smug smile. "Then again, I could say the same of you."

A chuckle came from the depths of the refrigerator. In a matter of seconds, the slim dirty blonde had retrieved half a Subway and had bolted from the kitchen side of the room to my mattress (which he landed on after taking a flying leap). My laughter redoubled as I was 'bumped' to the other side of the mattress. Demyx was currently in a positively gleeful fit as he nuzzled into the blanket. "That good, huh?" I managed between laughs.

Demyx turned over and cackled up at me. He hugged my pillow to his chest (sandwich forgotten on the floor) and smirked. "He's an artist," he purred.

"Is he now?"

"Uh huh. He does really beautiful paintings. Like a modern day Da Vinci."

"I'm sure," I chuckled.

"He does! He's going to this awesome art school downtown. He graduates this year and he already has patrons and everything."

"Demyx, do you even know what a patron is?"

"Yes!" giddiness soured into indignation in under two seconds flat. But, lo and behold, the smile returned. "It means people who pay him to paint."

"Well, I'm happy for you, you big dweeb," I laughed and ruffled his mullet. I got a mad flurry of swipes and squawks for my attention.

A thought hit me. "Hey, Demyx?"

"Yeah?" he muttered as he tried to return his mullet to its previously pristine condition.

"Mind swiping a brochure for me from that school? I think I may try to give one to Namine."

"Sure, no problem."

Well, maybe tonight will be better, I thought as I shouldered the door back open to the school. With venti straight black coffee in hand (which may or may not have included three extra shots of espresso), I felt I was ready for the last of my conferences. The last two days and my first two periods had been a bust. Though half hadn't shown, the other half had either not heard me on the phone or not understood my voice mail because they were under the impression that their child was in serious trouble. Once the light bulb came on, they were none too pleased I dragged them from their oh-so-important daily lives to "just talk." There were some, however, who were reasonable, albeit bewildered, and who listened attentively and even asked a question or two. These were completely blown from my mind by the aforementioned variety and also the rather intense parents whose questions practically machine-gunned me into a corner. Was I teaching the classics? Was I preparing them for tests? Would this class prepare their child for an Ivy League school? Hell if I knew- I hadn't even stepped foot onto the campus of one. Sheesh.

Well, at least I'd get to meet Namine's parents tonight; though I was also looking forward to talking with the respective parents of Seifer, the rhythm boy, and Esmeralda, my little fighting word girl.

I waited fourteen minutes before I heard footsteps outside. Looking up from my journal, my glasses on the verge of falling off the tip of my nose, I saw a shadow paused on the floor outside. I placed my moleskin journal on the desk and stood up, opening my mouth to greet the first parent or parents. My greeting stopped dead in my throat and instead, in my exhaustion, the first thing that came into my head tumbled out:

"You're not a parent."

The young man in question bristled, offended and defiant in the doorway.

"No, but I'm her legal guardian," the voice recognition hit me like a semi. It was the guy from the phone number under Namine's name.

In person, I could hear his voice much clearer, but a slight scratchiness remained. His voice was light, like the rest of him. Slight build, sky blue eyes, mussed blonde hair, same as Namine's. He seemed just a year or so younger than me. Had to be at least 22. "You're the guy from the phone," I stated dumbly.

"Yeah, I'm her older brother, Roxas," he glanced towards the door and exhaled, clearly wanting nothing more than to be done with this. "Do you actually have anything to say or is this all for appearances? Cause if so, I'm leaving."

I won't lie- his bluntness swept my brain and mouth clean for a few seconds. He took this as reason to leave and began to slide back out the door.

"Wait!" he paused. "I mean, yes, I do. Just, hold on a second," I stumbled over my words. To say his question caught me off guard would have been an understatement. At least over the phone he had been willing to chat.

He stayed there, in the doorway, one raised eyebrow waiting in anticipation (which bordered on exasperation).

"I do. I just-" a thought struck me. "Wait a minute, you're her legal guardian?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But-"

"Our parents are deceased."

My stomach dropped. "Both of them?"

"Yeah, that's usually what the plural form of the word means, right? You sure you're qualified to be an English teacher?" he had crossed his arms and was glaring at me with unabashed annoyance.

Under the gaze, my cheeks were probably turning about the color of my hair. I coughed and tried to catch my figurative footing. "I'm just- a little surprised, is all. Um, Mr. Mneme, do you want to have a seat?" it sounded stupid, even to me.

"I'm fine right here." Apparently, he agreed.

"Okay," I heaved a sigh and drummed my fingers on the worn surface of my desk. What the hell was I going to talk about again? I couldn't hold onto a damn thought long enough to register it.

"How old are you?"

I glanced up. He was staring at me still, blue eyes bright against his faded vintage t-shirt and ripped jeans, and seeming to see not through me, but past. "Why are you asking?"

"Because, despite your crazy height, you look no older than me."

"I'm 24. You?"

"23."

"Yeah, we're pretty close," I chuckled nervously.

"And you're her English teacher. What, did you graduate super early? Some freakishly smart kid?"

"No, sixth month program for licensure."

"Ah," his eyes lit up with a kind of twisted humor. "One of those 'save the schools' things 'cause all the other teachers who actually know the system have all given up. What were you before?"

"Poet," since when had this conference turned into his own private interrogation? Granted, some other parents had done most of the talking the last two days, but none of them had managed to pull it off with such smooth, infuriatingly easy, for lack of a better word (says the English teacher and poet), finesse.

"Really?" his eyebrows went up at that.

"Yeah, damn good one, too," I leaned back in my chair (it whined and creaked pathetically- not the effect I was going for).

"That's cocky."

"True, too," I smirked. "What are you?"

His confidence slipped, a slight shifting of the light across his eyes. His eyes darted away for a second, then returned. He shrugged. "I'm a waiter."

"Does it pay enough?"

"Excuse me?"

I knew it was inappropriate, but I cared about Namine, and now that I knew it was just her and her brother, I wanted to make sure they were doing all right. So, fuck professionalism and all that. If the tattoos and pyromania didn't fire me, this sure as hell wouldn't. "I mean, are you and Namine okay?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's my business because she's my student and I care about her well being."

He stopped at that, a preconceived retort dying on his face. For awhile, he just held my gaze. I stared right back at him. Suddenly, his phone went off. "Shit," he mumbled and dug into his pocket. He flipped it open and a sneer twisted his lips. "Great. Well, speaking of which, I'm late for work."

And, without another word, he was gone. It was only then that I remembered I had needed to tell him about Namine and her art. He had never answered my last question though. I tapped my pencil against the desk, brooding and tracing the scratches with my eyes. Hopefully they were okay, and yeah, maybe it was none of my business, even as a teacher. But I'd never been very good at keeping my nose out of places where it didn't belong.

The rest of the conferences, of course, were equally as productive, if not more so. I had four more: two more disgruntled parents and two confused. One actually walked out faster than Namine's brother, Roxas, and I was too tired at that point to call them back. Rhythm boy and word girl's parents didn't show, either.

All in all, the whole shebang left me with a pounding headache and a desperate need to be anywhere but that dingy little classroom. As soon as the last parent ditched, I packed up my things and made my way out of the school like a freshly made recruit in the zombie apocalypse. But would my brain give me rest? Oh, no.

I was still thinking about Roxas Mneme and his sister Namine. I was concerned, sure, but something else was tweaking me about the guy. It's like you get a feeling about people- only thing I can think of to compare it to is if I'd been on the Titanic. I can't help but wonder if a sailor or passenger stared up at that big block of ice and thought before it hit, "huh. There's probably a helluva lot more under the surface than I'm seeing right now."

Moral of the story was that with Roxas it was the same exact feeling. Maybe I'm totally off kilter, but I could swear that past his glib responses and barbed questions, the sullen and bitter demeanor that could have given even my most jaded students a run for their money, I couldn't help thinking there was a lot more to the story. I was really curious to see what him and Namine were like together. She was so timid and nice and caring, and him? Decidedly less charming than when on the phone.

I groaned and put my head against the cool metal of the bus stop. Why was I still thinking about this? I had had dozens of other headache inducing incidents over the past three days and none had stuck with me as much as this kid. Probably because I had pictured something so much different, another Namine, I guess, parents or even a parent- hell, a grandparent- for another (this, of course, was my first mistake). Regardless, I had expected shy friendliness and willingness to talk- apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that jazz? Nope. I got blunt hostility and half-truths (I didn't know this for sure- chalk it up to another feeling).

So much for that. He was her legal guardian. Was he even responsible enough to care for her? Hell, if I was in his shoes, would I even be? I chuckled a bit at that- I had better be, I was in charge of the learning and in-school well being of a couple dozen. Still, it was different.

I sighed heavily. He could've still been willing to listen. But then, that would have required me not losing my mind at the moment he walked in. I readjusted my shoulder strap, my thoughts twisting my face into a fantastic grimace. To hell with the apple and the damn tree. There were instances I could name that definitely and definitively proved that old adage false, and this was most certainly one of them.

I heard steam as the bus stopped and got on, waving my pass at the driver. "Hey Axel! Rough day, eh?"

"You would not even-" did a quick under-the-age-of-twelve check- "fucking believe it, Xigbar."

"Ah, can't be that bad. Bet tomorrow will be better," a wolfish grin pulled the brutish looking man's features. "Or worse."

"Thanks for that," I managed a weak smile and collapsed into the closest seat. I rubbed my temples against the mental storm.

By the time I made it home, the sun was just dipping under the horizon. I dimly noted that meant it was somewhere around seven pm. Definitely not as early as I was planning on. I shuffled into the apartment, the conferences still a migraine inducing heap of over processed nonsense.

"Hey...Axel?"

I had flopped face first onto my mattress.

"I was about to ask how it went, but I guess that answers it."

"Please shut up, Demyx. My head won't stop pounding."

"..." I heard tentative footsteps moving away from my bed. "I'll get the aspirin."

A touch on the shoulder woke me from my zombie state. I accepted the dark red glass of water and aspirin, then downed the pill without (a talent of mine I'm rather proud of) and cleared my throat with the- "Demyx, what the hell is this?"

"Well, I figured you were going to swallow the pill dry and, from the state of things, you looked like you needed something a little stronger than water. That's the last of the rum."

I smiled, feeling suddenly better at the gesture, and finished the glass. "Have I ever told you that you're the best roommate ever?"

"Yeah, yeah," Demyx waved me off. "You can make it up to me by vacating the apartment for Valentine's week."

A beat of silence followed before I responded. "Last time I checked the holiday was Valentine's day, Demyx."

"Yeah, well, a day's not enough," Demyx replied matter-of-factly.

I chuckled lightly and laid back down at a diagonal, staring at the ceiling, my legs sprawled off one end of the mattress and my head lolled off the other. A blanket of silence (self-imposed and demonstrating much self-control on Demyx's part) enveloped us. I could feel myself drifting away to sleep, but opened my mouth and said the only thing that I could come up with after the day's events:

"Assumptions are bad things, Demyx. Very, very bad things."