And so it came to pass that a couple days later I noticed the absent teacher’s door open. The rumor was that the Special Ed teacher that he was subbing for was out on family leave for a funeral back East. I walked in to find him behind his desk munching on a sandwich. I wasn’t sure how much longer he would be around so wanted to find out what he knew that day if I could.
“How’s it go’n? I started out.
He shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal way still avoiding eye contact, “I guess alright.”
“Are you keep’n it together in here?” I almost felt guilty for asking the question knowing how typical classes treat subs.
“Pretty much so,” was his generic reply.
“Do you know how much longer you’ll be here?”
“They tell me until the end of the week.”
“I see,” I said.
I didn’t want to ruffle his feathers (in any way), because I had decided that I wanted something from him. I had decided that considering his antagonistic relationship with the District, he wouldn’t disclose to them what I was about to say. For some remote reason I trusted him. I felt a sense of camaraderie – common grounds. Besides I needed to talk to someone. This was driving me nuts.
“I need some advice. But before we get started, let’s go out to the parking lot,” I suggested knowing how it was possible for the front office to listen in on classrooms through the intercom. And how he in particular might have this happening since he was on their radar.
So, he with his sandwich in hand walked with me (with my apple in hand) out to the parking lot. And in doing this(,) as often happens in conversational breaks, gave each of us a chance to gather some perspective into (what would be) the ensuing conversation.
“There is something I have discovered,” I said as we stood amongst the cars. “that I would like to ask you about. And since you seem to be someone who has pretty much gone through the gauntlet with the District, I thought you might have heard something in your travels through the different schools or know something from your own experiences,” I paused not knowing whether I had said too much having also decided to keep it vague just incase he was a mole for the District.
“Go on,” he said with a new sparkle in his eyes from the possibility of learning something that he didn’t already known.
“Well, I have learned something about the credentialing in our school.”
Immediately the light went out of his eyes and he stared at me like I imagined Achilles stared at the Trojan columns he was about to chop down. It was on this level. I felt the resolve and the confidence in this stare that I had never seen in him before. It was the look that chills.
“No one here is credentialed to do their jobs, right?” he queried with the trained calm unperturbed voice of one who has just been asked to circle the wagons one more time. And there was something else. It was as though he had run into this time and time again like, “I know we are having pizza on a bagel for breakfast again. It’s been breakfast at the last three schools.”
I was totally blindsided and reacted as though hit by a train while looking the other way. “God,” was all I said. And we stood and stared at each other for countless seconds. “I can’t believe you knew what I was going to say.” And so as it turned out I didn’t have to tell him a thing. He was telling me.
“You are isolated from other teachers,” he said with a rational tone that underlaid his every word.
“Who was this and why was I having this conversation?” I asked myself. It was like having my fear of hand to hand combat reduced to a fear of a playground scuffle. One thing I knew for sure. I was fated to meet this person as certainly as I was fated to survive my commute to school that day and teach in my classes.
“In how many other schools is this going on?” I asked as I quickly had assumed the position of student.
“All of them,” he said with the same calculated tone.
I was truly at a loss. “I can’t believe it,” was all I said.
“You’d better because it is true.”
“But,” I added not knowing whether I wanted to hear his comments or not. “There was something else…”
And he cut me off as though he again was hearing the AT&T activation tune for the thousandth time and had no patience to hear it again, “You found out that there are people doing jobs they are not legally supposed to do, right?” His knowledge sank through mine like a stone. I stood there violated by his perception of the truth. “You seem astounded, surprised – no shocked. You seem devastated that something so illegal is continually being perpetuated in our schools. Believe me friend, this is just the beginning.”
“I suppose this is the latest conspiracy theory?” I said with a growing defensive tone.
“And now I’m going ask you to choose between the red pill and the blue pill,” he replied ignoring what I just said with a sarcastic smile. And truly what he was about to tell me was something from which I would never return the same.
“Damn,” I said. “I thought I had already taken the red pill.”
Barclay Totten (copyright) 2019
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