Schoolville: Chapter 20
“Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks…”. -Edie Brickell
Chapter Twenty
There are four students in the packed pandemonium of the hallway, trying to hide in the crowd. They look comically pathetic. Along with lank greasy hair, one black, one purplish-pink, one tinged green, and one spiked blond, but with dark roots, they are clearly out of the dress code. They have on chains, spiked leather collars, and bracelets. How they hope to escape notice is beyond me, but they are slipping down the hallway between classrooms, trying to hide in the crowd. Crazy Janey scowls at them, and looks away, distracted by something that she finds more interesting.
They slip past Rose Ann McMillan’s door, where she stands with her arms folded and beaming vacantly at the mob in the hallway. I recall that her planning period is about to start, and she is looking forward to an hour and a half all to herself. Her mind is elsewhere, or she certainly would have snagged them and sent them packing to the principal’s office. They slink past her, and she doesn’t bat an eyelash. Now they are eyeing me and Lorraine Hodges, the teacher standing across the hall, trying to decide who is less likely to hassle them. Apparently, they have decided that I am the more threatening because they sidle off toward Lorraine’s side of the hall. I stand watching them try to make themselves invisible, when they had gone to such great pains to make themselves look different. Lorraine is on them like a duck on a June bug.
Looking around, I see a strapping blonde football player intimately kissing and surreptitiously fondling a blonde girl with an unbelievable body. She is responding to his insistent hands favorably. She invites his hands on her ass with a smile that gets everyone’s attention. She has on a very tight spandex miniskirt that reveals every muscle in her tight cheerleader butt. Since Lorraine is busy writing an office referral, she misses a show of hormones that would have sent her grey hair into pin curls of horror. They both glance at me, waiting to see how much I am going put up with. But, I’m not getting into a fight that I can’t win. “Who am I to fight millions of years of evolution?” I ask myself as I turn away.
Over by the elevators, two boys are loudly arguing with each other about whether Dungeons & Dragons is believable, while several girls who walk past smirk and roll their eyes.
“What a pair of nerds!” They think as they exchange glances.
Turning back, I see Glenda come out of her room to monitor hallway behavior too. As she scans the hallway to her right, she quickly sees Mr. Star Football Player, and Barbie humping each other as they make out, which I, along with about fifty students are pretending not to see. I watch the show and wonder just how long it is going to go on, and whether or not they will bother to find a closet or bathroom stall, or if they are just going to go for it right there on the linoleum hall floor when the crowd thins out.
I know that I’m supposed to stop them, but other than their choice of location, they aren’t doing anything that seems abnormal to me, except that someone somewhere decided that teachers are supposed to stop the inevitable from happening. I am willing to bet the ranch that Barbie’s mother and father would be irate if they knew that I was ignoring this behavior in the hallways, but they are the ones who allow Barbie to show up at school in club-wear. Besides, Barbie has obviously lost her virtue long ago.
The horror on Glenda’s face reassures me that the show is over, and the three black football buddies who are also watching from the stairwell, quickly un-ass the vicinity as they laugh hysterically, their guffaws echoing loudly up the concrete and cinder block stairwell as they high-five each other, celebrating the unknown blonde giant’s obvious coming success.
“Man, that chick should try black sometime. I’d really show her whus all about!”
“Thas whut I’m sayin!”
“Hey nigga’, I saw her first!”
Glancing back at Glenda, she has them both separated. She is gnawing into them like a terrier. They smile condescendingly at her. They are giving her the, ‘You’re just jealous because you aren’t going to get laid this year’ look. From the way that Glenda’s acting, I suspect that she knows that too. Their attitude is so condescending that I know what’s coming next. It certainly doesn’t help Glenda’s temper as she marches them off. I assume that they will probably end up in the assistant principal’s office and hear another lecture on inappropriate behavior at school, for all of the good it’ll do.
Lorraine comes back into the hallway again, and glances at her watch. “OK PEOPLE!” She rudely shouts right at kids only a foot or two away. “SECOND PERIOD STARTS IN TWO MINUTES! GET TO CLASS!” This causes a minor stir as a few feet quicken, mainly to stop her from yelling. Those standing closest to her wince in pain as they turn their ears away from her hale, scratchy voice.
I’m guessing that she’s through writing up the Clairol crowd, and they are now on their way to the office. I wonder for just a moment if they will ever get there.
“They should have chosen my side of the hall,” I think to myself. “I would’ve let ’em go.”
I’m guessing that they chose her side of the hall because I’m a male teacher. Perhaps they mistakenly took me for an authority figure? That brings a smirk to my lips. I can’t help but wonder what authority they think I have. The only thing that I can really do is to make their lives miserable and slip in a little teaching if I can. I certainly don’t have the authority to stop teenagers from rebelling; nor would I want to. I do recall that I have the authority to stop them from screwing right on my desk though. I make a mental note to lock my door when I go to lunch. My chest expands. “Yep, I’m a regular paragon of virtue!”
Looking to the right, Rose Ann has already disappeared back into her classroom. I’m reminded of Punxsutawney Phil, the groundhog. God knows what she’ll be doing for the next hour and a half, but I’m sure that it won’t be enough for all of the administrative horse shit that she’ll be expected to have completed.
Rose Ann is old school. She still enters grades by hand in a grade book, laboriously figuring and averaging each of her student’s grades. Sadly, she’s the only one who cares. Most of them don’t have a clue of all of the work that she does, which she believes will help them to learn English better. She hasn’t yet figured out that the curriculum is so simplified, that her students could teach themselves nearly all of it, if they were handed a textbook and syllabus on the first day of class. Not that the students would learn it on their own, but they could.
Unlike some of us, who use a computer program for grading, which does all of the figuring and calculating work for us, Rose Ann doesn’t know how to use any computer software other than the word processing program on her classroom computer, and she has only a rudimentary understanding of that. I had to teach her how to change the font colors. She doesn’t have time to learn. She’s too busy planning and entering grades for those students who ignore her presence as they slip past lost in their hormonal fantasies, busily discussing the last or next party. Her students aren’t appreciative of the sacrifices that she makes, as she puts her heart and soul into those lessons they sleep through, or during which they cut-up and disturb her lessons so much that her room resembles chaos from the pit, because they are sick of being bored shitless.
“God bless her.” I think to myself as I look past her door.
Beneath the clock, four kids are congregating, two boys and two girls. They furtively glance at me and the other teachers, wondering when one of us is going to find some problem with their socializing and make them move on. I can see from their conversation, that it is funny. They are enjoying each other’s company prior to being put in a cramped and uncomfortable desk for an hour and a half. I suspect that some of them are due in Lorraine’s class, because they glance mostly in her direction. They are eyeing each other more than they eye anything else though. They appear to like what they see too. My impression is that they can’t decide whether to take their interest to the next level or not. They all appear to be friendly and cordial, but an undertone of nervousness pervades their body language. I think that both of the girls seem to like the same guy. Who knows what the outcome of this will be? It is likely that they won’t all be friends for long.
Beyond them, the elevator doors open. The two boys discussing Dungeons and Dragons so animatedly have moved on down the hall out of earshot. Off the elevator steps a girl with a walker. She has a book bag on her shoulders, and shuffles along with her head down. Hiding behind her lank brown hair, she doesn’t want eye contact. I see her often on this floor, and I suppose that she is in the eleventh grade. Whenever I see her before school, she is always alone. She is alone now. I watch for an opportunity to give her a friendly smile if she looks at me. She doesn’t look. She shuffles past, not looking at anyone. I would like to speak to her, but she doesn’t want company. She doesn’t need any patronizing smiles from me. She just seems to prefer the company of no one. She passes by, and I can see her eyes are puffy and red. I can’t help but wonder if she is in pain or not. On second thought, it might be the crushing pain of her loneliness, her self-imposed exile from the world of pubescence, which hurts her. Maybe she isn’t in pain at all. Maybe she just has an allergy to molds. This building is lousy with mold. I follow her with my eyes until she rounds the corner heading for the twelfth grade hallway.
Looking back in the other direction, down the hall Crazy Janey is at it again. She is slumping against the doorframe, arms folded and her 29 year old mascara covered eyes beadily scanning all of the large boys up and down. She has a sneer on her face that scares students away, as they give her a wide birth in the crowded hallway. It is clever, because it keeps the boys from noticing how she is studying them and grinding her teeth. Gradually she glances from one boy who she’s been eyeing greedily, and glances at her watch. The hallway clock is in time with the office clock downstairs. It is off by nearly ten hours. No one even notices it anymore. It’s as irrelevant as most of what comes from the office.
Horton asks. “Why do you judge her for studying the boys so much, when you seem to enjoy watching Barbie and Mr. Football over there?”
I shrug. “I have that shoved in my face. I don’t go around looking for it. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I tried to ignore them.”
“So, you think you’re more virtuous than she is?” Horton haughtily demands.
“Well,” I slowly draw my thoughts out. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think that I am more virtuous then her. I just feel sorry for her, having to cruise the high school hallway to pick up guys; it seems pathetic.”
Horton doesn’t answer. I continue. “I don’t care what you think. It’s different. I don’t look at girls in the same way that she looks at the boys. I may notice them, but I certainly don’t study them the way she does.”
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Horton and I both quietly continue to watch Crazy Janey, as she glances at her watch again. She notices that it is time for class to start, so she slides into her room and slams the door right in the face of several students who have just reached her door and were waiting to enter. Their faces fall. Not only does her rudeness hurt their feelings, but now they are tardy. If they accumulate too many tardy slips, they get to spend a day in detention hall, which is even more boring than her class, and therefore even less desirable.
“Yeah,” Horton shrugs. “I guess you’re right about Crazy Janey. Sorry about that.”
“It’s Ok. Kind of an odd role reversal from what you would expect, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so…” Horton slips back into my classroom.
Another ten or fifteen seconds pass, and I am alone in the hall, except for a few sheets of notebook paper, which flutter along the floor. I have second period off too. I have to plan a unit of English, and a unit of History. I slump into my classroom and shut the door.
Just as I pull the door shut, I hear a screaming in the hall that sounds on the verge of hysteria. I open my door and glance down the hall in the direction of Crazy Janey’s room. Sure enough, all five foot four inches of her is within a few inches of a huge black student, who is wearing a football varsity letterman’s jacket. He has to be more then fifteen inches taller than her. She is screaming so hard, her flabby butt is bouncing and wiggling in her stretch pants with each scream. He is grinning in her face, his pearly whites starkly contrasting with his mahogany face. She is very confrontational. I can see that his hands are creeping off his hips, and they are rounding into fists.
I walk down to them, smiling. I always smile, because I learned long ago that a smile is ambiguously friendly, and generally makes others smile in return. I’m thinking that this just might be a critical key to defusing this situation. I’m not worried about Crazy Janey. She deserves to have her lights punched out. I’m worried about the boy. He has no one to protect him from being provoked by her. I can see the spittle flying from her mouth toward him, as he jerks his head back.
“Janey, may I help you?” I ask with a friendly smile.
“This stupid son of a bitch has disrupted my class for the last time!” Her voice is now cracking and she is crying with rage. I wonder what he did, or didn’t do, that so enrages Janey. He is quite handsome and well dressed. I have my suspicions.
“Here, let me take him off of your hands. I have this period off. I’ll write his ass up for you; you go teach. Would that help?”
She looks at me gratefully and then slams her shoulder into him as she walks past him to her classroom door. She jerks the door open, steps through it, and slams it so loudly that the large fire extinguisher next to it rattles ominously on its bracket. I look at the boy. His grin is like a death’s-head grin. I stand silently for a full minute just observing him. He is exceptionally well dressed for a high school student. After several moments, I see his breathing slow down again. I know that he was breathing before, but I could see it high in his chest, the way someone does when he or she is frightened or angry. If you observe how people breathe, it will tell you what their mental state is. If they are breathing high, leave ’em alone. Now his breathing is dropping down into his stomach. He is calming down.
I slowly put my hand out. “Hi, I’m Mr. Kyle.”
He takes my hand and shakes it. For such a huge guy, he’s extremely polite and gentle. He is at least a foot taller then me, with hands that are very finely shaped. He strikes me as a nice guy. “Mark Hammond,” he replies with a look on his face I can’t read. He almost looks grateful.
“Let’s go to my room.” I say it gently, but firmly. I’m not going to give him an option. My first step is to move him out of the hall, and out of the eyesight of Crazy Janey. If she comes out and starts on him again, I’m pretty sure that Mark will kill her, and I’m not going to step in. I’ll be too busy running my middle-aged white ass off. We slowly go down the hall to my room, open the door, step inside and I close the door again.
“Have a seat.” I’m friendly but firm as I motion to one of my desks in a front row. He sits. I go back to my desk, sit down and spend the next fifteen minutes working on my history unit.
Glancing back at Mark, I see him slumped in his desk, staring at the floor. I grab a piece of candy out of a coffee can on my desk, and toss it to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it coming and snatches it out of the air with wonderful grace and speed. I suspect he must be a starting wide receiver for the team. He looks at me.
“That’s for not punching Ms. Ackerman’s lights out just now.”
He smirks a half laugh, curling his lips into a sneer. Then, he shakes his head as he has a silent conversation with himself. I can read his thoughts from across the room. He knows I understand, so he doesn’t bother to elaborate his thoughts.
“Thanks Mr. Kyle.” He looks at me. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s hurting.
“I’m not going to write you up, but I am going to go talk to the counselors and tell them that you’re going to have to move out of her class.”
He droops his head as tears form in the corners of his eyes.
I leave him alone for several more minutes as I finish my history planning. Then turning back to Mark, I walk to his desk and sit in the one next to it.
“I mean it Mark. Thank you for being more mature then Mrs. Ackerman. Thank you for not losing your temper. It really does mean a lot.”
“Ok.” It is all that he can find to say. He doesn’t really seem to know what else to say.
“I’m going to go speak with the counselors if I can get in to see them. This class is over in forty-five minutes. You lay low here, and then go to your next period.”
“Thas lunch.”
“Good! You could probably use a Twinkie. The door’s locked, so just shut it when you leave!” I tell him.
“You gonna leave me here without a teacher around?” He seems surprised by my trust.
“I know who you are. If you trash my room, I’ll talk to the coaches. They’ll run your ass off!”
I get in quickly to see his counselor, and she doesn’t really see any benefit to moving Mark, until I explain about how close Mark came to clocking Crazy Janey, and the counselor suddenly changes her mind. She says she’ll move him to another class. I know to whose class she’s going to move him. It’ll be mine. I don’t care. That boy is going to end up in jail if he stays in Crazy Janey’s class, and I can’t sit idly and watch that happen to any fellow miscreant. Since I have no openings in my class, they will have to move a student out. No doubt, it will be one of my bright, cooperative female students who always do their homework, make an A on every test, and help me create the illusion that I’m a great teacher, the very kind of student of whom I wish I had more.
The bell is ringing for third period when I leave the office. I have exactly thirty minutes for lunch. It is in the refrigerator, which I have hidden under the desk in my room. When I get to my room and unlock the door, Mark is already gone. I lock the door and sit down to eat in peace.
