I have met you and held you and I already love you to absolute pieces. You are beautiful and funny and unique and spunky and opinionated and just awesome! It will be a great privilege to watch you grow and become who you will be!
Today, in your honor, I'mma post a bit o the fairy tale. This is chapter 5, THE PRINCESS. Months ago I posted chapter 4, THE TUTOR, so if you need a re-fresher follow the linkage. Keep in mind that I refused to share the first 3 chapters, which sort of set up the story, so some things may just be confusing and for that I apologize!!
Oh, and I wrote it like, years ago, so sorry for that as well...
Enjoy!
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The Princess
Princess Desiderata, the only child born to King Samisen the (mostly) Good and Fair Queen Nerium of the farmland was an attractive beauty with her mother’s classic features and her father’s deeply penetrating eyes. There the similarities ended however, for Princess Desi (as she liked to be called) had not the quiet melancholy grace of her mother, nor the stoic sobriety of her gray haired father, but behaved much more like a nymph or a sprite: making mischief where she could and seeking out adventure at every turn. In truth she found the mantle of responsibility that came part and parcel with being a princess and heir to the throne tiresome, stuffy and difficult to bear most of the time.
Raised behind the castle walls, away from suspicious and accusing eyes, the princess was in many ways sheltered and pampered by her over protective father, but tried everything she could think of to break free of such a stifling environment. The King often lamented about her lack of decorum, as she was wont to traipsing about the castle keep with the Tancreed brothers playing make-believe and practicing swordplay. ‘If only your mother had not passed on in your toddling years, she could have instructed you properly on how a lady ought to behave.’ He would moan when she would come into the great dining hall muddy, hair tousled, garments torn by branches and looking impish.
Desi wouldn’t –or couldn’t- be tamed by courtly rules and codes however much she tried (at her father’s urging). She had an eager heart, a ready mind and an able body and wouldn’t sit still long enough to learn how to sew or cook or play the harp like the other noble young ladies did. From the day her good friend Gage and his four brothers took up residence in the castle under the care of their grandfather, Old Saunders the King’s advisor, Desi would not be swayed from her happy pursuit of games and adventure.
From the oldest Tancreed son Gunder she learned how to ride horses and jousting. From the second son she became familiar with sword making and how to wield the heavy steel weapons. The twins Gideon and Gage, only a year or so her seniors, became her closest friends and confidants and little Gambit, the youngest, always engaged her in strategy games and the setting of elaborate traps.
For the bulk of their formative years and through their coming-of-ages, the Tancreed boys and the Princess were, as old Saunders often put it: “thick as thieves”, and were most always seen running about like a laughing pack of animals; never causing serious harm and usually eliciting rare smiles from the castle people.
Things began to change for the group of cronies when Gunder, having been studying as a page for many years, finally entered training to become a Knight. Shortly after that Griffin decided to become an apprentice to the castle blacksmith and rarely had time for play. Still, for a time the twins, Desi, and Gambit were tutored together by the decrepit old professor Apteryx and all was happy, until the twins turned 15, and Desi 14, and tradition mandated that they be set to study separately. The boys would learn religion, philosophy, history, alchemy, arithmetic, geography and animal husbandry while she was to prepare for her coming of age by practicing embroidery, bookkeeping, musical instruments, gardening and other such ‘feminine’ practices.
This situation didn’t last too long however for Desi’s usually bright and sunny demeanor became clouded and grim as she faced day after day without her friends, laboring to master subjects to which she was not inclined. The King, somewhat indulgent with the girl, hated seeing her so unhappy amid all the rest of the kingdom’s dark woes and relented in his decision to fit her into the same mold as other noble young ladies.
“My daughter will be the ruler of this great realm one day, and it is my belief that she should know more than tatting and lute when she takes my throne.” He decreed over dinner on her fifteenth birthday, and the Princess was allowed to study most of the subjects Gage and Gideon were learning. And though she still had private sessions with the royal tutor professor Apteryx (to improve her concentration), she was permitted to lunch with her friends and they went on small quests after classes.
She was guiltily pleased when old Apteryx was overcome with arthritis (or was he merely fed up with the rambunctious teenager?) and could no longer perform his tutorial duties. ‘Now,’ she thought ‘I’ll have some real fun’. And she cunningly urged her father to appoint the learned and promising young Gage Tancreed to the position of Royal Tutor.
Her hopes of taking secret excursions to the villages and hunting for pixies in the borderland forest and having any other kind of amusing escapades were quickly dashed however, as Gage surprised the Princess by taking his new post very seriously indeed. Sitting in the library tower, dim sunlight now streaming in through the mullioned windows the Princess furrowed her brow in frustration.
“A dress? “ she muttered gloomily at the auburn haired professor. “First you take all the fun out of this tutoring business, then you insist we shouldn’t socialize outside of our sessions because it may appear ‘unprofessional’ of you, and now you’re going to make me go put on dome big frilly gown?” she glared at him, seething. He knew she hated wearing the fashions of the day- overlarge skirts with feet of train, yards of underskirts and obscene amounts of ribbons and bows. He knew she preferred simple and comfortable garb to the restrictive stays of the too-low bodices and layered dragging sleeves of courtly fashion, and yet now he was going to ‘escort’ her to a dress fitting? “You’re a turncoat Gage Tancreed.” She leveled at him acidly.
She was lovely when she pouted, her eyebrows arched and plunging together crossly, her jaw set dashingly, her lips larger than usual and her eyes sparkling like fire. She was lovely, and quite formidable.
Gage cleared his throat nervously. “Um, uh, that is, well . . . Majesty, it is not my wish that you be uncomfortable in any . . .” Her flashing eyes made him highly uncomfortable. He stammered a few more nonsense words under the fire of her gaze and then “Oh for Heaven’s sake Desi!” He finally exploded in exasperation. “I know you hate this sort of thing, and if I could find you a way out of it I would, but you know the dictum! Your coming of age has to be this huge ceremonial to-do with satin and lace and flowers and fanfare, pageantry, pomp and princess-ly things-“ he felt slightly encouraged by the small smirk creeping onto her face “Finery, frippery and Fops.” He finished with a teasing smile playing over his lips.
She smiled back reluctantly and nodded her assent. “I’ve had so many Fops coming to visit in the past few weeks my head feels like it will explode! Suitors? Bah!” The princess blew a raspberry of contempt at the mere memory of their pompous visits to the castle. “I’ll never marry- not if those are my options!” The friends shared a laugh and began to pack up their study materials.
“Did I manage to get anything through that thick skull of yours today Desi or were you off in some imaginary world the whole time?” Asked Gage in a mildly sullen tone.
“Oh Professor of course you got through- loud and clear.” she replied saucily. “Generations of Moonglorys, A drought, famine, bad tidings, then a wizard, a witch, a princess and the world changed for ever. I hate to burst your bubble teacher, but I grew up hearing that old hogwash day in and day out, after all it was me that cursed the land to moonlight!” She finished casually, even flippantly, but Gage fumbled the book he was holding in shock.
“Desi!” He hissed in a scandalized tone. “You shouldn’t say things like that! And moreover, not so irreverently!”
She stared at him bemused for a moment, taking in the comically shocked expression riddling his young features before speaking at last.
“Oh Gage don’t be so uptight. I know what the townspeople say about me, I know what the legends and fairy stories preach: The princess was born at great cost to all. The princess lives at the expense of the citizenry of Fair Sylvemerce.” She said matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Professor? Well? Am I misled or isn’t that the popular opinion?”
At her prodding Gage had no choice but to nod fractionally in concession. “Ay Desi. But you mustn’t believe it.” He looked to her earnestly. “Whatever deal your father made with the witches and wizards years ago has nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault that nighttime dominates our days but for the three hours- it’s not your doing. Any of it.” He stated firmly. “Understand?”
“Yes Sir!” She smiled widely. She hadn’t needed his words of comfort, but it was nice of him to care. “Speaking of those precious few hours of daylight- let’s go take advantage shall we? It’s beautiful out there and we can-“ but she was cut off.
“You know I’d love to but I really must get you down to the great hall-“
“Absolutely not Mr. Bookworm! Where’s your loyalty?”
“My loyalty? Oh Dez don’t make it an issue like that-“
“It’s a fair question! To whom do you owe allegiance? To me-“
“Stop it, you bratty child. You know full well where I stand-“
“- Or to my father? Well you’re certainly behaving like a King’s pawn Gage Tancreed-“
“That’s not fair, you wanted me to take this post, now-“
“Yes but I didn’t know you’d turn into such a lump! And furthermore-“
The princess and the tutor were interrupted by a dull thud as the heavy wooden door to the library room swung open and came to rest with some force against the thick stone wall. Striding purposefully into the room came another Auburn haired young man of about Gage’s height and build, though his hair was not tied at the nape in a scholarly fashion but cut rather short and neat.
When he spoke it was with a deeper timber than his twin’s and slightly raspy as he was clearly out of breath.
“I’ve come to warn you both- your father’s in a towering temper Desi love, and he’s marked you both for a whipping.”
Today was orientation for the summer camp program I'll be a counselor for!
I discovered I will need to be in the water every other day. Yikes. So i need a bathing suit. And I need to shave my legs daily. And I need to but shorts. Grumble cakes.
What evs. I will be working near and around my husband, which is nice, but they were careful not to put us together with the same group. Wah wah. What, do they think we'll sneak off and fuck while the kids are in the pond? Or do they imagine we might bicker constantly like other married couples? IDK.
When this older woman found out today that aaron and I were husband and wife she, like, could not believe it. She was really, really taken aback by it. She repeated the question like, three times: "He'd your husband?" "You guys are married?" "Your her husband?" All the while looking at us a bit like we were a circus oddity, or maybe like we were pulling her leg.
It made me a tad paranoid. I mean, I know he's gorgeous and all and I often feel kinda like I lucked out big time, because he's quite a catch, but I'm not some monter or anything. I might not be hi integer precisely but He finds me beautfiul and attractive and I do all the things that keep him satisfied so... But I guess strangers don't know all that info when they're just looking at us do they? They can't discern just by looking that I give great head and take it in the ass, so I bet that's why they wonder about us...
IDK. I asked Aaron why he thought the woman was so astonished with the fact. He wasn't sure either but had definitely noticed her peculiarly disbelieving reaction. (Sometimes I have the tendency to 'insert subtext where there is none' according to my husband. apparently this really happened and wasn't all in my imagination.)His answer was: "I dunno, maybe she was expecting us to be more like a married couple."
"What the hell does that mean?" Says I.
He shrugs. "Like other married couples. YOu know. You've seen married couples who work together."
I furrowed my brow. "Like sexy sex? Did she expect us to be amorous at the summer camp orientation?"
"No... I don't know... It's just, we're firends, you know, so we seem like we're friends maybe, more than husband and wife."
Again, you can't tell from looking at us that we fuck like crazy I guess.
Now, though, since Aaron shaved his beard, I've become a slight bit paranoid that I might look too old for him. Wild right? This is not something I have ever, ever been concerned about or even given thought to. In fact, for the most part, I am unconcerned with aging. Sometimes I wish I still had my 15 year old body, but largely? I am fairly comfortable with myself, I am super secure in my relatonship, and that man makes me feel sexy and gorgeous every single day, so having this notion cross my mind is almost trippy!
But he does look quite a bit younger with the clean-shave. So do I look to old for him? Yikes. Weird. And should that matter? AND, moreover, should anyone EVER make such a blatantly surprised reaction about our marriege because I look older than him? I mean, jeeze louise. Pick your eyeballs up off the floor, close your gaping maw and smile, and say: "Oh how nice!" And be done with it. Marvel at our seeming age disparity later, on your own time.
Plus? This woman? Total fruitbat (I hope that doesn't have a more prurient meaning, I haven't been around the gay community in a long time... I know fruit fly and fag hag, but is fruitbat still ok for me to use in creative description of a looney toon?). I already dislike her. Powerfully. She's just one of those personalities that is bound and determined to drive me up a wall and test the absloute limits of my politeness and endurance for fools. I don't suffer them gladly, as you all know. Not at all gladly. And she is going to be a problem for my otherwise sunny disposition. lol.
So I'll keep you posted on that situation as it develops.
So keep your fingers crossed for my summer counseling! Yay Summer Camp!!
Oh man, I am like, shaking with nerves and also with great relief that you have checked out this blog. I'm not sure who else I will leak this url to... I know you don't want me to be stingy, and you want my voice out there, but, well, my voice is not appropriate for all audience. Parental discretion is advised.
I've even toyed with the idea of having two separate blogs, one for the daily bethness and one for the fiction. But part of accepting my newfound passion for writing fiction is accepting that it isn't a dark and dirty secret to be shoved away into a dank (hey Danielle, DANK) corner of the interwebz.
I think it is psychologically important to keep both my daily check-ins and the fiction together. I already feel schizophrenic enough most of the time without compartmentalizing and segregating my creative side from my reality.
HOWEVER. This has got me thinking. While A couple of you have been here since day one and haven't missed a beat, some may just be joining our program already in progress.
So I think I'mma do a blog today entitled GREATEST HITS or something, and then I can direct new readers to check that archive out if ever they get too confused with what's happening in Cedar Falls or it they just want a sampling of the writing but don't know where to start.
And? I'd like your opinions, those who have been around, if you care to give them. Let me know if you have any stand-out faves from the past several months.
Ok. In the interest of full disclosure I feel I should mention that I wrote something yesterday, and I was highly emotional, but it came from my heart and gut and it was HONEST, but honesty is always skewed by perception, by mood, by perspective.
I got asked the question. Again. The baby question. Not the worst one, which has GOT to be:"When are you due?" when one is not pregnant, just a rounder girl, jesus that one sucks. Don't ask that folks--especiallymen--if you aren't onehundred percent SURE that lady is having a baby. Don't ask that. Really. I don't! Because you skinny ladies may never have been asked it? but Christ on a cracker that question blows syphilitic dick.
But no, I wasn't asked that body-image-raping question, but rather the judge-your-life-choices-and-draw-attention-to-your-most-personal-matters question. The one that rapes your psyche and soul instead!
And I wrote this journal entry a few hours after getting that question sprung on me. I have gone back and forth with whether or not to share it because I KNOW I was in a dark place about it and wonder if any good can come out of it?
But, then, we all struggle with the two dogs on our shoulders, right Kim?
I try not to feed this dog, the negative-energy cur of a beast, but I don't think it will do any of us any good to pretend that he's not there. Maybe we should hold the light up to that side of us, take from that side whatever truth and wisdom we can glean, and then proceed to nurture and strengthen the other dog, the positive-energy pal who is tail-waggy and cuddly and ready to pull little boys out of wells when duty calls.
But I'mma post what I journaled yesterday because I think it may be something that other women need to see. or maybe I just need to exorcise it, and the best way for me to do that is to either post it or delete it.
And I promised I wouldn't delete.
So here goes. Let me say for the record that I find mothers and motherhood to be beautiful and powerful and awe-inspiring and both elemental and divine. Ok. Deep breath.
***
Ok. SO I hate the question. HATE it. I hate getting asked the question and think, in this day and age that it’s high time HIGH TIME people ceased asking it.
Because it is very personal and so very often it is FRUAGHT with deep, conflicting, sometimes painful emotion, and it’s a COMPLICATED QUESTION.
It’s one thing to discuss the matter with very close friends or with your sisters, maybe, even, your mother—If you have a close relationship with her and not a needling one—But acquaintances? Friends’ mothers? In-laws?
And the thing is, about the question, the thing is I have such a knee-jerk reaction to being asked, that I usually come off quite bitchy when it’s posed to me. I’m long past the playful demurring, over the “oh, I don’t know, we’ll see…” In the sing-song voice and the wink of an eye.
Because I am a woman. Not a girl. And the question is very real, strikes right in the viscera, you know? Right in the gut and twists in the heart and does quite a fucking number on the old psyche too.
But we don’t live in ancient times. And it is none of anyone’s business what goes on in my womb now or in the future, unless I decide to share such goings-on. Volunteer the information, if you will. But until I, or any other childless female, choose to broach the subject, choose to give voice to the topic, please, please, please, for heaven’s sake, please DO NOT TAKE IT UPON YOURSELF TO ASK.
Because, for all you know, the woman may be struggling with the issue and in her own private hell about it. For Christ’s sake. Sometimes I get asked it by people who’ve known me and my husband forever, which means they know we’ve been together for close to 14 years, married for almost 4—so… this isn’t a newlywed type of fun flirty question, this is serious shit. 4 years into a marriage and no offspring? Christ. For all you know we may not BE ABLE to have children, had that thought crossed your mind? It might be a terrible, awful subject for us and you just bandy it about like you’re shooting the breeze?
And though people don’t mean it, I know they don’t intentionally cross that line, I know it’s a thing our culture DOES, but even still—---being asked that question and having to continually answer it as small talk when the issue is so much deeper than chit-chat, well folks, that grates. It irritates and frustrates. And, like poison Ivy, I think, it has a cumulative effect.
Where once I was young and immune to the careless, unabashedly prying nature of the question, now I find myself acutely aware of it and have become increasingly sensitive.
Again, I stress, this is not the same as when FRIENDS or LOVED ONES ask. Because I love them and want to share my life with them. It’s those people on the outskirts of your social circle that really needle in the ribs.
AND ALL THE IMPLIED GUILT AND FAILURE INHERENT IN A NEGATIVE RESPONSE! Good LORD! I was asked it today, on one of the happiest days I’ve had—over the moon happy to be meeting my new ‘niece’, and I was asked it in such a way that made me look like a complete cunt in how I answered. And I’ll tell you—it has soured my whole fucking day.
The implied ‘why not?’ hung in the air unsaid and then suddenly it was as if I was passing judgement on those who do choose to have children and ugh.
And I know I’m not the only woman who struggles with this. Who feels the seeming baby boom around us and has to remind herself that she isn’t at fault or somehow lacking for not expecting a bundle of joy anytime soon. Not the only woman who feels the relentless tide of biology warring with hopes and finances and realities and relationships and has to repeat over and over to herself that ‘if it’s meant to happen it will happen’.
And All I’m asking is for those people on the outskirts to just take a minute, think about what you’re about to drop into the room, think better of it and say something less loaded instead.
Because there ain’t no good way to answer that, no satisfactory way to respond unless maybe it’s to say: “Actually I have an announcement to make...” Ta-da.
Because the implication that my life is less complete than another woman’s is hurtful. There, I said it. It hurts a lot. And maybe it hurts the most because we women are made to believe it so completely. And to feel something of a loss everytime we bleed. I’ve felt it. Even when shaking with relief to see the menstrual blood--because being pregnant at that time would be a disaster--I have felt the twinge of regret and grief and failure. Is it societal? Deeply entrenched social pressures? Or is it biological?
And is it biological for people to ask that fucking question?
Because as a child I was often very curious about people’s potential for fertility. I had these older cousins who got married married and I would ask my Mum when she thought they & their husbands would have babies. But do you know what my mother told me? Amen for Betty Reardon. AMEN. Because she taught me that it was a private matter, that it was nobody’s business but theirs, and she gently made me understand that it was not appropriate to bring the subject up without invitation because it was complicated and personal and no frivolous thing.
Some of you know my mother and some of you don’t. Many people might not expect such deep wisdom from her, such kind, perceptive sensitivity. But there it was. And an empathy too.
So thank you Mum, for never being one to ask the question, and for being one person in my life who never even once makes it seem as if the possibility of my not having any children at all would be a shame and a waste and a failure of nature.
“There are a lot worse things in life” she told me not too long ago. And even though I was in a mood to brush that comment off, now I understand how perfect she really can be.
For the record: I have wanted to be a mother since I met and fell in love with Aaron. I have wanted to have his children since probably six months into our relationship. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting that, to see his children on this earth, but I am trying very hard to accept the fact that such a path may not be ours. And maybe we won’t have biological children, and be ok with that. Because maybe we’ll choose to adopt, and be parents that way. Or maybe we will choose to spend our love and wisdom and parenting compulsions, like so many teachers do, on our students, and try to become the best Aunt and Uncle around too. And lead a very full, rich, and loving life despite a state of childlessness.
So forgive the knee-jerk, cunty reaction. But those words mean a lot more to me than they ever could to you as they spill out of your mouth, outskirts personality who says whatever they fucking want without regard. And I’m not going to dignify it with an answer anymore.
Yesterday was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. And it kinda felt like it too because my best friend was in labor all day!
We'd just finished the test-run from BHS to Heights Elementary in Sharon to see if I can make the drive between my morning job and my evening job (22 minutes bitches), when Aaron got the text from Adam. "We're at the hospital now. It's baby time!"
He was so excited and overwhelmed that he couldn't even speak, he just held the phone out for me to read the screen. He was so much more effected than he thought he'd be. It was really very sweet to witness.
So we did our doggy god-parent duty and let the Chopsticks out in the afternoon. Also we scooted over to BabiesRUs for a last minute item. And we waited.
And waited.
And had wayy too much coffee.
And waited.
I was so nervous and worried and anxious I didn't know what to do with myself.
We went over in the PM and let Chops out again. We watched some TV. And waited.
Holy Moly. And I know labor takes a long time, I understand that on an intellectual level, but on a gut-instinct level? Every minute that dragged by without word of how she was doing made me increasingly nervous.
And it gave me alot of time to think. Think about how absolutely and irrevocably life changing this event is in all our lives. I mean, obviously theirs, but also for Me and Aaron too. You wouldn't really think that, but it is. Baby Pigeon is one hundred percent part of our family-- we weren't just waiting for our friends to have a baby, we were waiting for a new addition to our family; because I've decided, somewhere along the way, that family as I define it has nothing whatsoever to do with blood. That's a starting off point and shouldn't be ignored, but real family is who you choose.
In modern day we've moved well past the need for our tribe to be blood relatives. And maybe I'm inclined to this line of thinking because I am a theatre person and we make our own tribes every time we begin a new project. A cast and crew becomes as close as a family and you will often hear theatre people confess that their theatre troupe is, in fact, closer than their family at home.
In any case that's how I feel. That we choose the members of our tribe. And we are drawn to them for all kinds of reasons and there's fate involved and all kinds of beautiful magic, but we choose it.
Just as we choose our mates who become the cornerstone of our own small families.
And Adam and Danielle are most definitely as dear to me as my own brothers and sisters. I love them. I would do anything for them. They are my tribe, my family, my dear friends.
Sometime after 2AM we got the first update we'd had in hours and hours. It was a picture of a deleriously happy Pappa holding a baby girl.
I called Aaron up to the loft and we just stared, grinning like fools, for several full minutes before either one of us could find words. It was quite literally amazing to us. It was real. It happened. Zoe Pigeon was now a real person in this world. She's here!
Danielle is a mother. Adam is a father.
For whatever reason, and I really can't explain why, but for whatever reason this experience felt even more deeply moving and staggering than the birth of my blood nieces and nephews, (all of whom I love and adore!), and we were blown away by the impact of it.
Our friends are parents.
Now it is morning and we've gotta go let Chops out again :) And later? We will meet this girl at last.
Solstice Baby. Born on the first day of summer. How perfect for A&D!
I look forward to getting to know this incredible girl.
I am so FUCKING EXCITED right now I can't even capitalize my text enough to properly express it! No interrabang does it enough justice!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
So I started blogging, as you may have read, to help cultivate a voice and then actively encouraged others to do the same. My friend D, for instance, has one of the most unique voices and perspectives that I know! It tickles me pink everytime she posts another entry! be it lengthy or succinct (my favorite shorty was probably the one entitled 'Wetty') it is always, always, pure Danielle and for that it is brilliance!
Anywhooooo. I started this Cedar Falls bullshit and the idea was sort of a sand-box! The only rule to come play is: Everybody has a Secret(inspired by Frank Warren's Post Secrets, and also, I'm not gunna lie, a little by the House tagline: Everybody Lies... lol. Oh, speaking of, is anyone going to watch that new show that looks awful\delicious, Pretty Little Liars? I think I'mma give it a try this week!)
So I start with trash in a hot tub and high dudgeon and shit, and then one morning I visit Danielle at the Palace and she's all like: "Hey, I had the craziest dream and now I have the best idea for a story for Cedar Falls..." YUP! How phenomenal is that? She tells me her idea and I almost come in my pants I'm so excited! She is a natural storyteller-- her story lines and plans for her characters are delicious and murky and full of intrigue and complexities that I never, never, never could have dreamed up and I am so fucking excited!
Right off the bat she was super encouraging about this endeavor, about my writing fiction or just blogging, and for that I can't thank her enough! Then she starts talking about how some professional authors sort of do this thing where they'll write books in other authors' series. I'm not familiar but Danielle reads all the time so I take her word for it. Like, especially in mystery or murder series' I guess?
So together we birthed the notion that other people should try writing vignettes and stories for CF. AWESOME SAUCE RIGHT?!?!?!
So she did and they rocked my fucking socks off! Visit them here, here, and here! BAM!
So then HER ENTHUSIASM and provocativeness encouraged others!! What?! Woot Woot!
PLUS reading those two made Aaron want to write another vignette for the story line he started about the disturbingly wholesome father-daughter murderer duo Walt&Clancy! So he started that last night and it is already delicious!
AND Andrea and I have decided to do a writing activity which may or may not be Cedar Falls related, where we send each other a first-line story starter and then run with it. I started mine last night and am excited to finish it because it takes me out of the Delaney web of intrigue and, well, when you see the first line I think you'll know why I was so excited to write it! LOL. Mine will still take place in Cedar Falls because, well, why the fuck not? I'll post it as soon as it is done! And Andrea? Well, that's up to her, though I must say her near-daily blog is wicked fun, so can she be persuaded to share her fiction?? We won't force her, it's great enough that she's trying this experiment, but let's all cross our fingers that she'll surrender the mpiece up into the blogosphere for our greedy eyes!! :)
So the other person who shuld be contributing is EMMY, because, I know she's busy, but that girl has got a fertile and fantastic imagination and what a story teller! So let's all get on her case to get writing. I liked the story about the creep who hangs out outside the movie theatre Emmy. You know what I mean. LOL.
And JULIA!! Who has enough hilarious and entertaining real-life stories to write her fucking memoirs NOW-- YOU should do this! You are wildly creative, inventive, and your voice, be it in acting, choreographing, directing, song-writing, or through your passion\art of PHOTOGRAPHY, your voice is soulful, penetrating, wise and whimsical. Know what? If I had to tell you to start somehwere I'd tell you to go out and take photos of random people, go home, look through them, let your imagination run wild and then start writing for someone you've captured in a picture. That's a drama activity I'd do with students. Give it a try! Hell, I want to write for that gorgeous couple at the airport. damn- they are right out of a movie, especially the way you shot them!!
And KIM? Are you out there? Write, Woman. We both know you have stories BUSTIN to get out!!
And Kerry? Part of your new life really must include blogging\live journalling again, and maybe for fun you could write some intrigue for CF? Maybe a piano teacher who has a dark secret... lol or a Massage Therapist with a romance plotline? Who knows?
So, YAY to taking the time to be creative, have fun and tell stories. I feel like flying or jumping or skipping or orgasming! LOL. Sorry, how'd that last one slip in there? whooopsie...
But really. This is awesome and though I know Yelling and Papi will likely soon have to curtail their creative writing due to Baby's impending arrival, ( I lost my bet-- I was SURE she'd be born of Father's Day!) I hope they can still find some time to sneak off and get-out all their creative, disturbing, exciting, intruiging thoughts for all of us to read!
So to the writers out there and to those of you who think you aren't writers: Get to writing bitches! This shit is wicked fun and it's summer, for god's sake! Get an idea and just START! Remember, it isn't about perfection, DON'T get hung up on where the story will end up, just start TELLING IT!!
I still have no clue how my Jonah\Viola\Vaughan story is going to end, but that doesn't stop me from having a fucking blast with it!
I recently caught-up with a very dear friend of mine on the phone. We hadn't spoken, quite literally, in years, save for facebook messages and the occasional text or voice mail (she tends to leave me happy birthday songs on my voicemail every year, which I save and re-listen to on occasion:))
We attended AMDA together and she is one of the most remarkable women I've ever known, and a dear, dear friend. We'd spend hours and hours working on scenes, songs, projects and just sitting on the back deck of The Strat in spring & summer chatting and philosophizing and sharing and indulging in Indian take-out.
I looked up to her, and am happy to say that I still do! She inspires me to be better; her perseverance and persistence encourage me to make more of myself, but not in a competitive way, more in a celebratory way.
I guess lately I've been really into this idea of blogging, because the motivation behind this exploration involves finding and strengthening my 'voice', and encouraging others to do the same! To tell our stories or to create stories, but to tell stories, weave tales and express ourselves. Talking to Kim only fueled this passion further. Her voice is a strong, clear, rich, and singular one and I told her to Get back to Blogging Woman!
When she can find a minute between being amazing, happy, innovative, pro-active and incredible, she assures me that she will, indeed, resume blogging.
Meanwhile she's strengthened my resolve to strive for excellence rather than perfection, because as she puts it, something that is 'perfect' is something that has no room to grow; if it is perfect then it is frozen, stuck. Whereas the pursuit of excellence is something organic and changing and infinitely more human and compelling.
So bring on the typos and the blunders because they are part of my story and most definitely part of my voice. I'm going to try alot harder to love myself for all my flaws and accept and celebrate the light I have to give.
Don't panic though, readers. This does not mean I intend to become lofty or preachy! It may mean I occasionally become more engaged in subjects that hold my passion-- such as the arts or education or women's issues, but it will not stop me from writing trashy beach fiction! My voice is an irreverent one, a comedic one, a naughty one, a provocative one, a bawdy one, an Irish one!!. So there will still be erotica and disturbing fiction and playful journalling and lots and lots of foul language and sex talk.
Because that's part of my story. My voice. And I love it!
So thanks Kim! I hope you've begun to read, and I look forward to any and all comments you have... I know I was nervous when I spilled the beans, but after some thought I am very, very glad you have the url to this little corner of the blogosphere now.
What was that phrase you used to repeat at AMDA? Either Rock Out With Your Cock Out or Exit? Something like that. That was the spirit of it.
So let's hope my proverbial cock stays out and rockin'!!
PS: I think I'm going to make it my goal to re-connect with several more dear friends with whom I've fallen out-of-touch. This action takes alot of courage and guts and puts me in a less-than-comfortable zone. It isn't my norm to try to stay in touch, despite how much I love and adore my long-lost friends. It might be painful, it will likely be awkward, all the phone calls will not go as smoothly and as beautifully as the one with Kim (thank you Kim for being so fucking fantastic and easy to talk with! Damn girl, you killed my cell battery!)
And every coffee date will not go as pleasantly as the one at the Bean with Andrea (thanks for indulging me in graphic sex discussions at full volume in a local cafe-- Sometimes I feel guilty about being a theatre person because I don't seem to possess a 'quiet' volume and I say whatever the fuck I want to say despite being surrounded by strangers with eyebrows raised. Thanks, Andrea for laughing instead of cringing!!)
And every old friend may not end up remaing my friend... we may discover we've nothing left in common and have to confine our relatuonship to pleasant memories and be done with it. But there are many wonderful people that I've known and loved too much to simply surrender it to the fates. I'm taking my cock in hand and going after them... wait... that makes me sound like a sex offender... ah well, so be it! Look out for my figurative cock people!!
Julia talked alot to me about Choice, and it is empowering to make the Choice to pursue this endeavor. No matter how uncomfortable or scary or nerve-wracking. It's better, I think, to take the initiative and fall flat on my face than to sigh and shrug and wonder 'what if...'
I think I'll start with my best friend from High School and see where that takes me. Now that I've reconnected with my best friend from AMDA, I feel like the sky's the limit!
Oh, and I also have to work on calling Kim more often... more often than once in three years...yeah :)
Oh boy. With the way Cedar Falls is going I could have posted several 'appropriate' stories for this day, but I've decided to be sweet and post something pleasant. I sincerely hope you enjoy this, I love it, though I think it might be asking a lot of you all to like Jonah as much as I do since you all know his terrible secret.
But this is years and years before that awful secret comes to be. This is when he was still a good man, maybe even, as all the people in Cedar Falls keep asserting "the best man I know".
Enjoy! And Happy Father's Day!!
******************
Jonah affixed his signature to another form and glanced up, across the classroom, empty--save for one student. She sat shoulders hunched, brow furrowed, her pencil flying across the page of her test booklet.
He tapped his large stack of papers into a neat pile and checked his watch. She was on the open response section. She was making good time.
He sighed and slid the neatened pile off to the side of the desk before removing his glasses and leaning back. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where the glasses rested all day and then with thumb and forefinger he gently rubbed his closed eyelids.
It had been a long day. On top of it being the busiest time of the school year, and on top of the extra work he’d been scrambling to finish so that his candidacy for deputy superintendent would stand out amongst the well-qualified herd, on top of it being standardized testing month across the district, and performance review week, and his thesis deadline looming, on top of all that, he’d had to deal with a rather unpleasant surprise sometime around mid-morning.
He’d been hustling to respond to interdepartmental e-mails, trying to schedule teacher meetings and following up on the status of his application for the deputy job when his secretary rapped on the frame of his open office door.
Jonah had looked up, fairly nonplussed. Mary Ellen usually just called out loudly from the outer office where her desk sat—He was an elementary school principal, not some fancy executive. Jonah ran a professional office, but not a particularly formal one.
“Principal Delaney?” She asked, her face grim.
Jonah felt a knot form in his gut. Mary Ellen almost never called him anything but “Joe”. Was she in some kind of trouble? Was He? His mind flipped rapidly through various scenarios that might warrant the formality and the grim expression from his warm, sociable secretary.
His heart was in his throat; Had something happened to a student? Had there been an accident? Oh God, had something happened to his wife? He forced himself to remain calm. There was no sense jumping to conclusions.
“What is it Mary Ellen?” He responded, pushing back from his desk and standing. He never wanted to be anything but on-his-feet when confronted with emergency situations.
Mary Ellen looked partly apologetic. “A student has been sent to see you.”
Jonah pursed his lips thoughtfully and tented his fingertips on the surface of a tall stack of textbooks that lived on the corner of his desk. A student?
Discipline issues were handled by the Vice-Principal as a rule. Jonah had had that job for several years and knew that a student only got referred higher up the chain if it was a particularly serious offense or if there might be a legal issue.
He hoped there hadn’t been another incident involving sexual abuse. The one the previous spring had really knocked the wind out of him. This was Cedar Falls for God’s sake; this wasn’t supposed to be the kind of place where an elementary school principal had to be expected to navigate the murky and disturbing world of sexual assault and molestation.
He’d handled it with grace and tact and with aplomb, and had garnered notice for it from the big names over at the central schools offices for his skill and diplomacy and especially his discretion in the matter. He hoped that appreciation might translate into positive momentum for his bid at the deputy job.
But really he’d rather it hadn’t ever happened and he would prefer not to ever have to deal with such a miserable incident again.
“Hannah is unavailable?” He asked slowly. Maybe the Vice-Principal had just stepped out. Was this the morning she had her ultrasound? He thought that would be next week, but perhaps he had the date wrong.
“No.” Answered Mary Ellen hesitantly.
They stared at each other for a moment, neither quite sure how to proceed.
“The student’s teacher asked for you specifically.” Mary Ellen said heavily.
Jonah squinted. Which teacher was so intent on breaking protocol, and whatever for?
“Which teacher?” He asked, hoping he sounded more curious than accusatory.
“Mr. Roderick.” Mary Ellen said and then glanced behind her into the outer office where the student in question would be sitting in one of the durable government-issued upholstered armchairs, awaiting judgment.
Jonah’s face changed. Roderick. He thought he understood. Without another word he moved from behind his desk and strode to the doorway. When he reached Mary Ellen he stopped and looked into her face—reading her expression only confirmed his suspicion.
Finally he spoke. “Thank you Mary Ellen.” He said quietly. She looked like she wanted to pat his shoulder in sympathy but she refrained. Jonah made the conscious choice to avoid looking into the outer office.
“What seems to be the issue today?” he asked his secretary formally, loudly enough for the banished student to hear the stern, unyielding tone in his voice.
“Here.” She handed him a note ‘from the desk of Mr. Marcus J. Roderick Jr.’ “She was caught cheating.”
Jonah sucked in a sharp breath. “Send her in Mrs. Gillis.”
Mary Ellen nodded and stepped from the doorframe. Jonah decided he’d like to be standing behind the desk when she entered. He felt he should look as authoritarian as possible. He quickly walked back across his office and turned around, making it to his place just as her small figure stepped into the door frame. She was still so small for her age. She hesitated, waited on the threshold to be given permission to enter.
He let her wait there in limbo for a moment. It wasn’t this student’s first time in the principal’s office. In fact it wasn’t exactly unusual for her to be sent to the elementary school’s main office for one discipline issue or another.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. She stood fidgeting in the doorway, distractedly pulling at a hangnail, her weight shifted onto one foot while the other twisted back and forth nervously. He felt a twinge of guilt for dragging out her agony.
“Have a seat Miss Delaney.”
She bled into the room without looking up and melted into one of the chairs before his desk without a word.
He looked at the top of her head and didn’t know whether he wanted to smile or scowl. He opened the note from Roderick and began to read it silently to himself. He heard her shift in her chair and knew her anxiety to be mounting. Still standing behind his desk he looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Do you know what this note is about?”
Keeping her eyes downcast she nodded.
“Care to elaborate?” He asked, carefully re-folding the stationary.
Her small shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug.
A moment passed.
“Viola look at me.” He said finally, dropping the Principal voice and switching to his Dad voice. Jonah wouldn’t have thought it possible but she hung her head lower still. He sighed.
The bell rang for the first round of lunches and he knew the office was about to get very noisy very quickly. He crossed to the door and closed it quietly. Her head turned slightly, following him, but she didn’t look up.
He fought to quell his mounting impatience. He had a dozen or more things he needed to accomplish before the hour was out but those things would simply have to wait.
He crossed back to his desk, sat, and re-read Roderick’s note. “I’m going to have to call your mother.” He said with a sigh, laying the open note down on the desk between them.
She responded by melting further into the chair, her shoulders collapsing, her small hands going to her face. She looked so small. He swallowed. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?” he offered gently. “Tell me your side.”
He placed his elbows on the desk and folded his hands over the damned note. He supposed he was grateful Roderick had sent her to him, but it put him in a very uncomfortable spot. There were certain things he was obligated to do as Principal, and those things didn’t always work in cooperation with the things he needed to say and do as a father.
For instance, if his little girl began to cry now, in his office, he would feel compelled, as her father, to comfort her. But as her principal he needed to remain unmoved and impartial.
Also, as her Principal, he knew she would need to be suspended for this offense—they had a fairly strict ‘three-strikes-and-you’re-out’ policy and took a very firm line on cheating and plagiarism. No father wants to suspend his own child—not even the rule-abiding Jonah Delaney.
The muffled sounds of laughter and animated conversations on the other side of the door made the tense quiet of the office all the more oppressive. Still Viola was silent.
Jonah’s eyebrows knit together and he watched her carefully. This hang-dog behavior wasn’t like her. Oh, she knew how to act regretful and remorseful whenever she got pulled out of class for discipline, but normally that certain mischievous something, that spark of defiance and spirit never truly disappeared; it was always there, undercutting whatever role she happened to be performing, be it apologetic student or innocent victim or any other mask she threw on as necessity called.
But now she seemed genuinely crestfallen. Woeful even. He detected none of her usual fire, none of that stubborn defiance that he admired and adored so much—even in times when she was misbehaving. His affection for her ‘willful spirit’ often made it difficult for him to parent objectively, and even worse for him as her principal.
He reached up and undid the button hidden behind the knot of his tie. “You understand you’re in a great deal of trouble here young lady.” He said half-heartedly. He grimaced as he watched her fold her hands in her lap and a fat tear dripped from her chin.
Dammit. “C’mon sweetheart—“ he said soothingly, “—tell me what happened?”
She released a shuddering sigh and finally looked up, her violet eyes swimming in tears. His heart twisted.
“C’mere.” He said and sat back. To hell with being principal. With a trembling lower lip she rose and moved automatically around the desk and let him pull her into a hearty hug. She wept against his collar and he didn’t try to stop her, only held her close, stroked her hair and murmured low, sweet words of comfort.
She was so small that with her standing and him sitting in his desk chair they were approximately the same height.
“I’m sorry Dad.” She whispered at last, her words muffled and trapped in the now-damp fabric of his collar.
“Tell me what happened.” He said softly, continuing to stroke her hair and back soothingly. She sniffed against his collar and he has to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips.
“I don’t want you to hate me.” She said, a whine-y note pulling the pitch of her voice high and tight.
This was always a concern of Viola’s. No matter how many times he assured the girl that his love was unconditional, no matter how many different ways he demonstrated it, she seemed ever preoccupied with the idea that she might someday alienate him, that she might someday do something terrible enough to make her father stop loving her, or angry enough to hate her.
She’d been a very needy child, asking Jonah countless times a day if he loved her, would he ever stop loving her, would he forgive her no matter what? She was clingy and possessive and had quickly won the reputation of being the biggest ‘daddy’s girl’ in the house which seemed to cause friction amongst his daughters. Now in sixth grade she’d outgrown the need for constant verbal affirmation and her clingy-ness had become a less stifling brand of affection, but at times like this it was clear the insecurities still lingered.
“Viola,” he said wearily, “You know I could never hate you.” She sniffled again and shivered. He squeezed her a little tighter in response and finally she snaked her small arms around his neck and hugged him back. He smiled.
He let her hug him for a few more moments before leaning back gently and putting her at arm’s length. He fixed her with a kindly gaze and allowed a small, reassuring smile. “Whatever it is, it isn’t the end of the world Vi.” He teased lightly. “C’mon, out with it.”
She returned his smile with a fragile, watery one of her own. And then she was somber again. “I got caught cheating.” She confessed.
He pressed his lips into a line but tried to keep his eyes kind. At least she hadn’t tried to lie or make excuses.
“Why were you cheating?” he asked carefully, his hands still holding her arms securely at the elbows.
She furrowed her brow and looked away. He saw her throat move to swallow several times and knew she didn’t want to say.
“Sweetheart, we studied every night this week for that test.” He said coaxingly. “You knew that material like the back of your hand.” He smiled but her face only crumbled further. Pretending to want to hold her hands he surreptitiously checked both sides of each small hand to see if the test answers were scribbled there. To his enormous relief the little hands were clear of notations and he squeezed them supportively.
“I know!” she wailed and tried to pull out of his grip once or twice but abandoned the effort when she realized he’d no intention of letting go. “Am I getting suspended?” she suddenly demanded, her tone strong and clear and defiant.
He had to clench his teeth together hard to suppress a smile. This was his Viola, this feisty brat before him was far preferable to the dejected silent type anyday.
“I think you know the answer to that.” He managed to sound appropriately formal. She glared at him as though it were his fault.
“Fine.” She said, setting her jaw obstinately.
He rolled his eyes to the heavens. She was eleven. As diminutive as she still remained he was forcibly reminded at moments like this one that she was very firmly in the pre-teen range of emotional rollercoasters and attitude problems.
“I think you know that it is decidedly not ‘fine’, Viola Faye.” He said with an edge. She huffed. “I’m not offering again honey, this is the last opportunity to tell me your side of these events.”
It was her turn to roll her eyes. She tisked. “Mr. Roderick is a jerk.” She exploded.
“Viola.” Jonah’s tone was a warning.
“He is.” She insisted.
His daughter and her sixth grade social studies teacher had had a personality conflict since the first day of the school year. Jonah suspected it had only about half to do with her personality and the other half of the tension was due to her last name. Roderick was harder on Viola than the others because of who her father was. Jonah sighed. He supposed he’d rather that than have him be too lenient with her for the same reason; Jonah couldn’t stand a kiss-ass.
“Your opinion of the man’s personality is irrelevant here I think.” Jonah said, fixing her with and over-the-rim-of-his-glasses-stare. “Unless you mean to imply that Mr. Roderick has been unfair in sending you out of class?”
Viola was forced to shake her head ‘no’.
“So?” Jonah prompted.
“So: it was all dates.” She pouted miserably.
Jonah blinked. “What do you mean? All dates?”
She nodded vigorously. “All dates! All of it! That’s all, just match the dates with the correct event and fill in the date and all of it! It was just dates and nothing else!” Her voice was in a fevered pitch and her breathing was erratic.
“Okay, okay, calm down.” He said rubbing her arms soothingly.
“Because I know this stuff!” She insisted. “We studied, you helped me, I was ready!”
He nodded. It was true. They had studied nightly, he’d helped her wrap her mind around all the concepts and cause-and-effect and sequence of events in the history unit and he had been confident that she would ace the unit test. She knew the major players, the important events, she understood the why and how and the consequences of the actions taken—but she had a particular mental block when it came to dates.
“And like, I know the order, mostly, but the actual dates?!” She was practically shrieking.
He breathed out heavily. He could empathize with her rage at the injustice of it. It was a shitty, lazy, completely asinine way to conduct an evaluation. In Jonah’s estimation any history teacher that gave an exam based solely on dates knew very little about history and even less about teaching. It was ridiculous. Of course he couldn’t tell her that.
“I see.” He said calmly. “So you, what, you looked at someone’s paper?”
Some of the fire went out of her face and she nodded grimly. “I’m sorry dad.” She whined. “I just didn’t know what else to do.” She melted back into him and he hugged her. “And he said I was an idiot and a cheat and that a cheat grows up to be a criminal and that I was no good, and a disgrace, and a liar, and I didn’t deserve to be in his classroom and and and—“ He felt her shudder and melted back into him, buried her face in his neck once more and she blubbered indistinctly into his collar. It took all Jonah’s strength not to fling her aside and storm down to the man’s classroom with a cudgel.
“Ok.” He said after a moment of letting her cry. “Wait here.”
He settled Viola into the seat by his desk with a box of tissues and a kiss to the top of her head, asked Mrs. Gillis to keep an eye on her, and headed down toward the sixth grade wing. He smiled and waved at some second graders as they munched on their fruit snacks and sipped their chocolate milk from cardboard jugs in the cafeteria.
When he neared the sixth grade wing he heard Mr. Roderick from the far end of the hall and he grimaced. Jonah couldn’t stand teachers who yelled. There was no need, in Jonah’s opinion, to ever have to scream at students like that. But Roderick was a bitter, frustrated little man. He was a bully.
Jonah was aware, in part, that what he was doing, and what he was about to do, was unconventional at best and downright crossing the line at worst, but his long legs carried him toward Roderick’s room nonetheless. He should wait, he knew that, wait until the man’s free period and discuss it then, but something in his gut compelled him to seek the asshole out right then, have it done with on the spot.
Roderick was in the middle of some rant about ‘respect’ and how the students didn’t know the meaning of the word and it took all Jonah had to keep his face passive when he knocked on the door of the classroom that used to be his own and opened it without waiting for a response.
Roderick froze in mid-sentence, his face beet-red and bulging, and his armpit stains in rare form. “Mr. Roderick, do you have just a minute?” Jonah said politely, then nodded and smiled to the room full of miserable looking students.
“I-“ Roderick looked sorely put-out at the interruption. It must have been a whopper of a diatribe.
“My apologies class” Jonah said warmly to the abject sixth graders. “I’ll get him right back to you.” He turned a mild smile on Roderick. “Mr. Roderick?” Then Jonah stepped into the hall and waited, leaving the man no goddamned choice but to join him.
He heard Roderick threaten them with detention and zeros and other punishments as he assigned them pages to read silently and finally the little red man marched into the hall and closed the door behind him.
“She was caught red-handed Jonah.” Roderick said in the way of a greeting.
“I understand that Marcus.” Jonah spoke very calmly.
“Then what’s the issue?” He said irritably.
Jonah adjusted his glasses slightly and tried not to let himself react to the tone Roderick was taking. “I’m a little concerned about the format of the exam.” He responded placidly.
Roderick blinked his piggy eyes and then sneered. “I can give whatever exam I choose, Jonah, you know that—you were curriculum director.”
Jonah pressed his teeth together firmly and forced a smile. Was the man so petty and sour that he was still bitter about Jonah’s appointment to curriculum director over him? Or maybe losing the vice-principal job two years after that rankled more? Then, his appointment to principal must have smarted a great deal, thought Jonah a little smugly. A swirling fire flared in his belly. He refused to let this miserable little man take out his inadequacies on Viola.
“May I see a copy of the exam?” Asked Jonah, choosing to gloss over the snide comment.
Roderick didn’t move. “It’s a unit exam.” He said mulishly. “I can structure it however I see fit.”
Jonah cleared his throat and pulled on one shirt cuff and then the other, urging himself to keep his temper. “I’d like to take a look Marcus.” He said with a smile, folding his arms across his chest casually. “If you don’t mind.”
Still Roderick stood rooted to the spot. “It doesn’t matter what’s on the damn test Delaney, she cheated and that’s the issue here.”
Jonah’s smile evaporated and he stared at the man squarely. “That’s not being debated here Marcus.” Jonah’s voice was low.
“So are you suspending her or not?” Jonah noted the sick flash of glee behind the man’s bloodshot eyes and wanted to slam the asshole up against the wall.
“You know very well that I have to do that.” He spoke clearly and crisply.
Roderick didn’t bother masking the triumph he felt. “Rules are rules.” He said gloatingly.
Jonah took a long breath in. He was almost vibrating with fury. “I need to see that test.” He said, his voice a quiet threat.
They glared at eachother for a prickly moment. “Fine.” Roderick threw out, as if it mattered not at all to him. The man twisted the door handle with more force than was necessary and stalked back into the classroom. The low murmur of chatter that had been thriving in his absence dried up quickly and Jonah observed twenty or so pairs of eyes fixate purposefully on open books, suddenly very earnest in avidly scanning the assigned chapter.
After shoving stacks of papers to and fro, sloshing a coffee mug recklessly to the near-edge of the desk surface and knocking over a tin of paperclips, Roderick finally managed to obtain a copy of the exam in question. Looking harassed and indignant at the same time the man stalked back out into the hall and left Jonah to close the door after him.
He practically slapped the exam into Jonah’s chest “Here.”
Jonah couldn’t help the incredulous upward tilt of his eyebrows. This man was pushing it to the absolute limit. Was he trying to get Jonah to fire him? As much as Jonah would have liked to terminate the man’s employ there was far too much red-tape, far too much union influence to touch the man. He had tenure. He had job security. He had to be endured.
With a pleasant smile that he didn’t feel Jonah slowly took hold of the test. “Thank you. So sorry to pull you out of class like this.” He added as he began to look over the exam. He wasn’t, of course, in the least bit sorry. He felt a rather savage glee in having disrupted this grumpy little toad’s day as much as Roderick had done to his.
“Yeah.” Roderick huffed. “Why don’t you take a look and send me your thoughts.” He said bitingly and moved to re-open the classroom door. Jonah lifted his arm casually and placed a hand non-chalantly on the doorframe as if to brace himself for leaning. He never took his eyes off the inane test he was inspecting. Even so, Roderick got the message. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have heard the little man growl.
Jonah finished looking over the test several full minutes before he seemed to. There wasn’t much to see, wasn’t a lot of substance to the thing, but he made a great show of reading and re-reading the sections, turning the pages and looking more closely, nodding thoughtfully or making small noises of comprehension as he did so. He wanted the jerk to squirm. To have to wait for him. He kept his arm stretched across the door jamb in a most laid-back way and rather enjoyed how much taller he was than Roderick.
“I’m sorry Marcus—“ Jonah said politely, flipping the two pages over again and again, searching, “I hate to be a pain—“ he gave a small laugh “but I don’t seem to have the whole test here.” He made an apologetic face and finally removed himself from the position of barricade with an easy grace that made Roderick seem even more stout than he already was.
The man blinked and glared. “That’s all of it.” He snarled.
Jonah arranged his face in an expression of polite bafflement and looked at the pages again curiously. “Oh, my mistake…” He trailed off momentarily. “But Marcus, I’m not seeing an open response section or a long comp… “ he trailed off again, examining the pages with deliberate care. “There’s no reasoning section, not even a content area multiple choice…” He looked at Roderick once more. “Am I missing it?”
Roderick looked smug. “I am allowed to structure the unit test however I choose.” He reiterated slowly.
Jonah licked the inside of his teeth, keeping his expression pleasant and unperturbed.
“Of course, of course—“ Jonah placated graciously, wanting nothing more than to slug the man in his detestable, bloated face. “You can arrange the exam how you see fit, determine the structure according to the needs of your classes—“
“Right. So we’re finished?”
Jonah smiled harder. “Of course within the unit exams certain requirements have to be met.” He finished with aplomb. Take that you smug son-of-a-bitch.
“I can structure my tests—“
“Of course, of course!” Agreed Jonah with an accommodating nod. “Section tests and quizzes, absolutely.” He ceased his agreeable nodding and cocked his head to the side, thoughtfully. “Maybe you meant to give this as a quiz?”
Roderick’s jaw went slack and his left eye twitched but Jonah pressed on.
“Because as a quiz this is genius!” He lied charmingly. “A great quiz for dates, perfect for that.” He adjusted his glasses and looked back to the stapled-together sheets that hardly required two separate pieces of paper. “But as a unit exam I’m afraid this couldn’t stand alone—as you said I was the curriculum director!” He chuckled amicably and flashed Roderick his most charismatic smile. He was enjoying the deepening shade of red-purple the man’s face was becoming. “Because I’m sure you wouldn’t intentionally structure an entire comprehensive exam to cater only to one highly-specified learning style… I’m sure, with all your years as an educator you would know better than to put all your proverbial eggs in one basket?” Jonah smiled sweetly at the man’s corpulent face, “And I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here and guess that you would never intentionally structure a test in such a way that made it impossible for students with certain learning disabilities to ever hope to pass it.” Jonah knew there was a definite edge in his voice now and a gleam in his eye, though he kept the friendly smile fixed on his lips. “State guidelines, national standards, you know what I mean.” He said it in a tone of camaraderie, as if the guidelines for learning were some device of big-brother designed to be a needless pain-in-the-ass for over-worked educators.
“She cheated.” Roderick leveled irately.
Jonah blinked. “Yes.”
“Caught her red-handed.” But he said it as if he meant he’d caught Jonah. “Your daughter’s a filthy cheat Delaney, and my exam has nothing to do with it.”
Jonah pursed his lips and thought of the miserable little girl in tears in his office and wished he could ask the man to step outside. “This is a travesty of an exam Roderick.” He said darkly. “And I’d bet Viola isn’t the only student who wasn’t able to do it.”
“She’s the one who got caught.” That oily smile made Jonah feel electrically charged and ready to explode.
“Yes.” He said and nodded slowly. “And she will face the consequences.” He assured the man in slow, careful tones. “But I want the results of this exam tossed.”
Marcus moved reflexively as if he’d been shoved. “You have no right!”
“I want them tossed, or at best counted as a quiz grade, and you are to give a proper unit exam that meets the current school, town, state, and national standards. Is that understood?” Jonah forced himself to breathe normally and stare the man down. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice” he said, trying not to sneer too much, “So if you feel you haven’t the time to pull one together perhaps you should use the one I created for this unit while I was still teaching.”
Jonah knew he was meant to wither under the glare Roderick was fixing on him, but he could almost laugh instead. What a ridiculous, bitter, frustrated little bully of a man.
“Infact.” Said Jonah thoughtfully, looking off into space. “Why don’t we do that and call it a day?” He didn’t ask it so much as he decided it. “I’ll pull it for you and have copies made. You can administer it tomorrow—I’m sure the class is well prepared, and I’ll have Viola take hers today so that this suspension won’t affect her unit grade.”
Roderick lips pursed into a tiny, wrinkled ‘o’ and he looked mad enough to spit. “Special treatment.” He accused hotly.
“Not at all,” Said Jonah calmly. “She’ll take the zero she earned on your foolish ‘quiz’ and we’ll see how she does on the larger exam. You may grade it.” He offered the ridiculous papers back to Roderick. “And you get what you wanted—“ he added in a low, stern voice. “I have to suspend my own daughter today.” He nodded at the man. “Have a good day Mr. Roderick” Jonah said more loudly as he opened the door to the sixth grade room with a smile. “Apologies again for taking so much of your valuable teaching time.”
Roderick sneered and pushed passed Jonah brutishly. Jonah had a pang of guilt, knowing that the man’s black mood would likely be taken out of these hapless sixth graders. He gave them all an encouraging and sympathetic smile before nodding courteously toward the red-mottled face of their dangerously livid teacher and strolling back to his office.
Jonah followed through on his duty and processed all the forms suspending Viola, but he modified the suspension to make the first day of her sentence an in-school suspension, pretending that Velvet wouldn’t be available to pick the child up and be at home with her on such short notice, so Viola spent the rest of the day in Jonah’s office doing her work, eating her lunch and reading.
Jonah hated to admit it to himself, and he didn’t let-on to Viola, but he actually rather enjoyed her presence in the office while he muddled through all the work that he had to accomplish. With a small smile he realized that it felt a lot like being at home, where Viola would curl up somewhere in his study while he graded papers or worked on his thesis or paid bills.
She didn’t speak too much, and he didn’t engage her in conversation; she was in trouble, after all, and he was her principal. But it wasn’t half bad having her there, working quietly alongside him.
After Jonah had seen all the bus students safely loaded onto their busses and waved goodbye to the parents who’d come to pick up their children, and after he’d settled end-of-the-day business with Mary-Ellen and with Hannah, Jonah poked his head back into his office.
“You ready to take that test?” He asked.
She looked up from the book she was reading and grinned.
Now, as Jonah sat in the chair that used to be his, at the desk that he’d once occupied, in the room that had been a favorite for students to enter every day, he sighed lightly and smiled. He replaced his glasses on his face, loosened and pulled the knot of his tie down, and ran his fingers through his hair. His shirt sleeves were already rolled up to the elbows, his top button undone hours ago, and he started to feel himself relax. Began to allow the tension of the day to bleed out of him.
He watched her put her pencil eraser to her lips as she re-read her rapidly scrawled essay response and he grinned. He was proud of her. He chuckled quietly to himself. He was a sap. On the day his daughter was suspended from school he was proud of her. He shook his head with amusement.
“What’s so funny?” Viola asked, looking over with a half-smile.
“No talking during the test.” He grinned at her.
She giggled and looked back at the exam. “I think I’m done.” She announced, and Jonah could hear excitement in her voice.
“Have you looked it over?” He asked in his best sixth-grade-teacher voice.
She flipped through all the pages again, swiftly running her gaze over the various sections, her lips moving silently. She was beautiful. He smiled. And very, very bright. And well prepared for a proper unit exam.
At last she bounced to her feet, a jubilant smile on her face, and practically skipped over to his desk, test in hand. “I liked the sequence of events section.” She told him.
“Better than a bunch of dates?” He asked with a wink.
“Much.” She said emphatically and rolled her eyes a little.
He laughed softly and took the test from her. He stood, stretched and reached over to ruffle her hair. She giggled. “This used to be my room you know.” He told her as he gathered up his papers and handed her his briefcase to carry.
“Really?” It sounded as if such a thing was hard to imagine. He nodded.
“You’d have liked it.” He told her. “I had these great giant maps up on the wall over there—“ He pointed. “And I had that whole corner dedicated to ancient Egypt.” He smiled at her squeal of enthusiasm. “And we did projects all the time, and re-enactments with costumes and props.”
“Oh wow!” She said, sounding envious. “I wish you were my teacher!”
He gave her a bittersweet smile and pulled her to his side in a one-armed squeeze. “Me too.” He admitted. “Now let’s get the heck outta here, huh? I’m starving.”
They headed toward the door together. “Did you leave my test for Mr. Roderick?” Viola asked, a little glumly.
“I’m going to make a few photocopies before I leave it in his mailbox.” Jonah said lightly.
“How come?”
“Why?” Jonah corrected gently. She nodded. “I just don’t want anything to accidentally happen to your test.” He said, trying to keep his tone perfectly neutral.
She looked up at him with a side-long glance and he knew she understood. “Also I think I’d like to read your responses.” He added with a smile.
She laughed joyfully and his heart felt light in his chest. He knew he needed to quell her jubilant mood before they got home. Knew he had to tell her just how grounded she was going to be as a result of being suspended. Knew he had to tell her to behave appropriately contrite around her mother and siblings, act properly glum and remorseful. But for now he couldn’t bring himself to do anything to bring her down. He wanted to celebrate her achievement with her. If he hadn’t had an armful of papers and folders and forms he may just have lifted her up like he’d always done when she was a little girl and spun her around until she couldn’t breathe for giggling.
He contented himself with shifting all his load to one arm and throwing the other around her shoulder. They walked like that the rest of the way to his office. He let her chatter on about this and that and smiled the whole way.
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