I decided not to argue. “I understand, ma’am,” I said. “I’m willing to wait…” It took me everything not to say ‘…if you are.’ Don’t give the monster an opening.
Brollish leaned forward. “That might take a while. Are you willing to be outside your classroom for that long?” She was talking slowly. Choosing her words carefully. She was baiting me. “I know how important it is for children to keep to their routines.” Would that I were six feet taller so that I could reach across and slap her in the face just then.
“I think it would be best for all involved,” I said slowly, “in the long term, if I had Union Representation.”
“Are you sure?”
“I would like Union Representation.”
“You’ll have to wait all day.”
“I would like Union Representation.”
“We could end this very quickly…”
“I would like Union Representation.”
“You won’t be able to wait here. You’ll have to wait in the clinic with an ad-…with another staff member.”
“I would like Union Representation.”
Brollish’s mask slipped for a moment. Her face soured. Her nose wrinkled in contempt. In her eyes I was the bratty kid whose Mommy and Daddy were super important sponsors in the Parent-Teacher Organization. And there was nothing she could do about it.
She hadn’t been counting on me stonewalling her. She counted on me being clever or trying to twist her words against her, and give her an opportunity to do the same. The usual song and dance. The best dancers knew more than one routine. The best fighters knew when to dodge and risk tiring themselves out and when to block and let their opponents wear out.
Waiting meant more time for a case to be fabricated against me. It also meant more chances to catch a fabrication. Better odds in my favor.
Still sucked though. Royally
It sucked waiting in the school’s clinic. It sucked being babysat, watched like a hawk by the school’s nurse. It sucked being so damn tired and powerless. It sucked having to hope that somehow, some way, my friends would save me; or at least run out the clock. It sucked not feeling like the main character in my own life.
“You look tired, Mr. Gibson,” the nurse said. “Why don’t you lay down?” she gestured to a vinyl covered sick bed. Over the years I’d seen plenty of kids who’d thrown up or run a fever lay down on them in misery while parents were contacted to pick them up. Never an adult, though.
“No thank you,” I said.
“Are you sure?” I eyed the single diaper on the corner of her desk. I was sure it hadn’t been there when I’d passed by the clinic this morning, and it wasn’t big enough to fit on even an Amazonian Kindergartener.
“I’m sure.”
“Would you like something to drink? I’ve got some milk in the fridge.”
Pants shitting poison. “No thank you,” I said. “I’m just waiting for the moment.”
“Do you need to go to the potty?” So much wrong there. The only non-Amazon sized toilets were in the kindergarten classrooms, mine, and Beouf.
“I”m fine. Thank you.” No way was I asking for a boost up.
Just had to stick to the plan. No matter how hard it was.