It wasn’t until Tarnia was packing up to leave that we looked at the clock and realized we had less than five minutes left in the work day. “Oh…sorry,” I said, finally realizing enough to blush a bit.
“Oh it’s no problem,” Janet said.
“It was kind of cute,” Beouf chuckled, leaning back in the student desk. For once, I didn’t mind being called ‘cute’. Maybe because it was the act and not me. Maybe because an Amazon was included in that statement, shielding me. I don’t know.
I glanced at the clock. “I can grade at least one more essay,” I said. I picked a paper from my stack and started to read it.
I shouldn’t have. I really wish I hadn’t.
My red pen went clattering to the floor, and my good natured blush became hot. Fear and righteous anger started to bubble up inside of me.
It was Mrs Beouf that spoke up. “Mr. Gibson? Clark? Are you okay? What’s wrong.”
“My role model used to be Mr. Gibson,” I choked out, reading from the essay. “He taught me that it was a good thing to grow up and not be a Little baby.”
Tarnia saw the look on my face. “Boss? What’s wrong with that? Why are you shaking?”
“Little is capitalized,” I said. I was keeping my voice low and quiet. It was either that or scream until my throat burst. “He’s not using the word as an adjective.” I couldn’t see the name on the paper, but I knew who’d written this.
“My students barely know commas,” Grange told me. “It’s nothing.”
I just kept reading on. “He helped me grow up and learn to use the potty by showing me how silly it looked to be a baby all your life. I remember all the times Miss Tarnia would take him into the bathroom to change his diaper for him, and how silly and immature he must have felt doing that. When he came into our classroom a while ago he was still wearing a diaper. I could see it poking out of the back of his pants.”
I’d like to tell you that I kept a steady pitch and tone throughout. That I kept my cool and every single syllable came out as something bored or neutral. That would be a lie. My words were unsteady and shaky. They sped up and slowed down as I fought my body for control and lost. The word ‘pants’ in particular came out high and squeaky, and every time I said ‘diaper’ the word was a breathy whisper as the air rushed out of my lungs whenever I tried to pronounce it.
“Jeremy Merriwether,”Janet growled. “That shithead.” The ripped off the masking tape to confirm it.
I’d fallen down in the oversized chair and was sitting down for the first time that afternoon. I had to. I brought my knees up to my chest and rested my arms on them. My life was over. Totally over. Catherine was going to kill me if I ever got to see her again. I was breaking down. I was openly crying. I was frozen. Fear and anger were mixing inside of me, and right now the ratio was leaning towards fear.