15. Oliver

FIFTEEN

Oliver

On the walk to my office, despite Mr. Jones ranting and raving like a lunatic behind me, I’m shocked by nothing except the fear and awe that overcame me when I came outside for dismissal. Georgia, not a short woman, her slim body still dwarfed by the hulking mass of Max’s father. Georgia standing firm, shoulders back, in his face, her beautiful hair wild, a brave lioness facing down an enraged rhinoceros.

I’m furious at her for putting herself in that situation. Max’s dad is unstable and unpredictable at best. I was afraid for her, tried to put distance between them as quickly as possible.

We stop in the main office, and I show Max inside. “Wait in there with Ms. Madge, please, Max. We’ll call for you in a second.” Max practically skips in, the little shit thinking he’s pulled one over on his teacher, something he’s been doing since his very first day of Pre-K. “Come with me, Mr. Jones.”

Mr. Jones isn’t a stranger to my office, either. He’s seen the inside of it more times than I’d like to count over the last three years. He makes himself comfortable in the chair, barely squeezing his mass in between the armrests.

“I’ll make this quick, Mr. Flores,” he begins, and I settle back, used to this song and dance. Let him believe he has the upper hand, get him out of my office, and check on Georgia. “That teacher of his physically assaulted my son in the classroom. He ran out to tell me, ran out of the school building unsupervised because he was so afraid. She then proceeded to physically assault me, and then verbally berated me in front of my son and his peers. What are you going to do about this?”

“What did Max say?”

“Max said that she hit him with a broom.”

“Did he say why?”

“What do you mean, why? In what world is it okay for a teacher to hit a student with a broom?”

I nod, pretending to take notes on a notepad next to my desk. “Okay. How did Ms. Baker physically assault you next?”

“She hit me in the chest. Twice.”

“With an open palm, or a fist?”

“What does it matter?—”

“Just trying to get a full report, Mr. Jones.”

“With her… finger.”

“Her finger?”

“Yes,” he nods.

“So she… poked you,” I clarify.

“Very aggressively.”

“Poked very aggressively,” I murmur, writing it in my notepad. “Then what?”

“Then she verbally assaulted me.”

“What did she say, exactly?”

“I don’t know. It was the ravings of an unhinged lunatic. She’s a witch,” he says, doing the sign of the cross.

“I need details, Mr. Jones, in order to complete a full report. ”

“She believes in all things unholy and full of sin. It is not a woman’s place?—”

“What exactly did she say to you, Mr. Jones?”

“She called me… I don’t remember. Something about being homophobic and Miss something. Things I am not ashamed to be called, but how it was said was wildly inappropriate.”

“And are you?” I push.

“Am I what?”

“Are you homophobic or misogynistic?”

He sputters. “Homophobic means that I am afraid of gay people. I am not afraid of them. I simply believe they live in sin. They are not good people, and they will not go to heaven. I do not want my son exposed to such twisted choices. It’s pornography. He will not be indoctrinated by these abomina?—”

“Well, Mr. Jones. I think I have everything I need from you.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Thank you for joining me today. I will talk to Max during school tomorrow.”

“And how about that Baker bitch? What will happen to her?”

“I will continue my investigation and speak with her.” I stand, showing him the door.

Indignant at being thrown out, Max’s dad sputters. “Mr. Flores, I think I’ve given you a lot of leewa?—”

“No, Mr. Jones, I think you’ve got that backward. I have given you a lot of leeway. Here at PS 2, we teach acceptance. Respect. Kindness. For everyone. You have shown time and time again that you are a threat to the safety of some of our most vulnerable populations. You are, as Ms. Baker said, homophobic and misogynistic. I also know that you are a racist. And that is no longer acceptable. After I conclude my investigation, I will call you back in for a meeting.”

He stands his ground and sneers at me. “If I am not pleased with the outcome of your investigation, I am taking this straight to the Superintendent’s office.”

“Do it,” I dare him, slamming the door in his face.

I give Mr. Jones a full ten minutes to waddle his giant ass out of our school building, then move to Georgia’s room.

I open the door. There she is, sitting dead center, hands folded, eyes glowing with rage and rimmed red, hair electrified. Entranced, I move towards her. “Georgia.”

“Are you here to fire me for real this time? Because I think it’s only fair you hear my side of the story first,” she says to me, her voice a deadly calm.

Confused, I frown at her. “I?—”

“Max bullied Dorothy today. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the worst time. He told me he had to ‘clean her’ because she has two moms. He actually swept the broom at her feet. I took the broom away from him.” She trembles, continuing on, not waiting for me to speak. “I told him to get out of the classroom. He ran away. He ran outside to his dad.”

Her back straightens even further, hair seeming to get bigger. She expands into the room. “His dad has had a history with me. I’ve had to speak with him several times about his attitude. I’ve told him time and time again that he can have his values at home, but once they spill into my classroom, once one of my students gets hurt because of his twisted belief system, then it’s going to be a fucking problem. And I made it his problem today. I let him know.”

I nod gravely. Silent for a moment. “And then you poked him.”

She doesn’t disagree. “And then I poked him.”

“Quite aggressively. ”

“Very aggressively,” she nods. “Wait, what? Are you even mad?”

Sighing, I run my hands through my hair and rub my eyes. “No Georgia, I’m not mad. Well, I’m a bit mad, but not for the reason you think.”

She stands now and moves very close to me. She pokes me. “Well, I’m pissed at you. You stood there and let him think he got one over on me. You let him think he was right. You let him call me a bitch. Then you cut me off and apologized for my behavior, and then you told me to CALM,” Poke. “DOWN.” Poke .

I grab her finger and fold it back into her fist. “Stop touching me, Georgia.” I can’t handle it . “Sit down.” She sits and glares at me. “I did all of that for your safety and potentially for Max’s,” holding my hand up as she starts to retort. “Max’s dad is an unstable, psychopathic, religious nut job. You forget that I have over three years of history with him. I didn’t trust him to be around you anymore, so I did what I knew would get you two separated as fast as possible.”

“And your chosen strategy was to demean my honor as a woman?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

I sigh. “Unfortunately, yes, but it worked, didn’t it? I apologize,” I squeeze in, as I see her hackles rise again. “I’m sorry. That was very rude of me to do to you. I believe nothing that comes out of that man’s mouth. I despise him. Everything you told him was right, but the way you went about it was wrong.”

“HOW THE HELL WAS I WRO—” Georgia jumps out of her seat and slams her hands on the desk.

“Georgia, that man has a history of violence, and also, this is an elementary school! You are a teacher ! You are not the NYPD! You can’t go around insulting and assaulting parents and calling them names, even bigoted ones, and especially not violent ones!” I pace around her classroom. “There is still a semblance of decorum and professionalism we have to uphold as educators. Also, you put yourself and Max in danger . That man was coming for you, and we don’t know how he’s going to retaliate towards Max at home.”

I pause my pacing and stand directly in front of her, putting my hands on her shoulders. Feeling like I’ve been electrified from that point of contact from my palms, I quickly remove them. “Next time something like that happens, Georgia, call me. Call Lina. Call school safety. Actually, no, don’t call school safety,” I add in, thinking of seventy-nine-year-old Ethel. “But call one of your administrators, please. We are trained to handle these types of situations. We can take the heat without compromising the safety of our school, of our jobs .”

I look down at her, realizing that we are now inches apart, so close that I can see small flecks of green in her otherwise blue eyes, can count the freckles on her nose. I perseverate on the softness of her bottom lip. I take a large step back. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She continues glaring at me. “You’re trying to fit me into one of your neat little boxes, again, aren’t you?”

I sigh. “No, Georgia, I think that I’ve found that is an impossible task. Is that really what you think I’m doing?”

She slumps into a chair, the fight leaving her. “You don’t want to know what I think right now. I’m still trying to keep my job here. But just know that my therapist wouldn’t be pleased.” She crosses her arms. “You promise you don’t believe anything that comes out of that man’s mouth?”

I laugh without humor. “I am a person of color, and my sister is gay. My mom, sisters, and nieces are the scariest people I know, and are also some of the few people I will listen to. Lina, too. No, Georgia, I do not subscribe to Mr. Jones’s beliefs.”

“That’s not what I mean, but that’s good to know.”

“Are you asking if I believe any of his accusations? No, Georgia, I don’t. Lina and I collectively have an entire three-inch binder full of his lies. Lina isn’t allowed around him anymore.” I chuckle. “But that’s for his safety, not hers.”

Georgia tips her nose in the air. “I can handle him, too, you know.”

“I know you can, but you are not a tenured administrator. It’s in Lina’s job description to deal with aggressive parents. Not yours. Promise me you’ll let us handle any situations with Mr. Jones moving forward.”

She crosses her arms, pushing her ample chest up, like she is presenting them for me. Panicked, I meet her eyes, but she has looked away. “Fine,” she says. “Whatever. I gotta get to happy hour.”

“Wait,” I say, alarmed, but mostly because I’m not ready for her to leave.

“As enlightening as this conversation has been, Oliver, it’s also Friday. I need shots.” She begins tornado-like activity around the classroom, picking up random odds and ends, throwing some in the trash, shoving others in her backpack. She stops then, looking at me. “Unless you’d like to continue this conversation over shots? Drinks are on you.”

I stand. “Teachers don’t love when their administrators come to happy hour. That is something I remember from my teaching years.”

“Suit yourself. Maybe next time.” She throws her chaotically decorated water bottle in her bag last, then zips it up.

“Maybe next time.” I stand up and shove my hands in my pockets, not knowing what to do with them. “Hey,” I step in front of her on her way out. “Are you okay?” flies out of my mouth.

Her gaze softens. I’m inexplicably relieved. “I’m fine, Oliver. Have a good weekend.” She winks at me, then storms out of the room like a bat out of hell.