Lois liked to be late.
Tonight her scheme was working perfectly. The teachers' lot was full by the time she pulled in, and not a soul in sight. They were all in the meeting. She relaxed her hands on the steering wheel and leaned against the seat.
"We're late, Lois!" The voice, coming through a slightly open window, startled her. She recognized it instantly. Edwin. Edwin Mueller. Just when she thought the coast was clear. Oh, the weariness of it.
"Yeah, I noticed, Edwin." He seemed to wince. She enjoyed the fact that he understood her rebuke. How many times had he asked her to call him Ed?
He lingered by the car door, which remained firmly closed. As did her window, except for the small crack she'd allowed for air.
"You go on, Edwin. I'll be a minute."
He hesitated a moment. Then, “See you in there.”
She glanced at him.
Now she'd be even later. But that was OK. What were they going to do? Fire her? Not likely. And they’d be doing her a favor. Maybe then she’d finally have a reason to leave town.
She opened the car door after Edwin had disappeared into the building. As she placed her feet on the gravel, she admired them. Petite. Perfect.
She smoothed the wrinkles in her beige coat and looked up at the school windows. They’d been prepping the building for days, getting ready for parent-teacher night.
A wave of dread swept over her. Another night of pretending.
The halls were mercifully quiet, but heavy with the odor of disinfectant. Teachers were in the faculty room, getting a last minute pep talk from the Superintendent. He was new, intent on making changes to an immutable system. He paused when she came into the room--effectively put a punctuation mark on her tardiness.
Everyone looked. So what? She actually congratulated herself on missing part of the lecture. Fortunately, the parents were due soon, so he had to cut off his remarks.
Parent-teacher night. Could she get through it, another room of beaming faces? Why did they think their children were unique? Ordinarily, these were reasonable people, who carried on business throughout the day with a rational perspective. But when they contemplated their own offspring, they transformed into babbling idiots.
Lois had been thinking about moving away for months, ever since her divorce became final. It was impossible to go around town without running into Sam.
She and Sam had been one of those inevitable couples. Back in high school, everyone knew they were going to marry. That was before the two of them knew about life, about themselves.
Lois believed in those days that her future was set. A neat, perfect plan.
She went to the local teacher’s college and he took a job at a nearby computer repair store. She liked kids and he was great with computers.
The job at the school was as inevitable as her marriage had been. She fit in seamlessly, alongside people who had taught her when she was a child.
She and Sam talked about having children. They couldn't decide on two or three. Then Sam, inexplicably, enlisted.
There was a plan. A perfect plan. And he smashed it. Why? It wasn’t his war. So far away, in the Middle East. What was the U.S. even doing there?
Sam returned, but they never talked about children again. Because Sam, the real Sam, never came back. Whatever happened, over there, destroyed him. The man who got off the train in Sam's uniform, wasn't her husband. Didn't even look like him. This stand-in was gaunt, old and humorless.
She realized how hard it must have been. The things he must have seen. But he was home now. He had to move on. It was bad enough a whole chunk of time had been taken from them. How did it help to mope?
She gave the marriage a few years, but he never did come around. She had a right to be happy. Nobody could blame her for leaving him. But some did.
She was tired of teaching. Tired of other people’s children. She watched the children of her former classmates pass through her room. It was like witnessing her own youth, evaporating. After a while, the kids all looked the same.
Her sense of lost time had become a constant pain she could not escape. She didn't care whether her students learned or not. What difference in their lives would today's lesson make, or tomorrow's lesson?
It was becoming difficult to conceal her disdain from other staff. Surely they saw the way she dawdled when the first bell rang in the morning. That when it rang, it cut right through her.
The parents would be coming through her doorway any minute now. She resisted the impulse to close the door. Not allowed, not tonight. But she hated that gaping entrance, that invitation to intrude on her space.
The taptaptap of a woman's high heels warned her of an approaching parent. Then the first expectant face peaked through the doorway.
"Hi!" The woman was irritatingly cheerful. "Hope I'm in the right class. Jennifer McCann’s mother?”
"Welcome, Ms. McCann. Yes, this is the right place. Jennifer. Lovely child."
Which one was Jennifer? Lois searched her mind. It was, after all, early October. How could she know all of them already?
"If you walk around, you'll see the students have taped name tags to their desk tops. Find Jennifer's desk" (don't ask me where it is) "and sit down there. You'll get an idea of her classroom experience that way."
More parents in the doorway. Tumbling through. Eager. Nary a worried face. Why were they so optimistic?
The rush through the door was probably why she didn't notice Angela, until that smiling face was right in front of her.
Angela, who never had a pimple in high school. Who had a crush on Sam. But he chose Lois. This made the prize more delicious.
"Angela! You have a child in my class?"
Lois wondered, how is it I didn't know this? But, of course, the last name would be different.
"Yes, Rebecca. My youngest."
Rebecca, Rebecca. Which one was Rebecca?
"Lovely child. So well behaved."
Change the subject fast. "I haven't see you around town..."
"Just moved back. Remember I went to UCLA? Well, I got a job out there, with NIKE. As soon as there was an opening in the New York office I transferred. But I travel a lot. Rick, my husband, takes over at home."
Angela paused and looked at Lois expectantly.
"And you? Sam? How's he doing? Any kids?"
Lois stiffened, though she tried not to show it.
"He's fine, but we're not together anymore."
Was that satisfaction in Angela's eyes?
"Oh, that's too bad. You seemed like the perfect couple."
"Yes, well. Excuse me, Angela. We'll have to catch up over coffee sometime. Parents are coming in..."
"Of course, of course. Give my love to Sam, I mean, if you see him, or..." She shrugged her shoulders awkwardly.
The night did not end. Parents left. Angela left. But the night would not end.
Lois waited until she heard the cleaners in the hall and she was sure all the teachers had left. She collected her beige coat from the closet. For the first time she realized it looked worn. Funny she'd never seen that before.
The hallways stank of people, of tired deodorant and low-shelf perfume.
Her car stood alone at the back of the parking lot. She remembered Edwin, standing outside looking down at her. Had he been admiring her, or was he feeling sorry for her? Did they all feel sorry for her?
She sat down and put her hands on the steering wheel. The sobs began slowly, and then filled the car and the dark parking lot.
Which was empty, the way she liked it.
This story was written in response to a prompt provided by @raj808, in the inkwell community. @raj808 said I could interpret the prompt loosely, and I did. Here are the essential elements of the prompt:
I would like you create a character with a bad habit....Write a story with at least two character, the main one with the bad habit and other secondary characters. Then @raj808 adds, The twist: the bad habit turns out to be a force for good. In some way show how the main character's bad habit helps someone, or improves the lives of the other characters, the main character, or both.
I knew I could come up with a bad habit (Lois likes to be late), and with secondary characters. Raj said I didn't have to use his twist but could go in my own direction. You see that Lois' habit doesn't help anyone.
A beehive of creative activity is going on at the Inkwell. Anyone who likes to write should check out this dynamic community. Thanks, @raj808 for the opportunity to stretch my creative muscles.
The Pixabay picture used in the beginning and adapted at the end is credited to Layers I think it's a great drawing. She seems to be a talented artist.
Steem on!