The Most Uncommon Cold I - Life in the Time of Zombies (28 page)

     “It isn’t the same thing?”�Glen joked.

     Fontaine looked at Glen to be sure that he was not serious.  He saw that he was not but did not share the light mood.

     The history teacher sighed and observed, “It’s really getting more difficult each year to convince students that the study of history has any relevance and doesn’t have to be a boring experience.  I actually think that I used to be able inspire students a little by helping them to see the connection between events and results throughout the story of civilization.”�

     “Hold on right there!  I thought I was supposed to be the idealistic teacher trying to change the world one student at a time.”�

     A slight smile crossed Fontaine’s lips.  “Okay, I haven’t completely lost the idea that teaching should be more than simply filling empty vessels with information to be regurgitated later to earn a passing grade on an exam.”�

     “I definitely agree with you. But if the goal is to establish and maintain the most effective education system possible, there must be easily-measured devices by which to evaluate the efficiency of teachers, methods, and schools.  So what is the solution?”� Glen recognized the beginning of a conversation that the two teachers had had many times before.   However, he was not used to playing the role of devil’s advocate.

     “If I knew that, I suppose I would be working on my tan in the Bahamas instead of counting textbooks in Roosevelt High School.”�

     Glen noticed that the words were spoken without energy or much humor.  His momentary concern for his friend was dispelled by the crackled of the small speaker on the wall above the classroom.s whiteboard.

     “Good morning, Roosevelt High School staff.”�The disembodied voice of Principal Wells filled the room.  “Just a reminder of today’s schedule.  The history department will be meeting in room twenty-four at ten oâ’lock.  The English department will meet in room forty-nine at nine thirty.  Mathematics department is meeting in room fifty at ten o’clock.  The science department will meet in room thirty-two at nine thirty.  I am sure that everyone will arrive early with lots of productive input.  Following these meetings, you will be given time to return to your classrooms to continue your preparations for the school year.  Let’s work together to make this coming year the best ever at RHS!”  The last sentence lacked the necessary sincere enthusiasm to inspire anyone listening.

     From Fontaine, it brought a sarcastic “Go team!”�Glen responded by simply rolling his eyes.

     “Maybe it’s just me, but I have to say that our Principal Wells seems to have lost all enthusiasm for her position.”�

     Glen made the comment and as if on cue the speaker crackled again.  “Mr. Davis, please report to my office.”�The voice was the same one the principal used to strike fear into the hearts of students.

     “I am impressed.  Apparently, you have been much busier than I realized.  Only the second day and you’re already being summoned to the principal’s office,”� Fontaine remarked.  “Your diligence is inspiring, sir!”�

     Glen tried his best to muster a smile and replied, “She probably just wants to get my advice on a few policy questions she has.”�

     “I’m sure that must be it!”� Fontaine called as Glen left the room.

     As he walked down the hall toward the principal’s office, Glen felt like nothing as much as an anxious high school student headed to the unavoidable punishment to be dispensed by authority figures.  He passed Tim who was washing the walls outside the library.

     “Good morning, Tim,”�  Glen said.

     Tim, who was accustomed to feeling invisible to the school’s staff, looked over at Glen happy at being addressed by a teacher.  “Hey, Mr. Davis!  I just heard your name on the speaker!”� 

     “Yeah, I guess I’m in trouble,”�  He replied feigning embarrassment.

     With an expression of genuine concern, the janitor told Glen, “If you need any help, I can do it.”�

     “Thanks, Tim,”�  Glen replied as he moved on toward the principal’s office.

     “Oh, how’s your desk?”� Tim asked with a wide grin stretching across his dark face.

     Glen stopped in his tracks.  He had not given a thought to the desk this morning.  Tim’s words brought back all the strangeness of the previous day and early this morning but without the full impact.

     “Uh, it’s real nice, Tim.  Thanks again.”�

     If possible, Tim’s grin grew brighter and stretched farther with the words from the English teacher.  “No problem, Mr. Davis!”�

     Glen wanted to ask Tim some questions about that desk.  However, he needed to get to Principal Wells’ office and didn’t have time right now.

     “See you later, Tim,” he said quickly and walked away slowly.

     At the main office, Glen slowly approached the counter in front of the secretary’s desk.  When Mrs. Carter, an ancient woman with unnaturally bright red hair, looked up at him through thick silver glasses, he told her he had been called by the principal.

     “Have a seat for just a sec.  I’ll check if she is ready to see you.”�  Despite the vitality in her voice, the effort to put her body in motion appeared to require all of her energy.

     Glen sat on the wooded bench near the door.  It was the same bench that he had often seen filled with various
behavior problems
sent by teachers to the office for an assortment of misdeeds.  He looked down the long bench and noticed a few areas where someone had carved things.  He slid slowly down the bench so as not to draw Mrs. Carter’s attention.  Once at the other end of the bench, Glen could easily see the carvings on the side of the armrest.

     He studied the carvings with the same intensity that Champollion gave to the deciphering of hieroglyphics.    He ran his finger over the grooves cut into the wood.  He looked at the area but could make no sense of the markings. For some reason, Glen had an idea that there was some meaning there.  He tilted his head from side to side trying to catch a trace of something that made sense.  All of a sudden, he saw it. In his enthusiasm, he forgot to restrain his delight and laughed out loud.  This brought the cold scrutiny of Mrs. Carter as the secretary stared disapprovingly over the top of her glasses.

     “Sorry, I just thought of something.” Glen smiled sheepishly trying to appear contrite.  The attempt did nothing to appease the clear displeasure of his sentinel.

     The carving was intriguing like one of those pictures where you see one image and then when you look at it from a slightly different angle you see a completely different image.  In this case, the scratched area of the bench seemed to be just a random collection of lines cut into the wood when viewed directly.  However, something else was revealed when viewing from a slightly tilted angle.  With his head tiled to the right, Glen saw the rendering of a nude Principal Wells.  Of course, the breasts had been exaggerated to a size which would in reality be impossible for the human torso to support.  As for the other details, he could only imagine that they might be correct.  Under the drawing was scrawled in tiny script lettering
Wells
�to erase any doubt as to the inspiration for the artwork.   Ordinarily, the teacher was not an admirer of vandalism, but this work impressed him.  Considering the delicate nature of the carving and the difficult working conditions under which it was completed, Glen thought that the artist deserved some recognition.

     His musings on the artistic expression were interrupted by the ringing of the phone on Mrs. Carter’s desk.  The secretary picked up the phone and looked directly at him as she listened to the voice on the line.  Finally, she chirped, “Okay, then.  I will.”�  She hung up the phone, smiled sweetly at Glen, and said, “Principal Wells will see you now.”�

     Glen walked through the space to the left of the counter and turned sharply left toward the principal’s office. When she saw him approach the door, Principal Wells motioned Glen inside.   

     “Have a seat, Mr. Davis.”

     Glen did as instructed.  He noticed that the office remained free of any personal touches such as photographs or pictures. 

     “I can only assume that you know the reason that I called you to my office.”  Wells seemed to be quite irritated.  Unfortunately, Glen could not fully conceal the smile that came to him with the recollection of the carving on the bench and the unavoidable comparison that was now taking place in his mind as he sat in front of the principal. The fact was Glen did not know the reason for this meeting, But before he could comment on her assumption, the principal continued, “I spent some time this morning on the telephone with a sergeant from the police department.  It seems that the police had to visit the Roosevelt High School campus late last night to question a trespasser.  The trespasser turned out to be one of our teachers.  As you already know, the trespasser was you.”�

     The teacher had to hide the amusement he felt at the seriousness with which the principal was treating the incident.

     Principal Wells’ voice was raised as she continued her solemn interrogation, “The school year has not even begun yet, and already I am getting calls from the police regarding not students but teachers!  Do you have any explanation as to why you were on school grounds at that time of night?”

     Glen fought the urge to make light of the subject.  After a moment, he replied, “Principal Wells, I have to apologize, but I haven’t been sleeping well.  Apparently, I fell asleep in my car after work yesterday.  When I woke up, it was after eleven.  I was going to go back to my classroom to check on the books when the police arrived.  I certainly did not intend to cause you any problems and sincerely regret any trouble that my behavior has caused.”�

     When the words had been spoken and still hung somewhere in the air inside the principal’s office, Barbara Wells was a bit unsure.  She was unsure as to the sincerity of the apology, and she was unsure as to how she should proceed. Being unsure was not a condition with which Principal Wells was comfortable.

     Mr. Davis’ expression gave her the impression that he may be less than sincere.  However, the principal knew that she could not act simply on her impression. It would certainly not look good for her to accuse a teacher of lying.  She decided it would be best to move on from this incident.

     “Well, I appreciate the apology, and I am sure that this will be the end of such questionable behavior.”�The principal gave the English teacher a solemn look that she re-served for her most unruly students. 

     “Yes, Principal Wells.”�  Glen had trouble keeping a straight face while mimicking the demeanor of a scolded child.

     “Thank you,”�  Principal Wells dismissed him without looking up from her desk.

     Glen headed back to his room.  On his way, he greeted several teachers and stopped by the teachers’ lounge to get a cup of coffee.

     The lounge was a converted storage room that still needed some conversion.  The original lounge had been a victim of expansion and become a classroom.  Although it had been some five years since the transformation, the adopted teachers’ lounge still had an incomplete, gloomy look.  Unlike other offices, which were connected by interior hallways and had adjoining restrooms, the storage room-turned-lounge stood alone with only a single door.  The restrooms were outside off the courtyard.  With only a few windows high up on the back wall near the ceiling, the room always seemed too dark or too bright with fluorescent tubes providing the only light.   Today was one of the room’s too dark days.  Glen had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the room before he could see anything.  

     After a few seconds, he could make out Coach Valdez and Gary Wilson, the vice principal, sitting at a table having a lively discussion about whether today’s crop of professional athletes was better than those of the past.  The coach, who had been here since the school opened some thirty years previous, was still in excellent shape for his age or any other.  The tall, lean older man kept his hair very short and was somehow always able to look like he had just finished a workout. 

     “Glen, good to see you!” Although the two had never been more than acquaintances, the coach greeted him enthusiastically like they were long lost friends.

     “Coach Valdez, I hope you had a nice summer.” Glen winced slightly from the pain caused by the coach's strong handshake. “Feels like you’ve been working out over the break!”

     Vice-Principal Wilson stood up to shake hands.  “Good to have you back, Mr. Davis.”� The pudgy, balding, black man could not have provided a more distinct contrast to the imposing figure of Coach Valdez. Wilson had joined the staff three years ago and was a likeable person.  He was also a completely ineffectual vice principal.

     Glen shook his hand with a smile and replied, “Good to be back.”�He glanced around the room.  “Any coffee left?”�

     The coach walked over to a cupboard in the corner, which held a big silver coffeemaker. He poured some of the thick, dark liquid into a big Styrofoam cup.  “If I remember correctly, you don’t put none of that garbage into it.”  He motioned toward a bowl of sugar and handed the cup to Glen.

     “Thanks, Coach. This should keep me awake long enough to prepare for the coming horde of young minds yearning to be educated,”� Glen said goodbye and headed to his classroom.

     As he crossed the courtyard, he saw Tim on the opposite side painting the poles that supported the roof covering the outer corridor.  His hands were covered with the paint, which was a bland mixture of brown and green found nowhere outside of school grounds.  He waved at Glen and scattered drops of the paint in his hair.