Facing the Music

My bones hurt as I drag myself inside. It’s been a long day. Some people make snide remarks, ‘Oh, you’re a teacher? It must be nice to get all those holidays!’ and other such comments. I say, just try it. You go ahead and do what I do for a day, cramming a syllabus into the heads of the unwilling, while dealing with their issues and quirks, then see if you want to come back and do it again. I’m buggered at the end of each day, emotionally drained to the point that I really can’t ‘adult’ anymore.

I kick my shoes off, leaving them where they fall, echoes of my mother ringing in my ears. ‘Don’t leave your shoes lying around for anyone to trip over. What do I look like? Your maid?’ But I just can’t summon enough energy to care. I dump my bag and keys and head straight to the fridge, where I know an open bottle of white is chilling. Just half a glass, don’t judge! I don’t drink on an empty stomach, so I pull out some crackers and cheese. I wish I had some gourmet stuff, you know, the cheese with those fancy names I can’t pronounce, but all I have is a block of cheddar that’s slightly hard around the edge. Beggars can’t be choosers after all, and with the day I’ve had, I’m not in any mood to be fussy.

I flop onto the couch, careful not to spill a drop and rest the plate of cheese and crackers on my lap as I scroll through Netflix for the next episode of my guilty pleasure. A half an hour of decompression time before I start marking is what I need. Self care and all that.

Julian emerges from the bedroom, running late as usual. He’s on nights this week, which is fortunate for me, as I have made plans with my pile of year twelve mock exams. If I don’t get the papers marked and back to the students tomorrow, the shit will hit the proverbial fan. Their final exams are looming and these results are critical.

“Seen my keys?” Julian hollers from the kitchen as he goes through his manic departure routine. It’s a rhetorical question. I’ve only just come home and have no idea what he’s done with the keys.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll take yours.”

I nod and wave absently, focused entirely on my show. “Bye.”

One episode becomes two, one half glass of white becomes… well, I may have lost count, but there’s still some wine in the bottle, so not too many…. unless this was a new bottle? No, I definitely didn’t open a second. I’m good. I resign myself to marking the exams as I make a bowl of pasta with cheese. Don’t judge, I also mix up a small bowl of greens and carrots and call it salad. I am aware of healthy eating plans. Reluctantly, I put the nearly empty bottle of wine back in the fridge and negotiate with myself that I can have one more glass later, but only if I promise to finish the marking first.

Marking, ugggh! It’s the bane of my existence. I would literally rather do anything else. It’s depressing and highlights my failure as a teacher. How do these kids not know an answer when we’ve literally spent weeks on a concept? Oh well, better to bite the bullet and get it over with. I fish out my trusty red pen and reach for my bag with the exam papers. Shit! The bag is empty! I know I put the papers in there. I close my eyes and think back. Yep, I picked up the pile off my desk, placed them inside a folder, and slipped it into my bag. Then where the hell were they? The only place they could be is in the car.

I scrunch my eyes and press my fingers into the sides of my head, as if that will help activate my brain. Mandy, a graduate teacher, had caught me up in the car park and asked for the copy of the year eight text book I promised her. It was in my bag, right at the bottom, so I had taken out everything to get to it, dumping the contents, including the folder, onto the back seat. I sigh. Where are my keys? I put them on the bench with my bag… didn’t I? Nope, not there.

Perhaps I left them in the car, not gonna lie, I’ve done that before. So I trudge out to the carport, where Julian’s white Honda sits lonely and forlorn. My blue Nissan is nowhere to be seen. Bloody hell! Did I leave the keys in the car and someone stole it? But the roller door is down. Surely a thief wouldn’t close the door after they left. Hang on, Julian’s Honda is here, but my car is missing, and Julian is at work. I blame the wine, because my brain seems to struggle to make the connection, but finally it clicks. Julian took my car to work. My car that has the year twelve papers sitting in a folder on the back seat.

My stomach drops and then heaves.

I race inside for my phone. Please Julian, be on a break! I dial his number, but it’s straight to message-bank and I leave a frantic message.

“Hey Jules, it’s me, you’ve taken my car and my marking is in there, and I need it!”

I hang up and bite my nail, a bad habit which tends to rear its nasty head when I’m stressed or anxious. I’m in so much trouble. My stomach lurches again as the ringing starts in my ears. The world tips a little as it slowly begins to spin, and I rush for the bathroom. Another bad habit from my childhood. Whenever things get too much for me to cope with, my stomach tries to reject all its contents. I know this is the fight/ flight/ freeze response. I just can’t control it.

After washing my pale face with cold water and rinsing my mouth, I head back to the couch to assess my situation. Is this enough for me to lose my job? Maybe… I mean, I’m supposed to get the results back to the students in a timely manner, and it’s been three days. Ok, I will admit to procrastinating. My desk at work has never looked so tidy and I’ve collated and alphabetised all the resources for next semester. Yeah, I was using avoidance tactics, stalling for time, and now I’m paying for it. The students will be expecting to get their papers back tomorrow. I’m cactus!

Options? Take Julian’s car and try to find him at the hospital to swap cars.

pros: I’d be doing something, which is better than nothing.

cons: 1) I’ve been drinking, it would be just my luck to hit a booze bus.

2) I probably won’t be able to find him.

3) I can’t find his keys.

I search the kitchen, the dining room, the bedroom, the laundry—turning out pants’ pockets—but no keys. Where the hell has Julian put his keys? I bet they’re in his work bag. It would be just like him to take my car because he couldn’t find his keys, only for him to have his keys all along.

Option 2, ring in sick tomorrow—migraine, influenza, Covid, plague, dysentery, anything really that would get me out of being there to face the music.

pros: an extra day to get the blasted papers marked.

cons: would need to get a medical certificate and I’m not that good at faking symptoms.

Option 3, I’m out of options. Could I stage an alien abduction?

pros: I’d be out of the country, off the planet even.

cons: 1) I don’t know any aliens and

2) Probing! (However, I think I’d rather be probed by aliens than face my class tomorrow without their papers.)

Option 4, I could Uber to the hospital…

pros: I wouldn’t be driving.

cons: but I’d still need to find Julian, get my keys, find my car and then drive home, still possibly over the legal limit.

Yeah, not worth it.

Option 5, face the music. Apologise and explain.

pros: it’s the truth.

Cons: it’s the truth.

Why is ‘adulting’ so hard? I need another glass of wine.