Shut Up

Shut Up

BY RoseMary Covington Morgan

Lucy waved her elegant fingernails at the restaurant’s server and ordered her second gin and tonic. Gin and tonic with lime was our introduction to liquor in high school and a tradition whenever we got together for lunch. Before lunch was over, she would have four. After my first drink, I used my bitten-to-the-nub fingernails slightly covering my mouth to whisper to the server,  “From now on, give me tonic water only.”

Our friendship goes back to the third grade when I was the new kid in class and Lucy became my only friend. We remained friends through high school, college, marriage, divorces, children and grandchildren. Now, we are taking the journey into old age, still friends.

 We often disagree. After a major disagreement, we might keep our distance for months and once for two years. But we always came together again. Probably because despite being as different as oranges and broccoli, we love each other.

After we finished updates on our children, grandchildren, exes, and other aches and pains, we began our favorite conversation--the lives of others. Lucy kept track of many of our old friends and served as our peer group living newsletter. We only got through lunch with someone calling to gossip.

“Girl, did you hear? Jackie Morris’ husband is about to lose his job,” she said matter-of-factly. “Rita Johnson is a secretary in the human resources department and she said his bosses have been trying to get him to retire, but he doesn't get the message. She says he’s slipping. Forgetting things, making mistakes. It’s just horrible. If he gets fired, he may lose some of his benefits. They still have children in college. Should I tell Jackie? Maybe she can do something.”

“No, Lucy. It’s not your business. Maybe Rita should tell Jackie on the QT.”

“Oh, Annie (that’s me--Annie) it's so hard to watch people destroy their lives when I can help. But you’re right. My saying something could make matters worse by outing Rita. Jackie must already know her husband’s mind is slipping.”

Lucy averted her eyes and began tapping on the table with her fingernails. This meant she was about to drop a huge gossip bomb.

“Sistah girl, you can’t tell nobody this.” She leaned across the table so I could hear her whisper. “Margret Louis is dating a younger man. A much younger man. A boy. Maybe a student.”

“Whaat?!!!” I looked around the room to be sure there was nobody we knew around.” Lucy,“You can’t go around saying that kind of thing. Ever!

“Where did you hear that?”

“At the sorority meeting yesterday.”

“Who told you?”

“I really shouldn't say. It was told to me in confidence.” She shook her head and said, “You know she still teaches part-time at the high school.”

“You can’t believe that kind of thing, Lucy. Even if she is dating somebody younger, that’s her business.”

“Not if it’s a student,” Lucy leaned back in her chair with a self-satisfied look.” 

“You need to shut up,” I said.

“Well, at bible study, I heard there’s a rumor that one of the teachers is messing around with a student.”

“No, Lucy, no. Don’t even think that. No one should think that kind of thing about anybody unless there’s real evidence.” 

“Well, Annie. I may have evidence.”  With eyes as wide as saucers and a slight smile quivering at the corners of her mouth, she said, “I saw them.”

I didn’t know what to say. I sat for several seconds with what must have looked like a stupid expression on my face. Finally, I said, “What did you see, Lucy?”

With what could only be described as delight she said, “I saw them. Her and the boy.

“I happened to be driving down her street the other day and when I drove past her house, I saw them walking inside. He was holding her hand up the steps, carrying her tote bag and I could see a bottle of wine peeping out.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Uh uh. But I could tell he was young”

“How?”

“Well, he had on a basketball jersey and a pair of those pants drooping below his butt with his underwear showing. That’s how kids dress these days.”

“Everybody dresses like that nowadays. Old guys, young guys, everybody.” I retorted.

“Yeah. But Annie, no old guy is going to have that tight little butt and those defined muscles in his arms.”

“Have you told anybody else this crap?”

At that point, Annie’s phone rang and she walked away from the table to take the call. When she came back, she told me she had to leave. A woman I didn’t know was having some sort of family crisis and Lucy needed to help her.

I was about to leave the restaurant when it occurred to me. Lucy lived several miles from Margaret Louis and Margaret lived on a cul de sac. Lucy had been stalking the woman!

***

A couple of days later, my teenage grandchildren, Keefee and Qwan, came for dinner. I’m proud of them. They’re smart, kind kids. Since they invited themselves, I knew something was up.

Both kids are shy and quiet. They didn’t say much until dessert when, between bites of chocolate cake, Keefee asked, “Grandma, you remember Miss Louis, don't you? Is she still your friend?” 

“Of course she is. We’ve been friends for years.”

She wasn’t looking at me. I felt she was about to say something embarrassing and I was right.  “Well Grandma, she teaches at our high school. If she’s still your friend, you might want to talk to her ‘cause there’s lots of really bad talk going around about her.”

Qwan joined the information dump. “Yeah, people are saying she’s getting it on with one of the students.”

I hiccuped. “Who are “people”?” 

“People around school and now it's on the internet,”  Qwan said.

“There’s a contest online called “Guess the dude hitting the hot ‘60s teacher’,”  Keefee said. “We like Miss Louis. They aren’t using her name, but we all know who the teacher is. This could get her fired.”

I took a beat to digest the “hot teacher"(Margaret HOT?) part of the revelation. Then my brain screamed, She could go to jail.

“Maybe you should talk to her, Grandma.” 

Maybe I should.

The kids finished another slice of cake and, with self-satisfied looks on their faces, went home.

***

Nothing outruns the internet. I woke the next day to a full mailbox and twenty text messages. I decided to call the one person I thought I could trust, my pastor.

Margaret and I attend the same church. Surely Pastor Davis would know something.

He did. “It’s just a shame,” he said. “After I heard the gossip, I went to see Margaret. She filled me in on the source of the rumors. Her nephew comes to visit. He’s been recently stationed nearby and visits his aunt when he’s off-duty.

“He looks like a student at the high school.”

“The principal is meeting with some of the parents this afternoon. I’ve been asked to attend. Hopefully, everything will be cleared up and the gossip will stop.”

***

Nope. It got worse. 

By 5 p.m. the p.m.oll on my phone’s newsfeed read, “Alleged sex abuser  teaching at local high school.” 

By 6 p.m. Lucy was at my door. “Girl, I can’t believe this mess. It’s just tragic. They say it was her nephew. He was just visiting. But nobody’s believing that. 

“The media is all over it. It won’t be long before they publish her name and, nephew or not, that’s game over. The PTA meets tomorrow night at seven. Some of Margaret’s friends will be there to support her.”

But they don’t know her name???

I feigned illness, started coughing, and told Lucy I was thinking about taking a COVID test. She sprinted out of the door.

Our friendship was about to take another break.

***

The crowd filled the school auditorium at the PTA meeting. Many people were waiting outside. I stayed home and flipped the channels on my TV. All the local TV news outlets stood outside with reporters breathlessly describing the scene. I recognized two local true crime podcasters waving their phones in people’s faces.

So far, no one mentioned Margaret’s name.

I kept scanning the channels until I saw Lucy’s fingernails holding a tissue to her eyes. “This is so sad. The alleged pedophile is my friend. She would never do anything like what’s being said. Never.” The newscaster moved the microphone from her face. Lucy lurched slightly forward as if to grab it back.

That’s when I knew this would be a neverending story. Her name was probably already public online. Margaret would be defiled, harassed, shunned. Her years spent teaching young people denigrated. The truth would come out but only a few would say a sincere “sorry.” Not that it would matter.

I was sitting on my sofa with a freshly popped bag of microwave popcorn and a gin and tonic when it clicked. 

This short story, Dear Reader, is spreading more gossip. I’m no better than Lucy or her anonymous friends.

So, I’ll shut up. 

THE END