The Broken Truth

There are moments in life when I rehearse worst case scenarios and imagine the heroic or dramatic choices I will have to make-and how I will recall the event to reporters with a mystical bravery dressed in modesty for years to come. But when the moment unfolds in actual life, the script is not like the rehearsal. The only similarity is that brief moment when the clock stops and a voice says, “This is happening. This is real.”

One would expect the reaction to be smooth since the mind has reviewed every possible horrible situation in the hours before dawn, but all the planning is lost on reality.

Perhaps the doomsday daydreaming was a way to stay awake, or just something to do in a town with one stop light. My creative problem solving- or problem creating and solving-brain was ready for anything that day, I thought. Being ready for it meant it wouldn’t happen. The ink on my high school diploma was still drying when I developed this exciting way of coping through the long summer before college away in the big city. 

The news had warned that this day could bring danger, high crime, and luck, if you worshipped the Devil. It was all nonsense, but the date would make for an exciting story if something did happen. If nothing happened, the day would have at least been exciting from anticipation, noting the time at each pivot, searching for details that would be remembered as the warning signs to the unexplainable event.

I had walked to the elementary school before dawn and repeated to myself that I was almost there and an axe murderer would not jump out of this bush, or that bush. Not in this town. Not on my first day of work. Not today. Not on 06/06/06. And then I walked a little faster. The fatigue of being a night owl forced to be dressed before the early birds were out gave me solace that if an axe murderer was on the next block I wouldn’t have to endure ten hours of deep cleaning an empty school.

I arrived at the side door as instructed and waited for 6:00 AM reassuring myself that nothing could go wrong in this building I loved so much, where I grew up.. where I spent six years …

A truck pulled into the empty parking lot and I felt a knot in my stomach. I was supposed to be working with two people and only one was here. Should I wait for the other? Both were older men and my superiors. Walking into a dark maze of a building with one man- was it safe? I pushed away my hesitation and introduced myself. Clark suggested we wait for Bruce to unlock the doors for us. After a few minutes we wondered if maybe Bruce was already waiting for us inside. According to Clark, Bruce usually parked around the front.  

To ease the awkwardness, I pointed out the consecutive digits of the day and let him know it was The Devil’s Day. This revelation gave him a chuckle as he looked at me intrigued. I asked if had watched the news and knew what he was doing, starting work at 6:06 AM on 06/06/06. 

Entering the dark building felt eerie, but once the lights flickered on, the familiar school floor scent comforted me. We checked the long hallway to the front doors, but there was no sign of Bruce. The light had seemed to glisten in front of the doors from afar, but I dismissed it as my tired eyes needing to adjust to the flooding sunrise.

He showed me the janitorial closet where I would get supplies and images of Maria emerging with a broom and smiling upon recognizing me in the hall flashed to my eyes, but then I realized Maria had moved to a different building and I would be the one mopping and the magic left the air.

Clark didn’t know what paperwork I needed to sign so we decided to go on a tour. The carpet in front of the doors was glistening still. I had to ask, I figured there had to be an explanation, perhaps it was an update to the school since my attendance. I explained it looked like broken glass.

Clark smirked and said it was crumbs for the boogey monster, but then his eyes locked in where I was pointing. His posture changed as he eyebrows frowned. When we were about ten feet away from the closest shimmer, he put his hand up, instantly signally to freeze as if he realized we were not alone.

Ha! He was just teasing me -I was playing right into my Devil’s Day hysteria-

“It is glass.. someone broke in.” His voice was no longer playful.

I reexamined the sparkles in the carpet, the diamonds shattered across the rug in front of the double doors, the violent perimeter of shards stretching across the long hallway reaching into the shadows of my kindergarten classroom across from the Office. When I was 6, my mom would drop me off at this door. Today the rooms were dark, clashing with every memory of walking to the office.

The other entrances to the building were air strips to playgrounds. The little kids had their hallway perpendicular to the Office. The front doors opened to the main hallway that was about a block in length. The 5th grader’s owned the big kid’s playground at the opposite end of the Main Hallway. 

These front doors were supposed to be the safest, the secretary would say hi and always had candy in a dish. My brother avoided this entrance because he was usually just waking up when I would leave the house and needed to sneak into his class undetected. Clark put a finger over his lips and whispered a warning that someone might still be robbing the office.

All the memories of standing in this inch of the hallway in awkward outfits I wore while waiting to enter the gym for school plays, halloween parties or picture days fought for authority on how to act in this moment. Get the principal, tell a teacher, find a parent.. wait for lunch.. my routines offered no help and I was an untrained employee..Where was my supervisor? 

I stood a few feet from Clark, not wanting to be too close to him in case the intruder jumped at him, but I also didn’t want to be standing by myself in a long hall of darkened doorways.

And thats when the clock stopped. The voice said to me, “This is happening. This is real.” The useless chatter was silenced and I became aware of my heartbeat. Clark turned to face me and pointed to the teacher’s lounge and passed me his keys. He wanted me to go hide. No, he wanted me to go near a phone as he approached the office. No, he wanted me to go hide as he went to be the hero in this unfolding worst first day on 06/06/06. Or he was about to fall victim to the axe murderer from those bushes who would be startled by Clark.

My sneakers became cinder blocks as I tried to quietly walk to the hideout that could be where the killer was waiting. The teacher’s lounge did not allow students, this was unknown territory for me. Maybe Clark was sending me in first because he knew the valuables were kept in the sacred room teacher’s kept locked at all hours, where the video games, leather couches, large tv’s and sound equipment held every teacher’s tears and curses, where they drank soda and chewed gum and laughed as they played with the confiscated giga-pet’s, gameboys, and slinky’s. 

Clark was sending me in as a distraction. 

I held the ring of janitor’s keys as if staring at them would reveal the magic password to teacher’s lounge. I was positive my heart was making too much noise so I focused on my breath. Clark returned and grabbed the keys from me and effortlessly divided out the master key, giving me a look drenched in exasperation from having to train an idiot. I TRIED to unlock the forbidden door with stealth, but the key was not fitting. The shame of not knowing a master key would unlock any door gave me a vacation from the intense fear pulsing through my fingers. 

Clark’s grumble echoed in the hall and I froze. Glass crunched and then I heard a whistle. Perplexed, I peaked into the hallway with my ring of shame. 

Clark waved to me with the posture of a star quarterback returning from a victory lap. He strolled towards me turning his back to the crime scene with no concern. 

“The window is open in that back office so whoever was here is gone now. Probably some teens messing around. We best get Bruce on the phone, he’ll be needin’ to call the police.” He smiled down at me as if we were old friends reuniting. 

His whistling stopped when he realized the door was still closed and I hadn’t opened it yet. The degrading tone used a moment ago was replaced with a cheerful hum. “Well, I guess we better teach ya how to unlock the doors if you’re gonna work in any of these rooms!” 

He entered the narrowed space to stand in front of the door. His breath smelled of coffee and cigarettes. I realized his height was more than I expected as I looked up to his shoulder. In a jolly tone he coached me on the secrets of using a key. I didn’t know if he was pulling my leg, or why he continued to smile when the latch stayed locked. I handed the keys to him on the fourth try anxious to not stand in the way of calling in Bruce and the police. 

Clark refused and instructed me I had to figure it out if I wanted to do work here. It wouldn't be the only locked door in front of me so I needed to figure it out. 

Again, he rattled off directions, to push harder, to turn the key this way and then back. My hands were starting to ache. His tone was shifting again. The whistling had stopped and frustration was visible as he took off his hat and combed his white hair off his forehead with his hands. He said he didn’t want to tell Bruce I couldn’t even unlock a door because then he may not think this job is a good fit. Switching hands I tried again, I pushed when he told me, turned the key with both hands, tried each tip, but still it was not unlocking. Mocking my need to use both hands he motioned for me to move out of the way so he could do it. He reminded me that we needed to work. To his surprise the door did not unlock for him, so he laughed. His mood changed and he reached in his pocket and pulled out a second ring of keys. “The first lesson of unlocking a door is to have the right key! The teachers use a separate one for this door.” He inserted the correct key and opened the door letting it bounce against the wall and said, “Ladies, first.”

In the lounge I was surprised to see that there were couches and soda machines and an old tv. Clark strutted to the phone and welcomed me to where we would be taking lunch breaks as he nodded to the couches. Confused by his wording, I chose to sit in an office chair as he offered me a soda and plopped into a nearby couch. I asked if he was going to call Bruce and he told me I should call, but then when I said I didn’t have his number, he sighed and said he would have to call and fumbled with his flip phone to retrieve the number.

Bruce arrived a few minutes later. Clark expressed to him how I was having an exciting first day and how it would be great to have the extra help this summer. Moments before Bruce arrived Clark started questioning why I had not gone to the front doors, who told me to be at the side. His tone was interrogating. The day was making my head spin and it was only 6:23.

When the police arrived I was sent into Mrs. George’s room to start wiping down the desks. The male four officers stood in a circle with Bruce and Clark to discuss the situation. The sizes of the desks were much smaller than I remembered, but I tried to ignore the flood of memories and listen to the men deliberating in the hallway.

The glass had been shattered from inside the office and into the hallway and the office door to the hallway was still closed and locked. The principal’s office door was visible through the secretary’s sliding window that was now on the carpet. Inside the principal’s office the window was open wide enough for someone to crawl through. However, it made no sense. Why would the robber break the glass window into the hall and not use the office door if he came in through the principal’s window? They could not have broken the window from the hallway because of the direction the glass was scattered into the hall. The vault was in the principal’s office, but next to the candy dish on the secretary’s desk was a twenty dollar bill and some singles clipped to paperwork visible to anyone in the room. Nothing seemed to be missing, there was no other breached entrance. 

Upon being notified of the broken glass, the principal said he had opened the window the day before when he was in his office and forgot to close it. 

Bruce asked me to clean up the glass while we waited for the security system to be accessed. Whoever broke this glass was going to be caught on camera.

Everyone had their own theory about the perpetrator and relished in the idea they would be justly busted like the glass.

Rewinding and fast forwarding we watched the moment of impact and the glass shattering across the hall like beads falling from a broken necklace in awe.

The officers wiped their eyes and commanded the tech to rewind the tape. It didn’t matter how many times we watched the black and white portal into the past, our eyes failed to believe what was playing out before us. Finally, when the tape could not be slowed down further to reveal what we expected, the sheriff shook his head and removed a page from his notepad, crumpling it with all of our theories.

When I was walking to work that day the shadows invited my imagination to explain what I could not see. Of course, what would the chances be that an axe murderer would be conveniently waiting for me? Don’t take candy from a stranger, don’t get in cars with people you don’t know, don’t meet axe murderers online. The rules were ingrained in my brain. But what did I know about protecting myself at work? Could I describe the look of an axe murderer; what transforms a stranger from an acquaintance? 

Perhaps I thought I would recognize a dangerous person, it would be apparent immediately. The person would have axe murderer vibes.. whatever that meant. A dangerous man would not be friends with the community police or be trusted to work with a naive young lady, all summer, alone. A man who breaks the rules when no one is watching and can skillfully abuse in secret would surely be confined to bushes and fear recognition in the light. 

On 06/06/06, I walked to work watching out for danger in the places I was taught to fear. When the security tapes revealed the dangerous truth, I didn’t learn the hidden lesson for years. It took weeks before the real danger cornered me and was exposed. The conditioning and justifications for his behaviors shattered once witnessed by someone else with experience, a visiting female co-supervisor.

The security footage was expected to reveal the truth about what happened, what caused the glass to combust in the dark night. We searched the screen for the face of a criminal and found an empty hall. Scrolling forward only revealed Clark guiding me to the broken glass hours later. No one had entered the building before us.

The police shrugged in disbelief, but quickly concurred that it was the principal’s open window that let in a chill when the temperature dropped. The secretary’s thin window was closed while the office door had a gap between it and the floor. The window in the door didn’t experience a disparity in pressure exerted against it. The secretary’s window was met with sweltering heat from the furnace on one side and a cold breath on the other, freezing it to a breaking point from inside the office.

Despite the shards around me, the job eventually taught me a lesson about the solid glass ceiling. It was guarded by blind male supervision and caressed by a superior male coworker left “in charge.” It scattered light to justify the placement of his wrinkled hands on my body as necessary training. The glass ceiling paid double to my replacement, an 18 year old male with exact qualifications from the same graduation stage as me. The truth no one could spot or explain with certainty that day was hidden in plain sight. Glass will dance like confetti across the locked hallways, writing the evidence and reflecting the dangerous faces who never needed to hide behind bushes because they were protected by glass ceilings. 

But the truth is this is happening. This is real- glass has a breaking point.