The incident of the black ice

The teacher's lounge echoed with the sound of his humming. Tim had never seen it empty before - the room was almost ominous, with all the outdated furniture and the dripping coffee machine. He was unsure if the sudden solitude was a gift or a curse, in which he was destined to ponder upon lesson plans, correction deadlines, and parental complaints. 

Before he could decide, he heard slow steps approaching down the hallway. Strange, he thought, how usual sounds can be so threatening in a quiet school. The shoes’ taps on linoleum was rhythmic and reserved, like that of a serial killer cornering his victim. Tim was not afraid of that possibility. First and foremost, it was an idiotic idea. Second, sometimes he was just so tired, the idea of a clean and painless death seemed almost appealing. That was of course a lie, but the thought filled him with shame every time nonetheless; leaving a wife and two children behind, just to get some rest, who would do such a thing!

“Ah, I knew someone would forget to check their inbox.” The owner of the steps showed up. While it was no serial killer, Tim was not pleased by the reveal.

“Mr.Gorsky, hi. Did you send out an email yesterday? It seems like I missed something.” He hated speaking with the principal. Not so much the person, but the procedure of talking to someone at elbow-height without bending his knees or being condescending in other ways.

“There is extreme black ice on the roads. The state issued a warning, so all schools are closed today.” Mr.Gorsky grinned like a child. “It has been years since we had an unexpected day off in winter.”

Tim did not respond. He needed to process the information.

“Anyways,” Mr.Gorsky continued, a bit discouraged by the other’s silence “I came in just in case. There is always one that does not get the news. Now, go home, enjoy your day off!” And with that, he strolled away.

A day off. It was a Friday too, meaning he had no lessons to plan for the next day. His mind began to race at the speed of light. For years, he had absolutely no free time. A starting teacher is always caught up in a never-ending circle of routines, such as planning for the next day, correcting on the weekends, endless conferences, or pointless parental consultations. Throw in two small children to the mix, and you get an exhausted husk of a man, only kept on track by his habits. 

Going home and helping out with the kids was the right thing to do for sure. But could he waste such an opportunity? The prospect of smelly diapers, crying children, and a moody wife soon amplified the magical gravity of endless possibilities. A meal in peace. Reading a book for pleasure, not for work. Staring into the void with a hot coffee cradled in his hands, without anyone asking what he was thinking about. Not having to do anything. 

The idea paralyzed him for a moment. Could he do it? Would he dare to do it? He checked his watch. It was already 8.45. On Fridays he usually got home around two o’clock. Five hours of uninterrupted personal time. The thought made him dizzy, weightless. He had to make the most of it, who knew when another chance like that would present itself! 

Sudden pressure sobered him up. What if he wasted all this time that was - by some miracle - his? He needed a plan. A plan was what he needed. Preparation. 

So Tim made a terrible coffee in the teacher’s lounge, like every morning, pulled out a sheet of paper from his backpack and began to write up a list. 

POSSIBILITIES.

1. Drink a coffee (30 minutes)
2. Try bouldering (2 hours)
3. Go to the gym and finally use the sauna (45 minutes)
4. Play with the newest video games in Gamestore (1 hour)
5. Commute (45 minutes)

Looking at the list, he felt the nervous pressure returning. It was a tight schedule.

“Well, I better get going. I’ve got a lot to do.” He murmured to the empty room.

Getting around town was easiest on a bike. Public transport was often late - especially during winter - and full of people Tim had no intention of meeting. Parking in the inner city was an impossible mayhem. No, the perfect companion in crime was a bike. 

After sliding through half the city, Tim arrived - out of breath, given his tightly packed schedule for the day -  at the new coffee store that he has been wanting to try out for a while. It was on a quaint little street, furnished exactly like all other new-wave cafes. Big bright window fronts, with little benches to sit on. Industrial lamps hanging from the ceiling, burning with a warm-yellow hue. Behind the bar a girl wearing glasses, a black apron, and a smug expression. Tim was taken aback for a moment - what was he supposed to order?

“A coffee please.” He said.

The girl smiled - if you looked at her face upside down. Tim could hear her think “Du-uh” much like his students did. 

“What kind? We have two types of beans, espresso, batch brew…” Amy - based on her nametag - did not bother to continue.

“Batch brew. Please.” He repeated the last thing she said, hoping it made sense.

There he sat, with a batch brew in his hands, which was not so different from the coffee he made at school. At the next table, a young man was typing furiously on his laptop. Tim thought about reading, but the noise was somehow distracting. 

His mind returned to his job, while he stared out of the windows and into the void. Lisa was going to fail, he could not pull her through tenth grade, no matter how hard he’d try. And then there was his other class, half of them writing terrible essays, he really did not understand, was he not clear enough during his lessons? His laptop was also with him, in the backpack, he could do some work for next week. Maybe he could find a different method…

Tim shook his head. The excitement of trying out something new has already faded, his brain craved impulses, his conscience productivity. He took out his phone - the family photo he set as the lock screen background immediately gave him another stab of guilt - and looked for something to pass the next 23 minutes. A language learning app - he wanted to learn spanish, but with his schedule he only managed to open it once a month. A crypto investment app - never got around to dig deep into the topic, and he did not dare to put his little savings toward something so obscure. The meditation app also went unused, after he anxiously tried to set aside twenty minutes for breathing exercises, but failed to do so most days.

He left his half-finished coffee, even though he still had six minutes left to enjoy it.

The bouldering hall was just around the corner in a reconstructed factory building. Tim entered timidly but not without excitement. The air smelled like gym class at school, the great room echoed with rock music. Young people in loose clothing sat around chatting, occasionally making an attempt at the walls. 

Tim walked up to the counter, paid for the entrance. The guy asked him if he had shoes, to which he said yes, but apparently his were no good. So he got climbing shoes, chalk, and a banana while he was at it. 

“The routes with the yellow label are the easiest. Then white and green.” The guy explained with a genuine smile.

Climbing, to some extent, came natural to him. The yellow routes were quite easy, and with some effort he also managed to ascend some white ones. His hands were aching after half an hour, but he did enjoy the exertion. Some people were breezing their way through red, blue, and purple routes - which the nice guy at the counter did not even mention to him - without any effort. Tim tried his luck with a green route. He fell ten times at least, but got a bit higher on the wall with each try. 

He knew he could get better at climbing. He was not good, but he was not hopeless, only needed to commit, maybe to two sessions a week. Buying a pair of shoes, some chalk, making some friends who also climbed. His imagination was already filled with ideas for holidays, evenings spent at the gym, teaching the wife and kids the basics. In these harmonic visions the whole family was smiling, and he was in great shape, with visible back muscles and sorts.

He left the building - his new go-to spot - recharged, feeling his body tensing and relaxing. A pair of climbing shoes were neatly tucked away in his backpack. They were not cheap, that was true, but new hobbies always require some investment. That showed commitment. The unused apps on his phone nodded in agreement.

The sauna was the perfect thing to do after a training session. Tim made haste getting there on the slippery roads - luckily he had the extra six minutes saved up from leaving the coffee store early. He forgot his gym card, obviously, but one of the trainers let him in. She wore yellow, a smile, and a physique that put him to shame. 

“Wow, you haven’t been here for a while.” She said laughing but without mocking. “Well, I am glad you are back, enjoy your training!”

Tim scurried to the sauna area. He entertained the idea of a quick workout, not to disappoint the encouraging trainer, but he did not have the time for it. Or the energy. Instead, he prepared defensive speeches in his head while undressing. He already did a two hour session in the bouldering hall, you see. He could even show his climbing shoes.

The best sauna practice is to do three times twelve minutes in the heat, with a cold shower in between sessions. This maximizes the health benefits - or so did one of the online forums say. Tim set a timer before stepping in, determined to adhere to the advice to the letter. 

There were other bodies in the dimly lit wooden box, some with a towel around their waist, some without. Tim tried not to look, but still, from the corner of his eye noticed that people who should not have the most confidence apparently often did so anyways. The breathing of others penetrated his mental defenses. The faint smell of strangers’ sweat hung in the air.

Distracting thoughts were what Tim needed, but when he needed them the most, they let him down, leaving him stranded in reality. Once he was a man who could daydream, but now his fantasies were replaced by obsessive to-do lists, work, and family. What did he think about, back in the days when he still had no responsibilities? Did he even exist back then?

The first round of cold showers pulled him back into the present. As his skin was screaming with pain, he noticed he had been planning lessons for the past twelve minutes. That happened in the second round too. 

The third session was agony. His heart pounded in his chest after five minutes, but he was determined. The forum said twelve minutes, otherwise he was wasting his time. He left the sauna relieved when the beeper sounded. He collapsed into one of the reclining chairs after his shower, waiting for his body to unclench.

Tim was not ready to leave yet, but he only had a precious hour left until he had to make his way home. He gathered himself with a grunt, and dressed up. On his way out - ready to defend his short stay - he kept an eye out for the personal trainer who greeted him, but she was not at the counter.

The local Gamestore had a PS5 on display, and they let anyone try out the newest products.Usually there were a couple of teenagers huddled around it, like pigeons on breadcrumbs, but Tim had luck this time. He was self-conscious in a way, not sure if he would be able to ward off other potential players for a whole hour. 

Nobody paid any attention to him, as he launched the latest God of War. He had fond memories of the previous versions, and had been eager to try the newer ones for a while. The computer he bought for games had only been used for work the past years. Occasionally, when he found himself half an hour of quiet time - usually in the middle of the night - he thought about starting something new, but never had the energy to do so.

It took him half an hour to learn the controls. The latest games were more fun, with better graphics, engaging storytelling, but also significantly more complex than what he was used to. Tim’s hands trembled when he pressed the wrong button again. Which one was for the weapon? He glanced back over his shoulder, checking if anyone saw him fumble around.

Five minutes before his time was up, he felt as if he was getting into it. Not having fun exactly, but starting to handle the pressure better. Had games always been so stressful? The sound of the beeper almost made him sigh with relief.

On the way home he was so absorbed in making up excuses to his wife, that it seemed like he teleported from the store straight to their flat. In one blink of an eye he suddenly stood in front of the door. When he stepped through it, Joe was crying, as always, and Marina was trying to keep Randy away from an outlet. She gave him a quick smile as hello, then went on to list all the things that had happened that day.

The weight of avoiding his responsibilities immediately dissolved in the familiar weight of his responsibilities. He gave a quick kiss to Marina and took Joe in his arms, relieved that he had something useful to do. Without realizing it, he had been nursing a ball of stress in his chest that only burst now, after submerging himself in the sea of small urgencies. Who knew, maybe he could get some work done once the kids calmed down.

His eyelids and body felt heavy. 

Has having fun always been so exhausting?