Sherwood Affairs: Part 2

           “Emmaline, we aren’t going to be able to find anything. School’s ended,” a ninth-grade Geraldine complained.

           “Sure, but I’m not going to compromise my morals-“ Emmaline argued back, her feet squeaking on the spotty-tiled, linoleum floors that were probably waxed a decade ago but still very shiny.

           “We’re literally stalking our vice principal!” Geraldine retorted. “Setting them up to stalk them! How is that moral?”

           Emmaline raised her eyebrow. “I follow the school’s Code of Conduct. Cutting class is an ‘absent’ on your attendance. Sending Noam to the vice principal’s office and standing outside the door as he’s being yelled at to delve into Mr. Feldspar’s awful conflict management isn’t anything.”

           Geraldine sighed. “Fine. Where’s Noam?”

           “Here I am!” He popped out from around the corner of the hallway holding up a recorder triumphantly, as if it were the trophy or he were the Pied Piper. Behind him a group of twenty-or-so students followed, most with their own plastic recorder but one with a legitimate tuba.

           “Great.” Emmaline clapped her hands once. “You know the plan.”

           Geraldine, however, did not know the plan, and she doubted Noam did either. But that seemed to be the effect Emmaline was going for. Complete chaos. The hallway echoed like an amphitheater in Rome as Noam’s band clattered along, puffing into their instruments and bombarding the outside of the vice principal’s office.

           Normally Mr. Feldspar would have come out already. Normally he would have burst out of the office with his tie awry and normally he would have yelled at them to stop and normally he would have threatened them with “banning recorders,” as if he had any authority to do that, and the students would see his hairline physically recede as his eyebrows shot up into his forehead.

           Except that wasn’t happening. Rather, the band marched around as Emmaline and Geraldine leaned against the wall with their arms crossed, staring at the door. The light was on, they could see it behind the little curtain—installed for safety reasons—but nobody was present. The band’s screeching rose to a cacophony. The secretary poked her head out of her office. There was no way Mr. Feldspar couldn’t hear them.

           “You know what,” Noam decided, “I’m going in.” He twisted the handle and pulled open the door with all his might, the shaky lock jingling and popping open, and stomped inside.

           “Mr. Feldspar!” Noam screamed. “Can you not hear us-oh.” Noam turned around in a perfectly complete circle and slammed the door behind him.

           A few moments later Mr. Feldspar came rushing out, yanking Ms. Worthington by the wrist, both looking red and ashamed. Noam had a meeting the next day, which Emmaline and Geraldine eavesdropped in, because that was what they did in ninth-grade, and were treated to Mr. Feldspar demanding that Noam immediately forget about what he had seen. Noam being Noam told everybody that Mr. Feldspar and Ms. Worthington had had an affair.

           “What’s an affair?” about half of the grade asked.

           He explained that it’s when two married people kiss each other.

           “But neither of them are married,” the other half of the grade argued. “So it’s not cheating.”

           Emmaline stated that it very much was cheating—Noam was the only witness anyway. The Sherwood Class of 2009 learned a lot about cheating and affairs from that event. It greatly helped them when they read The Crucible the next year. They tried to catch Mr. Feldspar in an affair with somebody else but couldn’t and didn’t.

           It was just Ms. Worthington who he had chosen. Then he fired her before the summer break even had a chance to start.

…

           How was he supposed to respond? How? How does one explain to his wife that he did have an affair with a teacher once an entire decade ago, and even then it wasn’t like either was in a previous relationship so it wasn’t really an affair, it was simply an…event that technically shouldn’t have happened in school, but it was after school hours! It was the kids’ faults for running around after they had been dismissed! And him an Ida weren’t actually doing anything wrong. They just kissed once. And it was quick. And consensual. And Oliver had since fired her, so Jenny couldn’t even pretend-

           Speaking of Jenny, she had clearly had enough of Oliver’s confusion and worry preventing him from saying anything, and instead declared that her and Ida would be having a conversation. Jenny practically dislocated Ida’s shoulder as she dragged her inside. The three kids—what were their names again?—looked at each other and, with the tall girl’s prompting, also left, leaving Oliver unfortunately alone under the sweltering sun. He pulled at his tie. It was too tight and it felt like the circulation to his head was being cut off.

           “Hey Oliver!” Leroy the superintendent came galloping towards him. “You’re still the vice principal?”

           “Have you fired me?” Oliver asked. Leroy shook his head. “Then yes, I am still the vice principal.”

           “Great!” Leroy gasped. “That’s really great, oh thank goodness! You see, the Head of the District got sick, and I’m the only one who he trusts to measure out his Tylenol dose, and he can’t present, and I can’t present either, so you’re going to need to give the speech.”

           “What?” Oliver screeched. Oh, no, no, no. He would not be giving a speech anytime soon. This reunion marked Leroy knowing Oliver for a decade and Leroy knew that Oliver did not do speeches. Leroy knew that it wasn’t even a question of wanting: Oliver physically could not do speeches without fainting or shaking or completely forgetting what he was saying in the first place or otherwise ruining the occasion.

           “You’re going to have to.” Leroy’s right hand patted Oliver on the shoulder as his left hand slipped a piece of paper into Oliver’s very-clammy palm. “I wish you luck.” Leroy spun around and bolted off in the opposite direction, probably very glad to be freed of the awful burden.

           Oliver sighed and pressed his thumbs into his forehead, pushing through the newfound numbness. This was going to be terrible. It was probably going to fail. Hopefully it wouldn’t end in a divorce.

…

           “Have you realized how much reunion sounds like ruining?” Emmaline asked randomly. “It’s a true sign that we’re fulfilling our destinies.”

           Noam didn’t remember Emmaline being this…crazy when they were still in school. Sure, she instigated, but it was normally just to provoke Mr. Feldspar and distract a few other teachers. This seemed like a bit much.

           “Excuse me!” some random student with glasses—Paul maybe, or Peter, he was the boring one that would never participate in Noam’s immaculately-executed ordeals—called out. “If you three want to participate in the reunion festivities you must create a hand turkey!”

“What is this, kindergarten?” Geraldine snorted. “We’re really making hand turkeys?”

           “Why?” Emmaline added. “Like, what benefit would a silly turkey even pose?”

           “It’s not a silly turkey.” Whatever-his-name-was was getting defensive. “It’s going to be a contrast to the hand turkeys we made before Thanksgiving in our first year of high school.”

           “I distinctly remember us not making hand turkeys,” Noam corrected. “If I recall correctly-“

           “Which is most definitely,” Geraldine affirmed.

           “We weren’t able to make the hand turkeys because our turkey-making-session was interrupted when the administration heard about the ‘Kool Kidz’ gang and invited the County Prosecutor over to tell us not to succumb to peer pressure.” That was one of Noam’s highlights. He had to not only convince a group of students to dress in the most 1980s-level clothes they could find but actually had to say ‘Kool Kidz’ with a straight face.

           “I wish I could be like the ‘Kool Kidz,’” he would say wistfully in earshot of Mr. Feldspar. It served Mr. Feldspar right: what logical adult would take children seriously when they referred to the coolest kids as ‘Kool Kidz,” verbatim? Truly cool kids often have better imaginations then that. “They’re ‘Kool Kidz’ with a ‘k’ and a ‘z,’” he would continue, “because they’re really ‘kool.’”

           “So, Phillip,” Emmaline jolted him back to reality, and apparently his name was Phillip, “you have your facts wrong, so don’t bother us anymore, and if this turkey is going to be an issue then just make our turkeys using your own hand.”

           Phillip’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what everybody else’s been telling me to do!”

           “They’re onto something,” Emmaline mumbled, leading the rest into the auditorium. Noam noticed how straight her posture was and immaculate her steps were, as if she was perpetually planning something. Geraldine, on the other hand, looked messier and more haphazard. Nothing against Geraldine. They were pretty similar considering they were twins.

           “This is going to be an amazing reunion because we’ve got the trifecta of excitement,” Emmaline lectured. “Ms. Worthington’s in a tizzy—with Mr. Feldspar’s wife, which is even better—Mr. Feldspar’s got to present, and we all know how that goes." The rest nodded in agreement because they did know, and they knew it would be terrible. “And Noam, I’m trusting you to come up with something last-minute.”

Noam rubbed his hands together, excited. There was a desert table. That could be used. There was a microphone. That could be used, too. And best of all, there was the entire grade, mingling between the rows of seats, up to his authority. Noam worked best in crowds.

“And in the meantime, I’m going to go and situate some more things with Mr. Feldspar’s situation. Noam, get to work.”

“What should I do?” Geraldine asked earnestly.

Emmaline shrugged. “I don’t know. Entertain yourself. Help Phillip with his turkeys.” She patted Geraldine lightly on the head. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

…

           “Don’t abduct me!” Ida begged. Jenny’s grip was strong—Jenny was generally stronger than Ida, and taller and heavier and clearly more confident, and Ida didn’t think she stood a fighting chance. “Please don’t, I promise I’ll never touch your husband again!”

           Jenny’s grip tightened.

           “Forget touching,” Ida grappled, “I won’t even see him! I won’t even look at him! I won’t exist to him and you!”

           “Ida Worthington,” Jenny articulated slowly, “I am not attempting to assault you.”

           That was a surprise. Ida raised both eyebrows. “Then what are you trying to do?”

           “Have a conversation with you.” Jenny retracted her hands and clasped them together. “Because ninety percent of life’s problems could be solved with adequate communication and I know that my husband is one of the ninety-nine percent of people who not only doesn’t understand this but would rather deal with utter chaos then address his flawed perspective.” Jenny plopped down on a spare chair in the hallway. “So. Tell me what he did to you.”

           “Um,” Ida faltered. “Well…I’m still kind of thrown because you’re not shouting at me…”

           “I can shout at you, if that’s what you want,” Jenny retorted.

           “No, that’s not what I want,” Ida corrected. “I’m very happy that you’re not shouting. I was just expecting you to and now I’m waiting for you to pop up and say that this was all a joke and you’ve called the police.”

           “I’m not angry at you!” Now Jenny was shouting. “I’m angry at Oliver for not telling me this! I can see in your eyes that you’re afraid of him, or at least don’t want to see him, so I’m using my amazing deductive reasoning to conclude that he did something to you that hurt you in some way.”

           “He fired me,” Ida tried.

           “More than that.”

           “I thought he was going to assault me,” Ida admitted.

           “Now we’re talking.” Jenny clapped once. “How?”

           “I don’t know!” Ida yelped. “He just invited me into his office to talk about something ‘official,’” Ida did air-quotes, “so I went in, and he was my boss and at least five years older than me, and then he asked if he could kiss me and I said sure—I didn’t want to be fired and I suspected he would do much worse if I declined—and then I got fired anyway, and now we’re here.”

           Ida remembered that day, and how she felt like a disgusting, slimy worm afterwards, and how she wanted to simultaneously protest that anybody could do that to her while lying in bed, curled up in the fetal-position and hugging herself.

           “Of course,” Jenny sighed, her eyes relaxing into chocolatey pure-kindness. “Of course he has no idea how stupid he was.” She stood up. “Well, this has been a lovely little conversation. Now let’s go and have fun.”

           “How?” First Jenny was harsh, then Jenny was nice, and now Jenny was trying to be her friend. This all seemed very confusing and Ida felt like she was stuck in a circle of questions.

           “We’re watching my husband give a presentation. It’ll be peak comedy.” Jenny started off.

           “But isn’t he terrible at presenting?” Ida remembered Mr. Feldspar’s presentations being painful to watch, though much of anything about him was painful for her to watch, so she had always figured that it was more a her-thing then a Mr. Feldspar-thing.

           “I mean, I know I ought to be a supportive wife, and he’s made some strides in presenting.” Ida realized how satisfyingly Jenny’s shoes clicked against the tiling. “But I don’t understand how somebody gets that jittery when talking. It’s talking! I could do it all day!”

           “Me too!” Ida agreed enthusiastically. “I mean, I have an audience that’s more-often-that-not paying, or at least required, to listen to me! Who wouldn’t want that?”

           Ida quite liked Jenny. Jenny was authentic, nice, supportive—if Jenny had been there when Ida was still a teacher, Ida probably wouldn’t have left the profession at all.

…

           Mr. Feldspar stood in front of the staff bathroom’s mirror. The light illuminating his face flickered—somebody had installed a cheap, plastic chandelier that looked more tacky than luxury and made no sense to have in a staff bathroom, especially considering that it rarely worked—and tried to prepare himself. He smiled at himself. Wow, he looked terrified when he did that. He smiled wider and went from terrified to terrifying. Oliver decided he wouldn’t smile at all. He barely smiled at all when the Class of 2009 was in school, so why change that now?

           Oliver pressed his shoulders back. He had read somewhere online that standing like that was a “power pose” and would make you feel confident. It just made Oliver feel sweaty. He anchored his feet firmly into the ground to prevent them from shaking. His hand instinctively moved up to the knot of his tie. His wife had tied that tie. Now she had probably run away to complain about his unfaithfulness.

           If all Oliver had left of his wife was the knot of a tie, he was sure going to use the knot of that tie to its full potential. Oliver reached into his pocket for the paper Leroy had given him. It was never too late for some last-minute memorization.

           Oliver’s hand came up empty. Strange. He reached back in and grappled around but all he could produce was some dryer lint. What was going on? Oliver checked all his other pockets but despite his best wishes nothing appeared.

           Oliver sighed and rubbed his hands over the knot. He could feel the blood draining out of his head as the edges of his vision flashed and blurred. Of course. He was set to present in just a few minutes and he had no paper.