For the first time in what seemed like ages, Scott George
felt as though he belonged somewhere. He couldn’t get this feeling at home, so
he got it at school when he walked through the front door with students and
teachers applauding his arrival. He knew he couldn’t thank them enough for what
they had done, so he smiled a warm smile and waved back at them.
But he knew now was not the time for complacency. He never
once lost sight of the fact that this was a high school, the testing grounds
for the next level of education: college. Scott studied his ass off for the
upcoming finals, putting extra effort into US history. He did more than just
memorize dates, events, and wars; he delved into their respective contexts. How
did structural racism begin? How does it continue into today’s society? Is
democracy still alive? The answer to the last question was yes and Scott was
living proof. Now he had to show that proof to the rest of the school by acing
these final exams.
He sat in his usual desk in his history class and took in
all the sights of this new regime. The desks were in almost pristine condition.
The students radiated with calmness. The new teacher, Mr. Corbin, didn’t stare
down at his pupils like was a giant munching on villagers. Scott’s only concern
was with the jock bully who had taunted him in the past. The football stud
didn’t look like much of a stud as he kept his head down and fingered what
appeared to be a wound on his hand. Scott couldn’t help but feel for the poor
guy, whatever happened to him. He even managed to remember the big guy’s name:
Craig Dunham. Imagine that: giving somebody a name actually helps humanize that
person.
“Good morning, class,” said Mr. Corbin, instantly gaining
his pupils’ attentions. “It’s been a long road to get to this point and you’ve
all done very well so far. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from any class I teach:
universal success. I have no quotas to fill as far as negative marks go. You
all have met me halfway and I’m eternally grateful. You’ve proven to me that
democracy is far from dead despite what the previous teacher has hammered into
you. Without a proper education in a calm work environment, we can’t have a
true democracy. But we have just one more part of this long journey and that’s
the final exam. There are fifty questions, all of which are multiple choice.
You have one hour to complete the test, but you most likely won’t need all of
it.”
As soon as Mr. Corbin passed out the scantron sheets and the
students had their pencils ready, he said, “Good luck to each and every one of
you. I hope you all find the success you’re looking for today and every day
after that. Your exam begins…now!” The students went right to work in filling
in those bubbles, Scott included.
For the weeks leading up to this exam, Scott felt a sense of
peace and quiet surge through his body. He knew he didn’t owe it to just one
factor, as there were many pieces of this unbreakable puzzle. Whether it was
moving in with Adrienne, feeling welcome under Mr. Corbin’s tutelage, or the
fact that he confronted his personal demons and won, Scott was able to focus on
his test without burning himself out. Any worms and puppets that had previously
invaded his mind had faded into black and white pictures and were pushed aside
with relative ease. The EMDR techniques during therapy did their job and then
some. But there was no time to reflect, because he only had one hour before the
test was over.
What was the major reason for the civil war? Keeping the
confederacy from seceding. Who assassinated President Lincoln? John
Wilkes-Booth. What does being “sold up the river” mean? Being a slave who was
traded by boat to an arguably harsher master. Who was the eventual Supreme
Court justice who argued successfully against Plessey vs. Ferguson? Thurgood Marshall. What year was John Lennon
assassinated? 1980. Soon enough, the questions and answers came together with
enough ease that Scott finished his test before the rest of the class. For
that, he took a deep breath and took his test to Mr. Corbin’s office, though the
nerves about his grade caused his stomach to hurt and his heart to race.
“I knew it: you didn’t need the full hour after all. Very
impressive, Mr. George,” said Mr. Corbin with a warm smile. When Scott didn’t
return to his seat, he asked, “Did you have a question for me?”
“Uh, yeah, uh…” Scott cleared his throat to buy his nerves
some extra time. “Would it be okay with you if you graded my test now?”
“I don’t see why not. Could you shut the door, please?”
Scott did as he was told and allowed his arms to quiver at the sight of Mr.
Corbin running his red pen through the test. The new teacher made a few Nike
logo gestures with his mouth, but then nodded and gave a half smile. He capped
his pen and told Scott, “Okay, that’s an eighty-nine percent. A solid B+.”
Scott clutched his chest and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, his nerves
turning into warm prickly feelings throughout his arms, shoulders, and scalp.
Mr. Corbin said, “That B+ should be a significant boost to your overall grade
since it weighs the most. You should be proud.”
“Trust me, Mr. Corbin, you have no idea how relieved I am,”
said Scott in between heavy breaths.
“As long as I have you in my office, why don’t you take a
seat and talk to me for a minute. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble for anything.
Just please, take a seat.” Scott once again did as he was told, hands folded
neatly across his lap and his toes bouncing his leg up and down. Mr. Corbin
removed his glasses and asked, “How are you feeling these days, Mr. George?”
“I guess I’m doing alright. It hasn’t been perfect, but…I’m
doing okay for now.” Scott’s eyes darted from side to side as he strengthened
his efforts to suppress his worm flashbacks. He had a sinking feeling that
that’s where this conversation was going.
“That’s good to hear,” said Mr. Corbin with a nod. “It seems
as though it’s been a while since you’ve last heard this line of questioning.”
Scott sadly smiled and said, “Am I that easy to read?”
“No question about it. But I do hope you’re not living your
life with any regrets. Don’t use your experiences as an excuse to stay down.
Use them as a weapon. You’re going to need that weapon after you graduate.”
When Scott shrugged his shoulders in confusion, Mr. Corbin pulled a sheet of
paper out of a file folder and said, “Sorry, I should probably explain.
Principal Williams wanted me to give you this before you left my class for the
day.”
Scott gazed at the paper in his hands with confusion and
happiness in his expression. “It’s a job application…for being the school’s
sensitivity counselor? Oh no, I couldn’t do this. I don’t even have a
psychology degree. Shit, I’m not even out of school yet to get one of those
things.”
“You don’t need one, Scott. You’re perfectly qualified to
have this job. You know what it’s like to need somebody to talk to, somebody to
share your feelings with. You’ve gained more experience in just this last
semester than most people do in a lifetime. Like I said, use your experiences
not as a stopping point, but as a new beginning. Granted, you won’t make a lot
of money in your first year. This is school, after all, and teachers and staff
members alike struggle with their money enough as it is. But if you need a way
to support yourself and your girlfriend while you save up for college, this
would be the route to go. What say you, Scott?”
“I…I don’t know what to say…”
Mr. Corbin joked, “Your enthusiasm is underwhelming, Scott.
If I was drowning and somebody threw me a handful of life preservers, I’d have
a bigger smile on my face than you.” The student and teacher shared a laugh
together at the blatantly stolen Dr. Phil line.
“It’s funny that you quoted Dr. Phil just now because…I kind
of feel like him by filling out this application.”
“You are almost like him, except far less bullshit.” Scott
hiked his eyebrows at Mr. Corbin, who smiled casually and said, “Bet you didn’t
hear that word a lot from Mr. Simpson. But just to stay on the safe side, let’s
keep it between you and me.”
“It’s a deal,” said Scott as the two of them shook hands.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen on you right now, would you?”
“You can write with the one I used to grade your test. I’m
sure Miss Williams won’t mind a little red ink. She used to have my job, so she
used it quite liberally. Here you go,” said Mr. Corbin as he handed Scott the
pen. The newly healed high school senior filled out the application with a
careful writing speed while the teacher interlaced his fingers behind his own
head and relaxed for a while. “Take your time, Scott. There’s no rush. Slow and
steady wins the race.” Even more lines that Scott had never heard Mr. Simpson
say in his lifetime.
