Dr. Jody Iron, Principal of Paiten's High School from "My Favorite Magazine"

 

The Human Hotdog

BEEP! “Principal Simon? Spencer Pyle is here to see you. It’s not good.”

Quinn Simon sighed. “Send him up.” He pulled a bottle of wine out of his desk drawer and took a few quick sips before putting it back where it belonged. He held the bridge of his nose for what seemed like forever. “What could he possibly want now?” he asked to nobody in particular. This would have been the perfect opportunity to venture into the dreamscape and bypass this unnecessary meeting with the anti-LGBT blogger. Or better yet, it would be a good time to put a gun to his own head and pull the trigger. Different dreamscape, same avoidance of responsibilities.

There was a loud knock at his door and before Quinn had the chance to allow him in, Spencer Pyle burst into the room on his own. The activist’s creepy face quivered with anger. His horseshoe hair seemed to be reverberating with every tremble. And yet, Principal Simon couldn’t be upset anymore. In fact, he smiled when he saw the reason for Spencer’s silent rage: he was covered head to toe in mustard and ketchup, like a human hotdog.

As Quinn struggled to keep his laughter in, Spencer crossed his arms and said, “I’m glad you think this is hilarious, Principal, and I use that term loosely. If this had happened to any one of your PC millennial students, you’d file an anti-bullying report. But since it’s someone who doesn’t agree one hundred percent with your own political views, then I guess it’s pure comedy.”

“I don’t condone violence or harassment of any sort, don’t get me wrong,” said Quinn as he waved his hand defensively. “But if you really want me to punish harassment, I should start by punishing you.”

Spencer slammed his palm on the desk and yelled, “I’ve been punished enough already! You see this suit? It’s going to cost a fucking fortune to get it cleaned! I’m not wearing a Men’s Warehouse piece of shit like you are! I actually pay for the things that I own! I live like a capitalist every day!”

“Fine, then go live like a capitalist at the dry cleaners and hold up your homophobic signs there.”

Sticking a finger in Quinn’s face, Spencer raged, “Colleges are supposed to be places of free speech. They’re supposed to be places where big ideas can thrive. And now your sensitive snowflake students think it’s okay to squirt condiments all over people they have minor disagreements with! You’re doing a great disservice to this generation! You’re turning them into entitled brats!”

Maintaining calmness under fire, Quinn folded his hands on his desk and said, “You have the right to say whatever you want, I agree. Your first amendment rights guarantee you that. However, the first amendment protects you from the LEGAL consequences of free speech, not the social ones. You have the right to speak your mind, but you don’t have the right to be popular. If you had to like everyone’s point of view, that would defeat the purpose of first amendment rights to begin with. You’re not the only one who has free speech rights, Mr. Pyle.”

As soon as Spencer grabbed Quinn’s suit jacket, that was when the principal’s grace under fire gave way to minor nervousness. “Squirting hotdog sauces on people is not considered free speech, you idiot. It’s assault. I’m pressing charges against every single one of those students and you’re going to help me identify them!”

“Assault?” Quinn chuckled. “I don’t see a scratch on you. I’m sorry, but ketchup doesn’t count as real blood.”

“It’s still assault, you jackass! I’m taking them all down! And I’ll take you down with them! You see, I’ve got sources on the inside who’ve told me some interesting things about you. They’re telling me that you purposefully distributed those ketchup and mustard bottles just for this occasion.”

“Really? Who are your sources?”

“I don’t have to tell you my sources. I’m a journalist.”

Quinn batted Spencer’s hand away. “Two things. One, you’re not a real journalist. You’re a blogger with a god complex. There’s a difference. And two, citing sources is something we ask of our students all the time when they write expository essays. When they make certain points, the teachers want to be able to fact check them. If the teachers have nothing to fact check, then the students will get F’s. I’m merely fact checking you, Mr. Pyle, that’s all. So who are your sources?”

Instead of giving a definitive answer, Spencer gave Principal Simon a mustard-drenched middle finger.

“I understand,” said Quinn. “So your sources could literally be anybody as far as I know. They could be other students. They could be faculty. They could be secretaries. Or they could be completely summoned from thin air. Your sources could be Mickey Mouse and Hulk Hogan for all I know. Please say your sources aren’t Mickey Mouse and Hulk Hogan.”

With clenched teeth, Spencer said, “They’re not Mickey Mouse and Hulk Hogan. They’re real people.”

“I’m sure they are,” said Quinn sarcastically. “But until you tell me who they are so that I can fact check you, I’m just going to assume that you’re another crazy right-winger peddling conspiracy theories at random. I’ve heard them all and I’m sure I’ll hear more. Barack Obama was born in Kenya. 9/11 was an inside job. Windmills give you cancer. And Principal Quinn Simon is willing to sacrifice a good-paying job just so he can squirt condiments on some bush league blogger who can only win debates by raising his voice.”

“You do want to silence me, Principal. I know you do. That’s why you’re asking me to name my sources, so that you can suspend them or expel them. Wouldn’t want any free thinkers on your campus. They’re not good for your agenda. Besides, if you know full well you didn’t do it, then why do you need to fact check yourself?”

“The burden of proof is on you, Mr. Pyle. You’re the one crazy enough to peddle these conspiracy theories. You’re the one who believes them to your core. If you can’t provide me with proof, then I suggest you leave my office before I call campus security.”

Spencer swatted Quinn’s phone off the desk, instilling even more wide-eyed, shiver-inducing fear in the normally stalwart principal.

Holding his hands up and quivering through his speech, Quinn said, “Take it easy, Mr. Pyle. You said yourself you don’t condone assault. Think about what you’re doing. You don’t want to contradict yourself, do you?”

“You’ve contradicted yourself enough times already, Principal Simon,” growled Spencer. “You don’t give a damn about free speech. You don’t give a damn about my wellbeing or my rights. You don’t give a damn about this country. So what if I don’t like gay people? Does that make me an evil person? Not in the least. I’m doing God’s work. You and your students are on a one-way ticket straight to hell. But hey, you can at least take your condiments with you and roast your weenies over all those open flames. Roasting hotdogs without a barbecue. That sounds like a party to me.”

Quinn was on the verge of shitting his pants upon gazing deeper into Spencer’s psychotic zealot eyes. They were wide. They were bloodshot. They stared daggers into Quinn’s so-called non-existent soul. “You know what?” he stammered. “Here, have something to drink.” With his hands occupied in the drawer, he opened the wine and mixed something in the liquid before pulling out the bottle.

Spencer folded his arms and smiled at his own intimidation tactics. “I had no idea you were allowed to drink on campus, Principal Simon. And here I thought that shit was banned after Brock Turner got his twenty minutes of action.”

“Please, just take a drink and calm down. Your voice is probably dry after all that screaming.”

Spencer yanked the bottle out of Quinn’s hand and chugged half of it before slamming it on the desk. “Oh, that’s some good tasting shit! Nice sparkling red wine. A little too bitter for my tastes, but that’s pretty much what you can expect from all alcoholic beverages.” The sounds of Spencer’s stomach grumbling echoed throughout the room. “Oh dear god…where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall and to the left.”

As soon as Spencer booked it towards the bathroom, one of Principal Simon’s secretaries entered with concern on her face, especially after seeing the multi-lined phone laying on the floor. There were also ketchup and mustard stains on Quinn’s own suit jacket, in the shape of someone’s hand, no less. “Is everything alright, sir?” she asked.

“Call the police, Betty. Spencer Pyle’s going berserk. Do it on your smart phone. We need to get everyone out of here before he’s done using the bathroom.”

Quinn’s plan worked like a charm. The most anal activist on the planet was unplugged with Imodium AD. Quinn could be pretty anal too sometimes, but not enough to need the entire packet of pills.

The Sadness Olympics

Melanie Chappell’s legs rattled underneath her graduation robe while her mind bombarded her with traumatic images. Every gunshot. Every scream of death. Every splatter of blood. And then the coup-de-grace: one final bullet from the shooter’s gun aimed at his own head. Just like that it was all over, but in Melanie’s numbed out brain, it still went on.

How dare these students and faculty members carry on without her? How dare they leave her behind while she suffered silently? Her grades could get her into any school she wanted, but all the A+’s in the world couldn’t take away pain that would last forever…or at least until she deemed fit to use the undetected metal device in her pocket.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our valedictorian, Miss Melanie Chappell!”

The numbness wore off as she realized Principal Jeff Nygard’s voice summoning her to the podium. She just then remembered she was at a graduation ceremony. It took too long for the applause to register in her mind. Even the fancy purple and green colors of Principal Nygard’s wizard-like robe blended in with the rest of Melanie’s pitch black world.

High heels aside, Melanie’s legs nearly buckled underneath her as she staggered to the podium. Going back to bed was better than listening to these claps, which sounded too much for her comfort like repetitive gunfire from an AR-15. Instead of cycling through what she was supposed to say, she contemplated what the acronym AR stood for. Asshole Redneck? Aryan Race? Ammosexual Romance? She would have smiled at that last one if she didn’t nearly fall over the podium. Luckily, Principal Nygard’s hands were there to catch her.

“I’m okay,” she unconvincingly whispered to Nygard.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine…at least I think so.”

As Principal Nygard took his seat at the back of the stage, the concerned faces of graduating classmates washed over her war-like mind. While gunshots and blood splatters still smashed her mind into fragments, she believed the students’ reactions to be underwhelming for what had just happened a month ago. Had it really been a month? Or was it five seconds ago? Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over, she thought to herself.

Melanie attempted to adjust the microphone to her mouth and did so poorly. She stalled for time with a few halfhearted coughs. When time became a bigger enemy to her than the incel with the gun, she wiped away a singular tear and tried her damnedest to speak.

“Thank you all for coming out here today.” God, that sounded stupid, she thought. “I, uh…I know you all…this isn’t the end of…” Tears splashed around her eyeballs as she struggled to compose herself. Fuck it, I’ll go with it.

“A month ago, something awful happened at our school. I won’t go into the specifics of it since it’s fresh enough in everyone’s minds as it is. Many of our classmates died that day. Their families will never get to see them achieve greatness. Never see them smile again. Never erase those memories from their minds. And…while we can all agree to come together and give each other comfort and strength…not everyone on the internet sees it that way. In fact, there’s a…disgusting hashtag going around social media called The Sadness Olympics. It’s used by trolls who want to mock what we’ve been through, to protect their so-called second amendment rights, to…to…”

Melanie’s words became scrambled as silent tears dropped from her eyes like waterfalls. She could feel Principal Nygard’s hand on her shoulder, a sign of the comfort she spoke of before the most disgusting hashtag on the internet left her mouth. Jeff whispered, “If you need to leave the stage, you have my permission.”

“No! No…I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard. I’ve got this….”

Once he sat back down among all the other wizard-robe-wearing faculty members, rage bubbled from beneath Melanie’s skin like a murky, venomous swamp. Despite the tears rolling down her face, her expression said, “Do not fuck with me!” without those words actually coming off of her tongue.

“To whoever’s circulating that hashtag, I’ve got a message for you,” said Melanie. “You’re every bit as evil as the gunman who came to our school. You may not have pulled the trigger, but make no mistake about it, you’re a murderer!”

“Miss Chappell, please!” begged Principal Nygard.

“Shut up! I told you I’ve got this!” The whole auditorium along with the school Principal fell silent. “The fact that people think our suffering, my suffering is funny makes me sick to my stomach. People like that are the whole reason our country is going to shit.”

As the audience gasped at the swear word, Principal Nygard spoke up once again. “Miss Chappell, that’s enough! Please leave the stage, if not for us, then for your own benefit!”

“I told you I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard, now sit down and shut up! It’s what you do best!” His face grew red with embarrassment while his jaw nearly touched his lap. Melanie’s silver-tongued rhetoric continued. “The only thing that makes me sicker than that hashtag is the fact that it’s being used by some of our own students, many of whom are here today! I see you out there! You think this is comedy? Fine! You can laugh while your guts are spilling out of your body! You can literally laugh your head off as a bullet passes through it!

“And now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t be so mad that a shooter came to our school with a AR-15 or whatever the fuck it’s called! Hell, I would have come in with an army tank if I knew where to find one! I’d still be traumatized! I’d still wake up in the middle of the night trying to recover from a shitty dream! But you know what? If it means you hashtag warriors, you Sadness Olympics comedians, will get what’s coming to you, it’d be worth taking Xanax for the rest of my life! I can’t even afford it since it’s a controlled substance, but if Principal Nygard has taught me anything, it’s that it’s all in my head, a head which should be filled with ‘thoughts and prayers’, by the way!”

The students gasped once again as Nygard’s tone grew more serious. “One more outburst from you, Miss Chappell, and I’ll withhold your diploma! No more of this nonsense, you understand me?!”

Suddenly calming down, Melanie turned around to face her Principal with dewy eyes and a neon pink face. “Yeah…yeah, I understand, Mr. Nygard. I really shouldn’t have gotten off track like that. Sorry. I forgot we were supposed to be taking away each other’s pain, not shuffling it around.”

Facing the students again and adjusting the microphone nervously, Melanie’s streak of calmness continued. “Truth is, I don’t really have a solution to your traumas. I don’t even have a solution for my own. I don’t really know if we’re going to have another school shooting or not. I don’t know if we’re going to get more from our government than so-called ‘thoughts and prayers’.

“But one thing I do know…is that I don’t want any part of this. The graduation ceremony, the diploma, the college debt I’ll rack up…it’s all for nothing if my nightmares won’t leave me alone for even a few seconds. It’s all for nothing if internet trolls are just going to keep cracking jokes about us. So you know what I say? Before another horny incel has the chance to gun me down…I’ll strike first.”

In one swift motion, Melanie pulled a pistol out of her pocket and blew her own brains out, sending one final message to her fellow classmates. A message that hope is only an illusion, comedy isn’t fun anymore, and “thoughts and prayers” is just a phrase as empty as Melanie’s exploded skull. She could have sworn she heard screams everywhere around her, but only for a few seconds before her body went completely limp. What’s one more trauma to these people, right?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 21

As a handsome middle-aged gentleman in a brown ponytail stood by her side, Linda Williams took center stage of the gymnasium with a microphone in hand. She noticed the sullen expressions on her students’ faces as they filed into the bleachers one by one. Linda caught a glimpse of Adrienne Simpson sitting in the far upper corner by herself. The Principal’s heart ached for her and all of this new trauma she had to deal with. That was not to undermine the sadness of the other students filling the seats, all of which had slumped over postures and saggy frowns.

Right at the time everybody was seated where they needed to be, Linda tapped the microphone a few times and tested it for feedback. She gazed around at the audience before her with a combination of sympathy and strength in her face. She needed to be strong when others felt they had the strength sapped right out of them. Linda took a few breaths to steel her nerves and brought the microphone up to her lips to begin her oratory.

“Before I get started with this emergency school assembly, I want to get two talking points off my chest. First, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming today, students and teachers alike. I wish this was all under different circumstances, but it is what it is. And secondly,” Linda patted the ponytail-wearing gentleman on the shoulder and said, “This is Paul Corbin. He will be your new US history teacher as he’s taking over for the departed Tom Simpson. He’ll take good care of you and hopefully you’ll find him to your liking.”

Linda gazed down at her loafers to allow for a beat of silence. Reengaging the audience, she said, “I’m sure some of you heard by now what happened with Tom Simpson and why he’s not here today. For those of you who need to be brought up to speed, let’s just say he won’t be working here anymore. He made a bad decision and it cost him his job. I know that argument sounds familiar to those of you who were close to one Scott George. I know how quickly rumors can travel.”

Pacing back and forth with slowness in her step, Linda cleared her throat and said, “We can debate all day long about the morality of what Scott George did. Then again, we can also do the same thing for Mr. Simpson. And for Alan Young, another student whose name you might recognize. Varying opinions aside, I have a confession to make as it pertains to my tenure here at Perkins High.”

“I haven’t been a perfect Principal. I’ve made a few enemies here and there. But the one thing I can never forgive myself for…is allowing my own students to be victimized. I’ve been blind to the mistreatment going on around here. I thought it was just another day at the office. And then I saw a You Tube video of Scott George sobbing at his father’s grave while the so-called filmmaker Alan Young laughed in the background. That never should have been the ultimate breaking point and for that I’m sorry.”

Pointing her arm at the new teacher, she said, “As you can see from Mr. Corbin’s presence, there are going to be some changes around here. These changes are going to shake the very foundation of this once esteemed high school. No more abuses of power. No more hostile work environments. No more mediocre school lunches. Everything is going to change around here from top to bottom, left to right. Mind you, these changes aren’t going to happen overnight. Reforming a broken school takes time and effort. While I realize that patience isn’t always a virtue among everyone here today, it is needed if we’re to make these changes in a civilized and methodical way.

“To put it as delicately as possible, Scott George hit some bumps in the road during his educational experiences here. I’ve no doubt that many of you feel the same way. The only difference is, his story came to my attention first. And his story is the reason why these radical changes are happening in the first place. As long as they’re happening, I’d love know your stories as well. You know why? Because unlike what Tom Simpson had been preaching this whole time, democracy isn’t dead. Your voices matter now more than ever. You have the right to be heard and there’s not a teacher walking this earth that can take that away from you.

“Which brings me to my final talking point of the day. If you’ve been following the local news, you’d know that Scott is currently sitting in jail awaiting his final sentencing. The crime he committed had no victims, yet he currently has a five thousand dollar bail looming over his head. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before that bail will be revoked and his prison sentence will officially begin.

“Therefore, I am announcing to you all this morning that I’ve set up a Go Fund Me page to pay for his bail. The link to the page will be posted on the bulletin board outside of my office. I don’t expect any one person to fork over the full amount. In fact, I don’t want any of you to think that the new changes to this school will be contingent on how much money is donated to the cause. This isn’t extortion. This is purely optional. One dollar would be fine. A quarter. A nickel. Every little bit will help.

“If you’re wondering why you should care about a kid who was rebellious at his worst and tearful at his best, then know that I would do the same for any one of you if you were placed in a similar situation. No student deserves to be taken advantage of. No student deserves to be silenced. Every student has the right to an education should he or she decide to pursue it. I feel that way about Scott George, a kid with so much promise and so much of an upside that it breaks my heart to see him lose it all over an asinine loophole in the law he allegedly broke.

“I’m not asking you all for help. I’m pleading with you. I’m all but on my hands and knees. I’m asking for this school to be united, not torn apart by bullying or abuse of any kind. If there’s one thing Scott George will teach you all, it’s that empathy and love will go a lot further than empty disciplinary tactics and mindless conformity. He wants you all to be free thinkers. He wants you all to take advantage of the opportunities you have. He wants to see these changes to our school just as much as you all need them. I’ll close this assembly with one final plea: can you find it in your hearts to give Mr. George another chance?”

The expressions on the students’ faces spoke volumes: angry eyebrows, defeated frowns, and tense stares. One by one they left the gymnasium without waiting for Miss Williams to give permission to exit. They never said one word, presumably because for so long they had been fed the “democracy is dead” shtick like it was the worst tasting medicine imaginable, worse than any worm-infested food Scott George would eat in his new home. The only student who didn’t get up and leave was Adrienne Simpson, who pulled her knees up and tucked her head in her lap, feeling dejected and forlorn.

As soon as the bleachers were empty sans Adrienne, Paul Corbin placed a gentle hand on Linda Williams’s shoulder and said, “You did your best to convince them.”

“Did I really, Paul? Is this just another chapter of broken promises and ignorant leadership?” asked Linda in a sullen tone.

“Nobody’s perfect, Linda. Not you, not me, not Scott George himself. But that’s what makes us human. We grow, we adapt, and we learn things. Isn’t that what school is all about?”

“It’s too late for us now,” said Linda. “These changes should have been made long before Scott was taken into custody. I could have prevented all of this from happening. But instead, I sat by and did nothing. I was naïve to think everything was okay. Does anybody really tell you that everything is wrong in their world? For god’s sake, I should have never hired Tom in the first place.”

Linda’s stonewall strength had crumbled all around her and she couldn’t help but shed a few silent tears. How could she remain strong after all that’s happened? She believed it was all her fault and that she had no right to cry about it in the first place. But the tears kept coming, albeit in a silent sob that still caught the attention of Paul Corbin. The new history teacher gave the Principal a hug light enough to avoid awkwardness, but strong enough to know that he was by her side.

“Excuse me, Miss Williams?” said Adrienne, who was now standing within close range and Linda hadn’t even realized it until she picked her tear-soaked face up. The little freshman held out a twenty dollar bill and said, “I want to contribute this to Scott’s bail. It’s not much, but I hope it’s a step in the right direction. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”

A smile spread across Linda’s face despite the flowing tears. She accepted the twenty dollar bill and said, “Oh, Miss Simpson, bless your little heart. I know Scott means a lot to you. He means a lot to me too. Speaking of rainy days…” The last sadly joking sentence was punctuated by pointing at her own teary face, hence the raindrops.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately too, Miss Williams. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re still one of the strongest women I know, next to my mom.”

Linda sighed, “I guess we all have to be strong now, don’t we? I just hope Scott feels the same way. Of course, it’s hard to be strong when you’re all alone behind those barred walls.”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 16

Linda Williams sat comfortably on her couch enjoying a bowl of wheat cereal while watching her daily dose of MSNBC. While her “pet project” Scott George no doubt spent his Saturday in misery, Linda felt guilty about being able to enjoy hers, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the world news. “I sure hope Tom is enjoying his little triumph,” she said softly to herself before taking another bite of cereal.

The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”

Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”

“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”

With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested?  You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”

“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”

“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.

Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”

Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”

Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”

“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.

“Eighteen. Why?”

Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”

Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”

“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”

Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”

“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”

“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”

“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”

“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”

Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”

Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”

Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 5

Tom Simpson had a strange feeling this would happen: sitting in the office next to his classroom with a cup of coffee glaring at the clock on his wall. Three o’clock turned into three-fifteen. Three fifteen turned into three-thirty. The teacher’s face scrunched downward as though he drank warm piss instead of hot coffee. “I knew it…” he silently groaned to himself. “I knew it!” He punctuated that sentence by throwing his coffee mug against the brick wall and watching the brown liquid drizzle down onto the carpet. He huffed and stomped out of his office without bothering to clean up the mess he made.

As Mr. Simpson stormed down the hallway with fists clenched and brows furrowed, several students (who actually showed up to their respective dentitions) tucked their faces away in fear. Some of them even swerved right past him in a big hurry to get their asses out of school. Mr. Simpson’s sniper sight zeroed in on the Principal’s office. He took a few deep, raspy breaths before fixing his shirt and throwing the door open.

An older black woman in a flower-patterned dress shirt and black slacks typed away at her computer before noticing Mr. Simpson standing furiously in her doorway. She gave him an awkward stare before asking, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, Miss Williams, you can.” Mr. Simpson took a seat next to the Principal and said, “Scott George was supposed to show up after school for detention at three o’clock sharp. It’s a half hour later and he still hasn’t shown!” Tom pounded Linda Williams’s desk and asked in a disturbingly calm voice, “What do you plan on doing about it?”

Miss Williams took her glasses off and folded her hands around her belly before leaning backwards in her chair, clearly no-selling Mr. Simpson’s silent rage. “While I don’t condone skipping out on detention, I also can’t condone you pounding your fist on my desk demanding things from me. Slow your role, Tom. Tell me exactly what happened and I’ll see what I can do about it.”

With animated body language and a silent voice, Mr. Simpson said, “Scott George has zero respect for my authority. He frequently back sasses me, he swears in class, and today was just the day where I’ve had enough of him. Can you blame me?”

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t,” said Miss Williams. “But this seems to be a pattern with you throughout your career. You push your students to their breaking point and wonder why they’re tipping over the edge. What I’m trying to say is, you’re not exactly the easiest teacher to get along with.”

“So what?!” squeaked Mr. Simpson. “Lots of people in the world have to put up with authority figures they don’t like. It’s a hard fact of life. Sometimes in this world, you have to get along with people who don’t necessarily have to get along with you. In this school, you get either an F or detention. In the job market, you get fired. Or if it’s a judicial situation, you go to jail. It’s not the most pleasant system of authority, but if we could all just democratically elect our own authority figures, we’d get nothing done. Haven’t you learned by now that democracy is dead?”

Miss Williams gave a closed-mouth chuckle, shook her head, and said, “So that’s what you’ve been teaching your students, huh? You’re a history teacher who tells his own kids that democracy is dead. Maybe that’s why they don’t want to hang around you anymore, because you suck the hope right out of them. I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but part of your role as a teacher is to guide your students to a better life. If you can’t do that, then you’re not a teacher.”

“But see, that’s the thing, Linda,” said Mr. Simpson while flailing his hands around. “The only people who I can guide to a better life are the ones who’re willing to meet me half way. This is the land of opportunity, not the land of milk and honey. Scott George doesn’t give a damn about earning anything from me, hence why he didn’t show up to detention this afternoon.”

Miss Williams typed on her keyboard and said, “Well, that’s funny, because judging from his other grades, he seems to be well on his way to the Promised Land. Look at my computer screen for a moment. Algebra: B+. Graphic novels studies: A-. General art class: A-. Physical education: A+. Chemistry: B-. Not bad so far, huh? But the one place where he struggles the most is US history, your class, where he’s currently sitting pretty at a C-.” She leaned back in her chair again and asked, “Tell me, Mr. Simpson: why is Scott George struggling one class and doing so well in the others? Is US history his weakness or are you just not helping him through his tough times?”

“I could have helped him through whatever he needed if he’d just show up for thirty minutes of detention,” said Mr. Simpson with folded arms. “He’d be getting his very own tutor session.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass, Tom, you know full well that’s a bunch of BS,” warned Miss Williams.

“Oh, so you’re going to use foul language too?” asked Mr. Simpson. “And I’m the bad influence on my students? That’s part of the reason why Scott was supposed to show up today. Oh sure, he gets detention for saying it here, but what if he said it front of a bunch of small children? Or churchgoers? Or his own boss, if he’s actually able to get a job once he’s out of school.”

“He’ll cross that bridge once he gets to it. In the meantime, you’d better stop worrying about the stuff that comes out of your students’ mouths or what they do when they’re not in school. Let’s not kid ourselves and pretend that these teenagers are just sitting around being squeaky clean. That’s not what life is about for these kids. The only thing you’re teaching them by holding Scott George hostage is how to resent tight-asses like you!”

Mr. Simpson pounded Miss Williams’s desk again and asked, “Are you going to do anything about him not showing up or are you just going to turn a blind eye to the bigger picture! He needs to be made an example of!”

Miss Williams’s temper exploded when she stood up, towered over Mr. Simpson, and belted, “I’ll deal with Scott George in my own damn way! I’ll have a talk with him first thing tomorrow morning! If it makes you happy, I’ll even leave a message on his house phone telling him to show up!” He continued her vengeful oratory with finger pointing at a stoic Mr. Simpson. “As far as you’re concerned, you’re leaning on the precipice of career suicide by talking to me that way! You don’t give the orders, I do! This is my school and you’re not going to disrespect me any further!”

Mr. Simpson smiled and shook his head before standing up to meet Miss Williams’s coffee brown eyes. “You’re angry, huh? Now you understand my frustration with people like Scott George. I’m glad we could reach an understanding.”

As Mr. Simpson patted Miss Williams’s shoulder, she shrugged him off and snapped, “Get your hands off of me and get the hell out of my office before I fire you!” The history teacher held his hands up defensively and strolled out of the office, shutting the door behind him. He could see through the glass door that the Principal plopped back down in her seat and rubbed her aching temples.

The teacher turned around and saw a semi-circle of wide-eyed students fixating their gazes upon him. Mr. Simpson threw his hands up and yelled, “Boogedy-boogedy-boo!”, causing the crowd to quickly disperse in several directions.

Off in the distance, Mr. Simpson saw that another student glaring at him was his own daughter Adrienne, who had her arms folded and was leaning against the wall. Seeing his estranged flesh and blood in that mood brought a sinking feeling to his own heart. He let out a sigh and turned around to walk away.

“What am I doing?” he whispered to himself. He began to think there was a little bit of truth to what Miss Williams said, as much as it stung. Maybe that was why his wife divorced him and took Adrienne away. Maybe that was why he had a crappy car waiting for him in the parking lot. Maybe that was why he dined on TV dinners every night while watching the news alone.

He slapped himself in the head for thinking such “horrendous” thoughts. He knew he had to stand his ground if he was ever to get a victory against his own students. It was too late for him to win the war against his own wife and daughter. But the battle lines had already been drawn between himself at Scott George. If he had it his way, he’d bring back corporal punishment just for that one student. But now that he was fighting this war, he had to figure out what exactly he stood for. As a history teacher who taught various wars in his class, he needed to figure this out quickly. Otherwise, history would repeat itself over and over again.

Don't Tell Me Who to Love

“Mr. Hamlet, I’m only going to ask you this once and you’d better give me a meaningful answer…What the hell were you thinking when you started this relationship with Miss Peters?” College Principal Rich Lucas’s hands formed a pyramid on his desk as he posed the question to Keith Hamlet. Principal Lucas’s glasses-wearing eyes burned into Keith’s soul like a Molotov cocktail, yet the math teacher and his student Vikki Peters sat across from him in his office hand-in-hand like nothing was wrong.

“Normally, that would qualify as a rhetorical question,” said Keith as he straightened his tie and argyle sweater vest, seemingly the perfect picture of calmness. “But if you really want me to take it seriously, then here’s my answer. I was thinking the exact same thing when any other man falls in love with a woman. I pursued a relationship with Vikki here because she was the one for me, end of story. She’s a consenting adult, I’m a consenting adult, so I really don’t see what the problem is, Principal Lucas. In other words…” Keith leaned in closer and tensely whispered, “Don’t tell me who to love.”

Rich leaned his wrinkly face closer and said, “I’m not telling you who to love. I’m telling you to use some common sense. You took this job as a math teacher knowing full well what kind of influence you’d have over your own students. It’s not a matter of non-existent statutory rape. It’s a conflict of interest. You could very well show favoritism to Miss Peters knowing other students would suffer.”

“If you actually bothered to look at her grades,” said Keith. “You’d know that math is a subject she struggles with. She gets no favoritism from me just because we’re dating. She certainly didn’t date me because she’d thought she’d have an advantage.”

“I’d love nothing more than to believe that,” said Rich as he leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his bald head. “But you knew the rules long before you took this job. This school forbids teacher-student relationships no matter what the age difference is. You broke the rules and now you’re about to lose your job because of it. I’m sorry, Mr. Hamlet, but I have no choice but to…”

“Wait!” shouted Vikki while holding her bare arm up in defense. Her long brown hair and lovely figure in the frilly blue dress she wore already made her hard to resist, but Keith’s heart beat faster upon watching his love come to his defense. She was no damsel despite what Rich thought; she was a badass metal armor-wearing knight. “You do this to him, Mr. Lucas. This job is all that he has left!” Not the best argument ever made, but the spirited delivery was what counted the most.

Rich chuckled with his mouth closed and said, “You’re right, Miss Peters. It is all he has left…aside from his wife, his children, a house, a dog, a car…whatever will he do without a lovely lady such as yourself?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you this, because quite frankly it’s none of your goddamn business,” said Keith. “But my wife divorced me long before I started dating Vikki. I know you can’t relate to something as complex as having a heart, Mr. Lucas, but hear me out. Being divorced is bad enough with the alimony payments and the bitter words exchanged in a courtroom. But the loneliness, the emptiness I felt afterwards, THAT was what made me lose focus of my job. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat…but Vikki took my pain away. I’ve been doing great up until the point where you called the two of us to your office, Mr. Lucas.”

A tense silence was shared between all three occupants of the room before Rich Lucas burst into mocking laughter and slapped his desk with the palm of his hand. When asked what was so fucking hilarious, he said, “Jesus, Keith, you should have been a poet instead of a math teacher! That was pure gold! Maybe when I fire your ass, you can get a career writing songs for sour-faced rock bands!”

The horse laughter came to a quick end when Vikki shot up and barked, “Enough!” Rich peaked up at her like he was taking her more seriously than when she gave the weak defense earlier. “This is why I hate going to school,” she sobbed. “Aside from the stupid classes, you’ve also got ridiculous rules that don’t mean shit in the real world! We’re not doing any harm to each other or the other students by being together! Keith says I took his pain away? Well, he took mine away too! If he hadn’t come to me when he did, I’d probably be dead with a bloody wrist somewhere!”

Rich held his hands up defensively and said, “Calm down, Miss Peters. Have a seat.” After she complied with both of those requests, Rich leaned in closer and said, “I certainly didn’t mean anything by what I just said to your…boyfriend, for lack of a better term. I was just…you know…Are you sure you don’t want to major in poetry too, Miss Peters?” The obnoxious hee-haws and desk slapping continued, much to the tearful dismay of Vikki and the teeth grinding rage of Keith.

“Laugh all you want, you smelly little prick!” belted Keith as he stood up and pointed his index finger at his accuser.

The donkey gut-busting was replaced with a serious stare into Keith’s crumbling soul. “What did you call me, Mr. Hamlet? I’d choose my words carefully if I were you. You’re not only facing termination, but you’re also in danger of being blackballed from the educational community as a whole. No college is going to want a sexual predator on their campus. Say what you will about the Brock Turners of the world, but at least he never pretended to be a romantic lover boy like you, Mr. Hamlet!”

Keith’s dynamite veins pulsated throughout his body. His fists clenched and turned his knuckles bright white. His muscles tightened underneath his dress shirt and sweater vest. Visions of him punching the shit out of Rich Lucas danced in his head like wild flames. Oh, how he would have loved to turn this disgusting human being’s face into slime and sand. He was close to carrying out his fantasy when he flipped over Rich’s desk and caused him to scatter backwards into the corner while Vikki barricaded Keith with her arms.

Pointing his index finger like a colt forty-five ready to blow, Keith shouted, “I am sick and tired of you judging me like a common criminal! Who’s going to take YOUR job for saying stupid shit like that?! Who’s going to put YOU on the fucking chopping block?! If you want to take my job, go ahead and take it, but if I fucking fall, you’re going down with me!” Vikki managed to push Keith back a little further to calm him down slightly.

The loving gesture did nothing to mask the massive flood of saliva Rich Lucas gulped nor the quaking in his tan slacks-wearing legs. With a shivery voice, he said, “Save your empty threats, Mr. Hamlet. You can’t do a damn thing to me or my credibility.”

Vikki sat Keith down in his chair and rubbed his shoulders and head in a further attempt to calm him down. While she achieved that small goal, Keith’s rage still caused Rich’s balls to shrink even in silent mode. “if there’s one thing I’ve learned in divorce court, it’s that the truth doesn’t mean shit. Men will try to screw women and women will try to screw men. The winner of any court case isn’t about who’s right or who’s wrong. It’s about who has the most believable pile of happy horseshit. I’m not necessarily saying I’m going to lie in court to get one over on you. I’m just saying…my shit smells like a my girlfriend’s cologne while yours smells like a fucking cow pasture. I’ve plead my case to you and got nothing. What’ll happen when I plead my case to a state judge?”

Still convulsing in the corner, Rich threw his glasses to the floor and said, “You’re fired, Keith. I’ve heard all I want to hear from you and your mistress. Just do me a favor, Mr. Hamlet: when you show up in court, try not to flip over any tables like you did in my office. You see…I too know what it’s like to lose someone I love. I’ve been alive a long time and had six marriages. The judge isn’t going to like your anger. You’d better learn how to keep that under control without your woman present. But then again…you millennials aren’t exactly known for your wisdom!”

A fiery aura radiated off of Keith Hamlet and he didn’t give two shits if he was proving Rich Lucas right. The now former math teacher could feel his own blood singeing his skin like a vat of acid. His exploding heart could have been powerful enough to level Hiro-fucking-shima all over again. Every time Keith closed his eyes in an attempt to quell this anger, his eyelids felt like little skillets burning breakfast as well as the whole house. Anything Keith Hamlet could have done in this moment would have jeopardized his chances of keeping his teaching license. And then…

“So not only are you an asshole in general,” sobbed Vikki. “But you’re also a flaming ageist. You’re a bitter old man in a school full of young students. I bet that just eats you up inside. That probably won’t look good in the eyes of an impartial judge. You know, somebody who can apparently be more impartial than my boyfriend here!”

Rich Lucas ran out of verbal ammunition as evidenced by his quivering lips and slurred speech. Keith, on the other hand, had plenty to say if only through his actions. He wiped away Vikki’s tears with his thumb and shared a lengthy hug with her in front of a disgusted, yet defeated Principal Lucas. “Don’t worry, Vikki,” said Keith. “This asshole can take away a lot of things from us…but we’re not going down without firing the first shot. Look at him, he’s pathetic! He knows he’ll lose miserably, but he’s too jittery to put his words together and admit it!”

“I love you, Keith,” whispered Vikki.

“I love you too, Vikki.” The romantic couple shared a gentle tongue kiss in front of Rich, who turned his face into the corner in a failed attempt to avert his “innocent” eyes.