Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

Lynch left the room like a tornado lifting into the clouds, sunlight returning.

Jennings lowered into the chair again and his thighs began to shake.

3

Some men have to pay for it.

It’s not too late to be a nurse. A male nurse.

Your grandfather must be turning in his grave.

Jennings was still sweating ten minutes later. Lynch had gotten personal quick, that’s what caught him off guard. Lynch questioned his masculinity, ridiculed his education, pointed out he wasn’t measuring up to his family, and threatened his job. Smiling during the entirety.

Jennings had endured worse. The Army paid men specifically to scream awful things, to break him down. It had worked too, turning Jennings into mush for days at a time when he was twenty-three. But that had been…professional and institutionalized. Mistreatment with construction in mind. He came back stronger.

The encounter with Lynch felt like being flayed by an abusive family member.

Jennings hadn’t known how to counter. How far could teachers retaliate? How much scorn absorption came with the job? Jennings had felt lost. On a battlefield with no weapon, just dodging fire.

No wonder Ms. Pierce had been scared. Whatever the rumors were she mentioned, Jennings already believed them.

Poor poor Benji.

And poor Ms. Hathaway. Lynch referred to her as lonely and lovely. If he was a woman that’s the last thing he’d want to be called by Peter Lynch. Maybe he should check in…

Jennings shoved himself up. He reached the door in time to see the man himself stroll out of Ms. Hathaway’s classroom. Lynch was humming, having spent ten minutes with the lovely and lonely. He turned down the hall, away from Jennings, toward the distant parking lot. Two young men in the hall, coming from afternoon theater, watched him plod by like a troll.

Jennings waited until Lynch rounded a corner.

He wasn’t hiding from Lynch. But he wasn’t not hiding either.

I’m a Green Beret avoiding a parent.

Former Green Beret.

A support soldier. A medic. Those damn rifles are heavy.

Daisy Hathaway’s room was two doors down, the opposing side of the hall. History on the northern side of Ol’ Monty, English on the southern.

Hathaway was sitting behind her desk and she jumped when he knocked.

“Oh, Mr. Jennings, it’s you!”

“Yes ma’am.”

She stood and released a sigh of relief. “Good. I thought he came back.”

“Lynch? I just met him."

“He told me.”

“Did Lynch inform you I’m not a man?”

“He…seemed displeased. But he mentioned you have a respected military family,” she said.

“Which I don’t measure up to. I shook his hand and now I need a shower.”

Hathaway gave him a slow nod. “I understand. I hate hate hate that man.” Jennings was two years her elder but they were that realm of adulthood where age blurred with merit and experience to create new hierarchies. In teaching, she outranked him. He remained at her door. She said, “Reggie Marks, the history teacher before you, he used to cry after Mr. Lynch’s conferences. He taught Benji’s older brother.” She came around her wooden desk, leaned back against it, and crossed her arms. “Mr. Lynch asked me out again. Just now. Do you know what he said? He said one day I’ll be Mrs. Lynch and then I won’t have to worry about my student loans.”

“Wow.”

“Right? Wow.”

“Not worth it, if it was me.”

She grinned. “Not enough money in this world. I can hear, actually hear his hair growing. It sounds like a snake.”

“His mouth bled while he was in my room.”

“I’ve seen that. Stains between the teeth. Like he’s a werewolf,” she said.

“Benji’s passing your class?”

“Yes. I’ll be honest. Sometimes when I’m grading his papers I’m more lenient so I don’t have to conference with that disgusting man. I had the pleasure twice last year.”

“My next conference, I’ll give you a heads up so you can hide.”

“I sat behind my desk because he stares at my legs.”

Everyone stared at her legs. Jennings’ colleagues, the men, raised the subject at least once a month. After four years in the Army, including a month in Landstuhl, a military hospital, deprivation had surely skewed his scales, but Daisy Hathaway was the primary reason Jennings got out of bed each morning without depression. He did his best to keep his eyes up and not stumble through his words.

She was smiling and he realized he’d missed a question, lost in revere.

“I’m sorry, say it again?”

“I said, I would think Captain America wouldn’t stress over a lecher like Lynch,” said Hathaway.

“I would be, ah, Staff Sergeant America. Doesn’t have the same ring. Having a shield would be nice, though.”

“Don’t expect to get any protection from the administration. They’re beholden to his deep pockets. Last year I informed Ms. Pierce that Mr. Lynch was acting inappropriately toward me, and she suggested I toughen up. And that I shouldn’t bring it up with Dean Gordon.”

Jennings pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Good grief.”

“Did he say you were doing a good job?”

“He said, Not bad, Daniel.”

“He always made Reggie Marks cry and then told him he was doing a good job. Good job, Reggie, keep at it, Reggie. And then he had Reggie fired.”

The school’s custodian came in to collect trash. They said hello and he did his job quickly and left, his bin squeaking down the hall.

Jennings said, “I’m new at this, Ms. Hathaway. Do you change grades when a parent gets upset? Do other teachers? He all but demanded I alter scores on PowerSchool. That seems corrupt.”

She took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling for her answer. Jennings kept his eyes on her face.

“Here’s the answer, Mr. Jennings. Do you want to keep your job? If so, you have to play their game. You have to do your duties well. You have to please the parents. You have to kiss the ass of the administration. And do it all with integrity because we still have to live with ourselves.”

“This is only your third year?”

“I sound like an old shrew, don’t I. But the stupid game is worth it because I love teaching.”

“You’re saying I should