Lauren Takes Leave Gerstenblatt, Julie (classic literature list txt) 📖

of Kat, and Jodi, and, for the most part, ofDoug. “I hate you because you hate me!”

There. That was easier than I thought.

Though now that I hear it out loud, it sounds reallystupid and childish.

Like we’re middle schoolers.

“This is about the department chair position, isn’t it?”Martha twitches.

A week ago, my answer would have been a quick yes. Butnow, with everything that I’ve experienced and reflected on this week, I haveto stall for a moment, to consider my response.

I tear off a corner of the scone and try to chew. It’sstale and dry and I end up coughing bits of pastry into the space between us. Cool,Lauren, keep it cool. I imagine myself at the Clevelander with Tim Cubix,crying together over the way life is messy and, therefore, beautiful. I sipfrom the coffee cup and answer. “At some point I guess it was about that job.But now, it’s about so much more than that, you can’t even imagine.”

I tell her just enough about my trip to Miami to make itsound more like a soul-searching weekend at a retreat in India than thecomplete and utter pleasure bender that it was.

“I can’t imagine wanting to escape, hmm?” she says, herhands folded tightly over the pocketbook in her lap. “Lauren, do you even knowanything about me?”

Only that you were fashioned in a mad scientist’s lab,put together from parts of an old Buick LeSabre and several defunctadministrators, then sent to my school to try and ruin my good time.

She blinks. “That’s what I thought. Nothing.”

And so, I look at her more closely and begin to wonder. Isshe married? There’s no ring. Does she have children? Or cats or dogs, abackyard, a foot fetish? Where does she live?

I don’t even know how she takes her coffee, and I don’teven care that I don’t know. I never asked.

Who’s the hater, now, Lauren?

“Mrs. Worthing—” she begins, and I think, Great, we’reback to that. “I thought you were being abused.”

“Well, in a way, I was!” I say, trying to explain my pointof view, to have her really understand me for once.

She is not amused. “I thought the recent changes in yourbehavior had to do with signs of personal distress.”

“But they were! I was distressed!” I counter.

She shakes her head and keeps speaking over me. “Iobserved you, I asked around. And then, when your husband covered up for youlike that, I thought you were in trouble with him, like I had been, once, withmy husband. I called the police because of genuine concern for your well-being.Someone once did the same for me and it saved my life.”

Well, piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. I try toimagine her being afraid, being hurt, being in danger. I try to see beneath hercool surface, to the origin of the twitch, to the crack beneath. It’s hard tofathom. “Really?”

“I don’t make a habit of lying.”

Yes, bad habit.

“I’m so…” I begin, about to say “sorry,” but then I lookup from my awful scone and see that she has emotion on her face.

I think of her cyborg-like manner, the distance she hasalways kept from me and everyone else at school. And for the first time, Irealize that living that way must be very lonely, and possibly, very sad.

“I’m so glad you told me, Martha,” I say, reaching acrossthe sticky wooden table to take her hand.

She smiles sadly, wiping a few stray tears on the back ofher brown sleeve. “You’re still not getting that promotion, you know,” shesays. “Even if you are being nice to me.”

“Look at you, cracking the jokes.”

“Except that I’m being serious.”

I have to remember who I’m dealing with here.

“That’s fine,” I say, taking my hand back, relieved thatwe are at least talking about it. “I was more embarrassed than anything whenyou passed me over. In truth, I don’t think administrivia is really my thing.”

Martha stands to alert me that our meeting is coming to aconclusion. I do the same. What I want her to say is, Oh, I think you’d makea fine administrator, but I just couldn’t afford to lose you as a classroomteacher since you show so much brilliance there.

Instead, her cool formality is back, as firmly in place asher hair. Martha dumps the untouched coffee and scone into the garbage bin andadjusts her pocketbook awkwardly on her shoulder. Then she turns to me andsmiles. “I agree, Lauren. Administration is not your thing.”

We walk together toward the front of the coffee shop, melicking my wounds and Martha lost in thought. I push open the glass door andhear the bell chime overhead. The dewy spring air smells like rain.

“Oh, and another thing, Mrs. Worthing.”

I roll my eyes and face Martha. “Call me Lauren, please,”I beg.

She nods curtly. “Another thing, Lauren. You willwrite up and then sign a report detailing how you spent your week’s leave. Thiswill be shared with the superintendent and placed in your permanent personnelfile. Should you ever disappear on us again, you will be terminated.”

I swallow, and look at the ground, concentrating on theflecks of glass shining in the pavement. Now that I hear my job truly is injeopardy, all I want to do is keep it safe from harm.

I think.

I picture Martin and his antics, and the never-endingparade of essays and homework just waiting for me to collect, grade, andreturn.

Doug needs me to work. Maybe even I need me to work. Butdo I want it to be there, at the same middle school where I began my career?

I think of my tiny notebook with just one promising researchidea scribbled inside.

I really need to put in a call to Georgie.

“And you will be docked for three days’ pay. Monday andTuesday, as we know, were actually spent on jury duty. The other days will notbe covered by the district.”

I wonder if Martha is a fan of Tim and Ruby. Now there’s aplan: I could just go around town handing out autographed pictures in lieu oftaking responsibility or managing any fallout from the week’s adventures.

Instead, I shake Martha’s hand. “Of course. Consider itdone.”

Even with all of the reprimands and