The Morning Of Read online

  “Do you think he realizes that he’s a douche?” Lance asked the moment the door was shut.

  “Not a chance,” Connor replied.

  “That son of a bitch chews me out yesterday because when I let kids go to the bathroom, I don’t have them sign out.”

  “Well, rules are rules,” Connor said in an authoritarian voice, suppressing a chuckle.

  “Please. I teach Senior AP. I don’t exactly have a lot of kids cutting class.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who volunteers to teach sophomores every year.”

  “Well, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.” The two sat in silence for a few more minutes, each sip of coffee making Connor more and more awake. He was getting up to grab himself a second cup when the door burst open yet again.

  “I am nailing that thing shut,” Lance barked out.

  A small, round face crowned with curly blond hair poked its way inside.

  “Debbie Tomlin, ladies and gentlemen,” Lance said with a nod.

  “Hi, Lance,” Debbie replied with a smile in a soft, mousy voice.

  “Connor, I’m glad you’re here. I think your protégé is about to snap.”

  “Kristin?”

  “Yeah. I could hear her crying down the hall, and I just don’t really know her so…”

  “Always passing the buck, the Debbie Tomlin way,” Lance said through a laugh.

  “Will you shut up already?” Connor shot back while slinging a packet of Sweet’n Low at him. “All right,” Connor said with a deep sigh, turning back to Debbie. “I’ll go check on her.”

  Connor set down his mug and made his way out of the lounge. He headed for the main stairs and lumbered down them. Right as he came into the lower hallway, Connor was greeted with a plaque on the wall with a picture of a student and some writing underneath. He avoided looking at it though. He always avoided looking at it. He just kept going along at a half jog, the entire time wondering what the hell the matter with him was. Wondering why he ever agreed to be a mentor for a new teacher. It just created a number of headaches that he didn’t need. Girl came to him every day with some inane question. He guessed that stipend they waved in his face was just too appealing.

  Connor passed the bathroom door where Jason would soon lay in wait. Right across the bathroom was Kristin’s room, and down from both was the door leading out to the fields. Connor swung himself into Kristin’s room where he was greeted with the sight of a twenty-three-year-old girl with a mop of brown hair hanging in front of her face, hiding the black-rimmed glasses underneath. She had a tight grip on her hair as though she was getting ready to yank it out. A steady sound of sobbing came from within the whole mess. Kristin sat right across from the door at her desk which couldn’t even be seen underneath the tidal wave of papers that had hit it. What a far cry this image was from the girl he first met back in August. She would always come in cheery, grinning from ear to ear. Always spouting off about the wonderful ideas she had for her classroom; talking about her dreams of inspiring students.

  “Hi, Mr. Sullivan,” a choked voice said.

  “Connor,” he corrected her. “What’s going on, Kristin?” he asked with some hesitation, knowing that this would be a long day.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s too much.”

  “You’re putting too much on yourself. Let’s see what we have here.” Connor walked up to Kristin’s desk and picked up a stack of half sheets held together with a paperclip. “What is this?”

  Kristin finally peeked her head out from behind the brown curtain. “It’s a warm-up that they did last week.”

  Connor dropped it into the trash can that stood beneath him. “Well, that we can forget about. What else?”

  “But…”

  “You don’t need to grade everything. Give yourself a break.”

  “But I said that it was going in the gradebook.”

  “Yeah and most of them won’t even remember. Tests, projects, most homework assignments. Little crap like this gets recycled. Okay?”

  “Okay. And then there was my evaluation from last week. Dr. Leland didn’t have anything nice to say to me.”

  “That guy wouldn’t have anything nice to say to a nun.”

  “But just look at what he wrote,” Kristin cried, waving a piece of paper in her face.

  Connor grabbed the paper and took a look at it, noticing a few notes on there about the learning objective not being posted clearly enough. There were five unstructured minutes at the end of class. Same crap that Connor had been seeing for a while now. He laid the sheet down. “We’ll go through all of it later today, okay? Just clear away what you can and then get ready for today. And I have to do the same. Sound good?”

  “I guess,” she uttered with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “Hang in there, kid,” Connor said, slapping her on the shoulder before heading out of the room and finally making his way to his own classroom that sat just a bit further down the hall. Right outside his door was a bench currently occupied by a sleeping student with caramel skin and a slender build that Connor recognized. It was Terrance Lipton. He’d had him last year in Sophomore English. Nice enough kid. His mom was a cop so he didn’t dare to mess around at school. “Terry!” Connor yelled, waking him up.

  Terry sprung up as if out of a dream. He rubbed his eyes and ran his hands across his nearly bald scalp. “Wha…” he groaned.

  “Terry,” Connor said again, in a much softer voice. This snapped the kid back to reality as he trained his gaze at the teacher ahead of him.

  “Hey, Mr. Sullivan,” he said in the raspy voice of the recently woken.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Bell isn’t for like another forty-five minutes.”

  “My mom had to drop me off early today. That… that… protest thing is happening on the East side of town.”

  “Black Lives Matter protest?” Connor asked. A couple weeks ago, a black teenager had been shot by the police. Some small protests had been happening here and there, but the news had said this one would be significantly larger. Other groups from around the country were coming in this time.

  “Well, most of the force is down there today. And everyone is working overtime for it. Want to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

  “Well, why are you sleeping outside my room?” Connor asked.

  “I like this bench. It’s comfy.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you. Please, get your beauty sleep.”

  Terry gave a small smirk and collapsed down to the bench, back asleep before his head was on his makeshift pillow that appeared to be some torn-up hoodie. Connor unlocked his door, forced his way across the threshold into his room, and flipped on the lights. Right as he stepped inside, he heard a voice call from down the hall.

  “Lipton! Wake the fuck up!” the voice cried out. Connor glanced back to see the source, Johnny Lemming, strutting down the halls. Connor rolled his eyes, wondering why Terry would spend any time with that kid. He’d never had him in class, but all the teachers knew of him. He’d get back from one suspension and then promptly start another.

  Connor just shook his head and went into the classroom. One-piece, tan-colored desks that no average-sized person should be able to fit into were arranged in a horseshoe pattern. All around the room were posters depicting famous books. Others gave your faux inspirational quotes. Same bullshit about hard work and dreams. Connor never really understood putting them up. He couldn’t think of a single instance where those posters made a significant difference for anyone. But he needed to fill up some black space on the walls, so up they went.

  Tucked in the corner across from the door was Connor’s desk, practically bare, except for a couple pictures, paper tray, and jar of pens. Connor walked over to his desk and sank into his chair. Large, black, leather, and oh so very comfortable. He loved this chair. Felt like he could fall asleep right here and no
w. Of course, that wasn’t an option. There was work to be done. Beside the desk was his black computer bag. He’d left it behind last night, determined not to bring his work home with him. Connor fished the laptop out and started it up. He had to make sure his PowerPoint was ready to go.

  His class was reading The Chocolate War and the lesson they were getting today was one that he always enjoyed teaching. The book told the story of an all-boys’ school crumbling into chaos after a student’s refusal to sell chocolate. In the school was a not-so-secret society, The Vigils, which manipulated everything and punished any who got in their way. Leading it all was a kid named Archie. Getting kids to read nowadays was worse than pulling teeth, but this book usually caught their interest. Some even began searching out other books by the author.

  Today’s lesson was about the nature of evil and whether any characters in the book qualified. It typically got some good discussions going. Connor was just pulling up a clip from a TV movie about the Nuremberg trials. In it, two people are having a discussion and end up defining evil as the absence of empathy. That definition always stuck with Connor.

  Next half hour was spent getting everything together, the only sound being the music coming from the iTunes open on his computer. This was his favorite time of day, usually being a time for him to relax, but that was hard to come by today. His mind kept drifting back to this morning with Brandy. He had been getting dressed, and she was sitting up in bed, just getting up herself. The only light in the room came from the glow of her phone.

  “Huh,” she said in her hoarse, morning voice.

  “What’s that?” Connor asked as he slipped on his shoes.

  “Laura just found out she’s pregnant.”

  “Who’s Laura again?”

  “Freshman roommate.”

  “Oh that’s right. Good for her,” he replied as he gathered his wallet, watch, and keys from his dresser.

  “Yeah. Good for her,” Brandy said in monotone.

  Connor wasn’t much awake at this point, so it didn’t even occur to him what could be bothering her, so it seemed odd that she’d seem so indifferent towards the whole thing. “What’s going on with you?” he asked, turning towards her. Once it escaped his mouth, he wished that it hadn’t; realizing that he had just opened up a can of worms.

  “They’ve only been married a year,” she replied, only looking up once to meet his eyes.

  “I have to go,” Connor said, desperate to remove himself, knowing what was coming.

  “We can’t talk about this?” Her voice was finally above a murmur.

  “I need to get to work. We can talk later.”

  “You don’t leave for another half hour.”

  “Need to get there early today,” he lied. He didn’t even wait for a response this time. He simply turned and was out the door. “Love you. Bye!” he yelled as he walked towards the door. He felt bad about ducking out that way, but he knew there was no good end to that conversation, and that is not how he wanted to start his day. And what he had told Lance was only half true. Yes, he didn’t want to deal with more kids after doing it here all day, but it was more than that. More than anything, he just didn’t trust himself to be decent at it.

  All of this swam through his head again and again as the bell rang and students started to pile in. The vast majority of them plopped into their seats and played on their phones, all the while the world kept at a safe distance by means of the headphones that seemed to be glued to their ears, but there was one kid who never showed a phone at all. This was Dennis Clements. Kid was decked out all in black. Dark hair swept over his eyes. Typical emo kid, even though Connor had thought that fad had died out around 2007. Every day, Dennis came in, sat in the back, and hunched over a pad of paper where he began to draw, never once looking up. Kid hardly ever spoke up in class, but Connor knew he was bright. Reading over his homework, he seemed to have a better understanding of the material than about ninety percent of the class. Seemed like a good kid too. Always saw him opening the door for people, giving directions to lost freshmen. It didn’t do much to endear him to people unfortunately. Connor had, on a few occasions, heard kids cracking jokes about him having bodies buried in his backyard. Today, Dennis didn’t go right to his desk. Instead, he walked right up to Connor.

  “Hey, Mr. Sullivan,” he said with his head hung low. “Wondering if you could take a look at this for me?” he asked as he handed forward a thick sheet of papers.

  “What is this?” Connor asked as he leaned forward and grabbed it.

  “It’s a story I wrote. I was hoping you’d look at it and tell me what you think.”

  “You wrote a story? Impressive.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed.

  “I’d be happy to. Any particular time you need it back by?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “All right. I’ll try to get to it this weekend.”

  “Awesome. Thanks.” Dennis turned and trudged to his typical seat in the back. Coming right on his heels was another student that Connor recognized all too well, Richard Lowe. Polo shirt tucked into a pair of designer jeans. Much better dressed than any other kid who walked in. Head of dark hair without a single strand out of place, parted perfectly on the left side. Richard was a senior, so Connor didn’t have him in class anymore, but had had him in a couple different classes over the past four years. Richard had shown himself to be one of his best students and had really connected to Connor, so they kept in touch.

  “Oh God. What do you want?” Connor joked once he saw him.

  “Hey Mr. S. Got your book back,” he said, pulling a copy of The Origin of Species from his book bag.

  “Please. I said you can keep it,” Connor said. Richard had been talking about having wanted to read it, and Connor happened to have a copy from his college days that he offered to give him. “Do you think I’m actually going to read it again? That had to have been the most boring thing I’ve ever read.”

  “I thought it was great,” Richard said with a big smile.

  “Nobody reads this kind of thing for fun. I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Hey. I’m reading some Nietzsche next.”

  “You are a very strange young man.”

  “Richie,” a voice called from the hall. Connor and Richard both looked out to see a very pretty girl standing at the door. Perfectly straight brown hair down right to her shoulder. Bright green eyes. Round cheeks. “I need to talk to you,” she said in a soft voice that just barely carried itself across the room.

  “Not too strange for her,” Richard said, laughing, turning back to Connor.

  “Are you saying that’s your girlfriend?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “How the hell did you end up with her? Are you blackmailing her?”

  “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Richard replied with a whisper and knowing smile. Just then a warning bell rang. “Oh crap. Got to get to Mr. Milton’s class. See ya, Mr. S!” he yelled as he took off out of the room. Around the class, all the kids took their places as the tardy bell rang. And the day had begun.

  “Good morning. How’s everyone doing this morning?” Connor said as the class got settled.

  He was met with “fine” from a few kids and non-committal mumbles from the rest.

  “Awesome,” he said in a phony, excited tone. “Everyone caught up on The Chocolate War?”

  “This book sucks. Boring as hell,” one kid up front yelled out.

  “Jamie, your astute analysis, as always, is welcomed.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” he said, very pleased with himself. Snickers had popped up in different parts of the classroom.

  “Any other literary critics want to comment?” Nothing but shrugs were given in return. “Okay, well I did want to turn your attention to one part of it. We’re looking at Archie and The Vigils. So we’re going to watch this quick video, and then we’re going to do a quick write of it. So get out your journals and pen or pencil.”

  “Can I borrow on
e?” a voice yelled out just as Connor knew it would. There was always one. He walked over to the jar on his desk, grabbed a pen, and tossed it over to the student. From there he went and switched off all but one of the lights.

  “Can’t you switch off all of the lights?” someone asked.

  “Nope,” Connor said back. He ran over to his desk, flipped on the projector with a remote, clicked play on the video, and let it roll. He stepped back and looked on at the class. Half of them were watching. Other half were either on their phones or off in la-la land. Dead Poets Society hadn’t shown him this side of teaching.

  The video came to an end, and the lights came back on. “All right. In that clip evil was defined as the absence of empathy. Now who knows what empathy is?”

  A hand went up. “Isn’t it like feeling sorry for someone?”

  “Close, but not quite. That’s sympathy. Empathy goes even further. Instead of just feeling sorry for someone, you actually feel what they feel. So what they’re saying in this video is that evil is the inability to do that. So what I want you to do on your sheet is to answer these two questions. First, do you agree with this definition of evil? How do you define it? Second, do you consider Archie and the Vigils evil?”

  “Wait, but…” someone blurted.

  “Hold up. Put it on your paper. We’ll talk later.” And they were off. Some got full pages’ worth. The overachievers. Some did a few sentences. Those who did just enough to get by. Others put down some random collection of words. Those who just went through the paces. He gave them a few minutes and then proceeded. “All right. I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “I don’t see how you can call them evil,” a girl named Jessica spoke up from the back.

  “Why not?” Connor asked.

  “Because we’re just talking about chocolate. Can’t really be evil when it comes to that.”

  “Well, it’s chocolate now. What comes after that?”

  “But they’re only kids,” Jessica shot back.

  “And Hitler was just an art school dropout,” someone called from the back. Connor looked to see that it was Dennis speaking up for maybe the third time all year.