The following post is not funny, nor cooking related. I've been exploring my writing potential, and decided to branch out more. I got the idea for this short story from reddit.com, under the r/writingprompts sub. The prompt I chose was "Calvin and Susie end up on opposite sides of a desk during a teacher parent conference, from the comic strip "Calvin and Hobbes". This is the last post of this nature you'll see on this blog, as I'll be moving my serious writing to my other blog, We Live in the Attic.
I hope you have as much fun reading it, as I did writing it!
I paced around my classroom, anxious. I wasn't looking forward to this meeting. I never looked forward to meetings with her, but this time I had asked her to leave John at home, thereby removing a buffer of sorts. I didn't want him to hear this conversation.
My pacing brought me back to my desk, and I stopped and glanced through the folder for John I had left there. His grades had been steadily declining for some months now, and his mother didn't make scheduling conferences easy. She had already cancelled on me twice before, once without even calling. This wasn't surprising. Her increasing erraticism was one of the reasons our lives had diverged into so very different paths.
A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. She poked her head through the door, and muttered a faint, “Hey”.
“Hello, Susan. Come on in”, I said as I took my place at my desk. She slumped into the chair opposite mine and folded her arms and legs, while focusing at a corner of my desk.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, she weakly asked, without breaking her gaze from the desk corner, “What is this about”?
“I think you know what it’s about”.
“Has John done something wrong”?
Anger flashed through me, and I suppressed it quickly. Any sign of a confrontation and Susan would leave immediately, as I knew from experience, and that wouldn't help John.
I asked, as calmly as I could, “Have you been checking his grades”?
“Yeah, of course”, she answered in a tone that implied her mind was somewhere else. She still refused to make eye contact, her gaze shifting from the desk corner to the window on her right. The evening sun highlighted her deteriorating features. The lines on her face, her pale and spotted complexion, and her sunken in eyes all seemed more exaggerated.
“Then you know his grades in my class have dropped from a 90 percent average on assignments and tests to a sixty percent over the past few months”.
This finally drew a reaction from her. She Broke her stare from the window, and with a distantly shocked expression, turned to me.
“I guess… I've been really, well, some things have come up, and”... She trailed off, and returned to looking out the window.
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about”, I said. “I've spoken with his other teachers, and they've noticed the same trend. We think… his home life may be a contributing factor to his declining grades”. She stared down at her lap, uncrossed her arms, and fiddled with the hemline of her skirt. Finally she quietly muttered, “I don’t know what you mean”.
“Susan, I know about your arrest in September. They wrote about it in the police blotter, and with your”… I struggled for the gentlest phrasing, “your past, our past, I don’t think is unreasonable to assume John may be under a lot of stress, especially at this time in his life. He’s at the same age as you when”... I trailed off. Susan had started to fidget more and glance around the room. Judging by her body language, she was getting ready to bolt, and I had to prevent that. It was always a dance with her, trying to duck and weave around her mood swings.
Over her first two years of high school she had changed from a perfect student, to a rebellious teenager. That’s probably what drew her to me in the first place. I didn't start focusing on my studies until senior year, after I realized I needed to either make a future for myself, or wind up as the school janitor.
Our initial romance had all the fire of the seediest erotic novella. I remember our summer nights down by the river, in the back of my parents station wagon. All of our adolescent fumbling, and our awkward discoveries. Our sweaty bodies, glistening from the light of the moon through the sunroof, as we whispered so many little promises to one another.
After that, she slowly started falling apart. Transitioning from going to occasional parties, to partying even on school nights. From drinking booze and smoking weed occasionally, to popping pills, and dropping acid regularly, and from that to… God knows what, she was always good at keeping things from me. It was hard to ignore the rumors going around school, rumors of her drug use, and of her sleeping around. The number of our fights increased, along with her blackouts and aggressive, erratic behavior. Our tumultuous relationship finally ended when her parents sent her to rehab shortly before she was to graduate high school.
Looking at her now, the years etched into her face as she slumped, defeated, across from me, was painful to see.
“I’m doing the best I can”, Susan snapped, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“The hell you are”, I yelled, my calm vanishing.
“What do you expect me to do”?
“I expect you to give a shit about your son! He’s on the same path as you, and you fucking know it! Jesus, Suz, wake up”!
She looked at me again, this time with an expression of shocked remorse, and I realized I hadn't called her by that nickname since we were lovers, all those years ago.
“I’ll...I’ll have a talk with him, okay? It’s just been a tough couple of years, I’m getting my shit together. I just… things have been hard recently”, she said, as she stood up, and with trembling hands, grabbed her purse and coat.
I sighed and said, “That’s all I’m asking”, knowing our conversation was over.
Susan put on her coat, and walked to the door, as I clasped my hands together, and stared down at my desk. Nothing would change, it had been the same story since she left for rehab. Susan would keep making excuses, and promise change, then wind up in rehab or jail again a few weeks later. It’s a miracle John kept his grades up this long, being shuffled from his mothers dingy apartment to his grandparents home so many times.
She paused for a moment at the door, brushing her hair over one ear. She opened the door, then suddenly turned back to me, and said, “I still have him, you know”.
I looked up from my desk, puzzled, “have him”?
“That stupid stuffed tiger you gave me the night before I went to rehab for the first time... Hobbes. You said he would keep me safe. I still sleep with him every night”.
I stared blankly at her for a few moments, my mouth opening and closing several times, before she let out a sigh, and walked out of my classroom. I had forgotten about Hobbes completely. I used to lug that silly stuffed tiger everywhere. When I was younger, I had even imagined he was real, and my best friend. As Susan's heels clicked down the empty hallway, I remembered the night I gave him to her. With both of us in tears, I promised Susan that he would protect her. At the time, I think I really believed it.
Sitting at my desk, my thoughts drifted back to John. His blonde hair, full of cowlicks, his wit and silliness. Susan had always denied it, but it’s hard to argue with the timing. Not to mention the physical resemblance. We had both been drunk that last night, and we probably weren't very cautious in our lovemaking.
I stayed in my classroom for a long time, lost in thought, as the evening rays of light dimmed to dusk. Finally I stood up, and walked to the door. I looked back at my classroom for a moment, then flicked the light switch off, and closed the door.
