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| Chapter 3 |
| The Book of Je |
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| Enid stood on the porch as Joe moped sluggishly home. �Who was on the phone, sweetheart?� she asked. Joe took a deep breath. �There�s some good news and some bad news.� Enid gasped with euphoria when she heard of Glenda and Sam�s new jobs. All joy melted from her face when she learned that both of her children and her two grandchildren were immediately residing overseas. Joe comforted his wife by holding her up with a bear hug as she sobbed lightly into his shoulder. �No announcements, no goodbyes.� she moaned. �They both said they kept calling the house phone but it was busy,� Joe recalled. �We pay an extra $3.00 a month for call waiting!� Enid almost shouted. �Okay,� Joe shrugged, �so that was like flushing money down the toilet. But let�s have a quick prayer before I get ready for the school.� �Pray for what? Pray that the Lord brings my babies and grandbabies back to somewhere within driving distance?� Joe waved his hand as a way of asking Enid to calm down. �That�s definitely a reasonable request. First, though, I was thinking more along the lines of thanking God for getting terrific jobs for our children and for sending them to countries that have airports and telephones and e-mail access.� They went into the living room, held hands, closed eyes, and lowered heads. Joe uttered the thanks, Enid added the request, to which Joe attached an �Amen.� Enid sat at the round wood dining room table, intensely depressed, staring at the phone as if willing it to ring, to hear Sam or Glenda say that there had been a mistake and they were coming back. Joe gave Enid room to grieve while showering, dressing, preparing his lunch, and gathering graded papers. The teacher stepped into the dining room only to find it empty. �Honeybun?� �In the den,� she called out. Joe found her before the computer, typing rapidly. �So, what�re you up to?� Enid kept her eyes on the screen and her fingers active. �Journal entry. I�m venting.� �Ah, good. That�s good,� Joe nodded. �I can�t go to the agency with this much rage.� �Get it all out,� Joe said before kissing her on the head. He peered down in an exaggerated way at her fingers. �Should I call an ambulance? I think your fingers are starting to bleed.� Enid stopped typing to gaze at her husband. �It comes out in tears, words, or blood.� �Too bad you can�t take a pill and poop it out. Ahhhh. There. The mental anguish is gone and I�m feeling much better. And a pound or two lighter. Great, huh? Tissues are still in the box- you know how expensive tissues are- and there�s no blood on the keyboard so the warrantee is still good.� A smile bloomed, restoring beauty to Enid�s face. �Thanks. But there will be blood. I�ll stop after I lose two pints.� �You should have a name tag. Just in case, for the ambulance. �Hello, my name is O positive.� Couldn�t hurt.� �You�re O positive. I�m A positive.� �Well, at least you�re being positive.� Joe moved in for the morning kiss and managed to snag it with his lips. �Thank you, God,� Joe silently prayed as he exited the back door and went to the garage, �for the most wonderful wife that ever existed in human history. Thank you for this terrific weather. Thank you for my job, which I love going to. Thank you for this bicycle. Thank you for the air that stayed in the tires. Thank you for the brakes that work perfectly, and for the helmet that still fits and keeps its luster.� The bicycle ride down Lindley Avenue paralleled a quagmire of cars and tempers. Automobiles gagged the intersection of Lindley and Roscoe by the elementary school. Parents and children sat in stationary vehicles, some asking with concern if they would reach the school one-tenth of a mile away in the next 30 minutes. Joe carefully maneuvered between the cars with care, and praised God mentally for a much clearer path after crossing Saticoy. Cars once again sat as though in a lot after Vanowen Street. Joe slowed down as he worked around the next right turn only to stop. On the left side of Kittridge Street, outside Reseda High School, a police car with lights flashing acted as a second barrier to the locked gate of the student parking lot. A uniformed officer directed vehicles to continue on with huge hand gestures, while yelling to those who stopped to gather a verbal explanation. Joe, coasting down the right side of the street, couldn�t catch what the frustrated officer was conveying as he went on toward the main entrance. A second police cruiser had jumped the curb and parked itself between the flagpole and the gates of the front entrance. Two tall officers attempted to calm angry parents, teachers, and students by gates that remained locked. As Joe dismounted his bike and lifted it onto the sidewalk, sophomore students Fernando Rubio and Marcus Whitley approached him. �Yo, Mr. Fillner. You buy a lottery ticket?� Fernando asked. �Good morning, Fernando, Marcus. No, I don�t waste money on gambling. Why?� �Someone�s sitting on $350 million!� Marcus enthused. �It�s the biggest jackpot ever in the state! Only one winner, and the winning ticket came from the produce market on Vanowen. We know you sometimes go there.� �I don�t think I�d be coming in today if I had won. What�s the deal with the police?� �They�re keeping the school closed,� Fernando informed him. �No one�s getting in. I heard one the officers say it might be closed for a long time.� �What? I seriously hope you heard incorrectly.� �I don�t!� raved Marcus, but he quickly became somber. �But I wouldn�t wanna miss your class, Mr. Fillner. I already started studying for tomorrow�s test.� Joe nodded. �Good. So keep studying. If there�s no school tomorrow, you and the class could come over to my place. We�ll pop some popcorn, I�ll hand out the test, and after you�re done we�ll have salami sandwiches with the good Monterey Jack cheese and watch a movie.� Marcus shrugged. �How �bout eleven? I wanna sleep late tomorrow.� Fernando rolled his eyes. �School is closed, man. Go home and sleep late today.� Joe spotted the balding crown of Principal Pittenger by the entrance gate, said quick goodbyes, and hurried over to his boss. Pittenger, surrounded by angry scowls of all ages, appeared practically shell shocked as he loudly stated, �I had no idea about this, either!� Mathematics teacher Ann Walker stared at the principal. �So when will the school finally be open?� Pittenger sighed before replying, �As soon as the state legislature comes up with the money and settles the budget crisis! It�s not just our school! All the schools in the entire state are closed! All the libraries are closed! They could be closed for a week, or a month, or six months! It all depends on the legislature!� Science teacher Donald Lopez asked, �Isn�t this illegal?� �It might be!� boomed Pittenger. �For the state to do this without any prior notice could very well be illegal! Call UTLA and have your union look into it!� P.E. Instructor Jean Riley blared, �Are we getting our checks next month?� �I really doubt it,� Pittenger replied candidly. �I doubt any of us will see paychecks until the governor and the legislature fix the state budget. Do any teachers want to get into their classrooms? A police officer is escorting teachers to their rooms if they want to retrieve anything, such as medication, food, or personal property. The line for that is along the gate directly behind me.� For the second time that morning, Joe stood completely still with surprise. Fellow English teacher Gretchen De La Cruz approached him. �Joe, have you ever heard of anything more surreal?� He slowly nodded his head. �Actually, yes. Every single one of my neighbors was arrested earlier this morning as a suspected terrorist.� After Gretchen fled politely, Joe decided that the most useful action would be to inform others about what was happening, so he got back on his bicycle and rode to the cars waiting on Vanowen. He tapped on drivers� windows, identified himself, and told automobile occupants about the school closure. A majority of chauffer-parents reacted with extreme anger or angst. One woman in a huge SUV erupted into laughter. Her two children looked about, as perplexed as Joe. When the driver mellowed to a smile, she closely examined Joe up and down. �Where�s the camera?� �What?� Joe asked. �Where you keepin� the hidden camera? This is for one of them hidden camera shows, right?� �Uh, nope. All of the schools are closed. Although the private ones are probably still open.� She refused to release her smile. �But this is just like something they�d do on that experiment show.� �Well, I guess you could call this an experiment in state government mismanagement,� Joe responded. As if air was leaking from her mouth, the corners of her smile drooped. �How come I ain�t heard nothin� �bout it on the radio?� �You�re radio�s not on,� Joe said while motioning toward the device. The smile melted away some more as the muscles over her eyes tightened. �But I�ve got to go to work.� �So go to work. Don�t do anything to jeopardize your job.� Her flat mouth scrunched into a panic. �What am I s�pose to do with these kids!?� �Take care of them as best you can.� The woman erupted into tears. With traffic backed up behind them, Joe offered to help move the car. She nodded through her facial hurricane. The beleaguered teacher managed to place his bike on the roof rack, get into the driver�s seat, buckle himself in, reposition the seat to fit his longer frame, readjust the side mirrors and rear view mirror, and drive 60 feet at fifteen miles per hour through the intersection with Kittridge and over to the curb on Lindley. Although no other reaction was as extreme, many parents did not want to leave their teenagers home alone, yet they did not want to be stuck with them, either. Joe remained calm as he listened and sympathized with their dilemmas. After several words of encouragement, he moved onto the next car. At 8:30, after 50 minutes acting as the high school closure crier, Joe found traffic moving at a more standard rate and the stretch of Kittridge bordering Reseda High School was no longer a morass of metal. The police were still at the ready, and flustered Principal Pittinger remained out front, addressing a much smaller crowd of parents and students. Joe composed a short mental prayer, thanking God for the lack of violence, for his ability to inform and help the parents in this trying situation, and the appreciation several of the adults and a sizable majority of the kids showed. Bertha Cabeza, the elderly civics and government teacher, hefting a box containing several tall plants, exited the front gate entrance with a short female police officer. Joe realized that the line for teachers to be escorted to their classrooms had disappeared, and hurried over to the policewoman wearing a small black nametag reading �Swooney�. �Hi, I�m Joe Fillner, English teacher. I need to get into my classroom, room 2107.� �Could I see some ID, please?� �Yeah, sure.� Joe scrambled to remove his Driver�s license. After peering at the card, Officer Swooney looked up. �Can I see the key to the room?� �Sure. Sure.� The teacher produced the key and held it up. As they walked through the dingy stone campus, Joe asked, �So will you be here tomorrow?� �No, sir,� replied Swooney in an exasperated fashion. �We�re only here for the morning.� �You�ve been asked that question a lot?� �Yes, and that one, too.� �What�s the third most frequently asked question?� �That would have to be, �Why do I need an escort to go to my classroom?�� �What�s the answer to that one?� �My boss ordered it. But I�m assuming they don�t want teachers stealing or vandalizing anything.� �Yeah. Good point.� They reached the door to Joe�s classroom. He swiftly unlocked it. �How much time do I have?� �Whatever you need. But no videogames or naps.� Joe was about to make a joke about making a long-distance phone call, but forgot about it when he flicked on the lights. His clean, well cared for classroom spread before him. 40 seats waited for 40 students that he would not see today, or probably Friday, or most likely the next week. When would he see those beautiful faces again? How many precious days would they miss? How much would they fail to learn as a result of this mishap they had no control over? When would things return to normal in his academic sanctuary? His neighborhood? His role as father and grandfather? The teacher became so depressed by these unanswerable questions that he paused at his desk rather than break out the plant formula from his bottom desk drawer and water his hyacinths and lilacs. A quick prayer to God, thanking the Supreme Being for access to his classroom and the opportunity to feed his plants perhaps for the last time, steadied Joe. He concluded by asking for an end to the state fiscal crisis as quickly as possible so that he, his fellow teachers, and all of their wonderful students, could be back where they belonged. The plants quickly received nutrition. Joe slid his class rosters into his backpack and, after a silent goodbye to the room that he sometimes thought of as a relaxing hammock, turned to leave. �Don�t you wanna take your mail?� asked Officer Swooney. �Mail? What?� Joe sputtered, thrown from the painful feeling of impending separation. The policewoman pointed to the floor next to his desk. A single dull white envelope lay face down. Joe knelt, turned it over, and found only his first and last name typed on the front. No return address. No postage. How did this get into his room? Perhaps someone slid it under the door? The envelope barely weighed as much as an envelope. Keeping it close to the ground, Joe hesitantly tore it open. The sole item contained inside was a lottery ticket. No note. No writing on the ticket. Seven numbers picked for yesterday�s drawing. Was this a gift from a student or a coworker? It certainly wasn�t a mistake. He reexamined the envelope. �To Joe Fillner�. It seemed liked days ago, but didn�t Fernando and Marcus mention a huge unclaimed jackpot? Joe slipped the ticket back into the envelope and placed it in his backpack. �Everything okay?� asked Officer Swooney. �I don�t know yet,� Joe replied honestly. �That was an awfully strange letter.� Mortifying yet thrilling thoughts of a winning lottery ticket drove out all awareness of the bicycle ride home. Joe also failed to notice the dead quiet of his neighborhood as he left his transportation on the front walk and hastily went to the computer. A search engine provided a link to the California Lottery web site. Yesterday�s winning numbers were: 3 4 5 18 19 21 and the bonus number was 8. Joe removed the lottery ticket and studied the numbers: 3 4 5 18 19 21 and the bonus number- 8. Seven numbers that added up to, according to the web site, $354 million dollars. A thunderous cheer erupted from Joe. �Praise God! Thank you, God! Thank you!� Of course, Joe realized that the ticket was for a straight payment rather than a 20-year annuity, so he would only receive a little more than half of the total, but $180 million was definitely worth celebrating as well. After a more controlled, reverent prayer of thanks to God, Joe picked up the phone and called Enid. �Hi, honey,� she said with a listless tone. After a deep breath, Joe began, �Sweetheart, there�s some good news and some bad news.� |