Mrs. McConnal XXIX

Note From The Editor: The writer of this very nice story sent it to me and asked to remain anonymous. However, I have his e-mail address, so if you want to tell him what you think about his story you can email me ([email protected]) and I will make sure he gets your comments.

Chapter Twenty Nine: Confrontation

The morning we returned to school after Thanksgiving holidays Mrs. McConnal stopped me before the first class.

"You never apologized to Mrs. Wilkerson, did you?" she said.

This was not a question.

"No, ma'am." I replied.

"I really think you should." she responded.

"Yes, ma'am."

This was not a suggestion.

As was often the case, I had no idea what Mrs. Wilkerson talked about that day in class. She had learned not to ask me what we were talking about. She was well aware that I could never answer that question. But, so long as she repeated the question, a question relevant what she was teaching, I could answer whatever she asked, and could make it understandable to someone who didn't know the first thing about it.

So long as she asked in a way not intending to embarrass me I always answered in a way not intended to embarrass her. I thought we had things pretty well worked out.

And I always delivered everything I said to her in, what I thought, was a deferential and respectful wording while attaching no emotion to anything I was saying. I thought that's what I was supposed to do.

After class I waited until most people had left and the next class was not yet coming in to approach her to ask, "Mrs. Wilkerson, could I speak with you for a few minutes after school today, please." in the same emotionless manner that I said everything else to her.

For the first time I noticed how most of my teachers truly reacted to being approached by me. I could tell she put forth her most professional demeanor when I went to her. My father had shown me that dealing with people on a professional level heightened respect for both sides and usually produced better results from both sides. He was right. It often put people in a position of having more invested in being professional and amenable rather than putting anyone on the defensive. Being a kid, in order for that to work I had to take it the extra step of removing all emotion from the issue. So I figured.

Most adults find this rather disconcerting coming from a child. Rarely is an adult in a situation where a child can take on the cloak of such maturity and pull it off.

It was an act. I was 13 years old. It was a given that I was the intellectual superior to any person in that school, teachers included. But it wasn't me who made a big deal of that, it was our teachers. Because of that and the way I handled myself when dealing with them, they were actually afraid of me. They couldn't have been any more afraid of me than I was of them.

Mrs. Wilkerson was taken slightly off guard by my approaching her with such a request. "Why, Jeremy, is something wrong?" she asked.

What a strange question to ask. Why would you assume something is wrong, lady? I only asked if I could speak with you later.

"No, ma'am," I told her, "there's nothing wrong. I'd just like a chance to speak with you sometime when we're both not in a rush to get to a next class."

This was a request. This was not an order. Then I realized that maybe she would indeed be in a rush this afternoon. How rude of me to assume that my schedule was also her schedule.

So I amended my request. "I'm sorry, I didn't take into account that you may have something else to do this afternoon. But I would appreciate it if you could arrange to see me sometime soon. I am free every afternoon this week."

I was trying to give her all the options that I could and be polite about it as well. But the look I saw in her face is the look I have seen many times since. She took that as a, 'See Me' order. And that's not how I meant it to be taken..

I did think that, she being one of my teachers, and I being one of her students, it was appropriate for her to make every effort to grant such a request, but I never intended it to be taken as an order. But she took it that way. And she took it as an order that she was expected to obey.

She did so not because someone told her to, but because she chose to. Mrs. McConnal said my teachers were afraid of me. I don't think that was the case, not precisely. Neither did they want me for a student because they wanted to show me off. They wanted me for a student because I did have a wit and a way of making whatever point I was trying to get across not only simple but obvious. It could make for an interesting few minutes of class time, some fun some not.

"This afternoon will be fine." she said, trying to seem pleased. I knew she was not.

I was nervous all day, trying to adequately prepare myself for our meeting after school that day.

Mrs. McConnal's class was the last one of the day. She stopped me afterwards and said, "Mrs. Wilkerson told me y'all have an appointment this afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am." I could let her see the fear in my eyes. I could let her see the little kid that I was. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I didn't know what you wanted to talk to her about." Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. McConnal. She continued, "I told her that, if you wanted to see her, she could be assured that it was important enough for her to take some time for it. But, of course, she would have done that anyway."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Besides," she added, "I expect you know how you want to present what you are going to say, and I was not about to disrupt that."

"Thank you," I said, "I want to do this right, Mrs. McConnal."

"You will, Jeremy," she said, "but just lighten up, child. You've nothing to fear from Mrs. Wilkerson." She could see how intent I was about this. She patted my cheek, "You don't need to be so cautions about everyone, darling. When are you going to realize that?"

I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything, just headed for the door. But then something struck my mind. "Mrs. McConnal?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Does everything I say and do get reported to you immediately?" I asked.

"I guess everything you say in class or to one of your teachers does, yes." she answered. She could see that I didn't like that.

"Jeremy, the rare times you speak in class is either very informative, very funny, or very insolent. More often than not, all three. Of course what you say in class gets spoken about to all the teachers. And I am usually the first. And you know why."

"Yes, ma'am." yes, I guess I could understand that.

All her other students were gone by the time I reached Mrs. Wilkerson's classroom. I knocked before entering, more to give myself a few more seconds rather than out of courtesy.

I wanted to remain standing, hoping that it would help insure the brevity of the conversation. Mrs. Wilkerson insisted that we sit.

"Mrs. Wilkerson," I began, "I want to apologize for my past behavior in your class." She looked puzzled. "I know that I have been rude and disrespectful to you, and I am sorry for that. I should not have been so . . . so unkind as I have been. I promise you that it will not happen again."

There, I said it. Maybe I should have put it in writing. Then this would be the end of it. I don't think that would have met with Mrs. McConnal's approval, though. In fact, I know it wouldn't.

"Why thank you, Jeremy." Mrs. Wilkerson said, pleasantly surprised. "That's very gentlemanly of you."

What's she talking about? I had been perfectly honest in what I said. I was sorry for what I had done. But I never claimed that I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, for I had. Dianne was right, I was an ass hole. And I had no reason to want to hurt her feelings other than that I could. And I had done it in order to keep her away from me.

But my apology should not be taken as any indication that I now wanted her closer to me. I didn't. As far as I was concerned we had a good working relationship these days and I was satisfied to keep it just as it was.

She put her hand on my shoulder. I managed not to flinch. She looked me in the eyes and said, "I have been hoping we could be on better terms with each other."

What does she mean by that?

"You know," she added, "I'm not just your teacher, I really am your friend, too."

Don't get your hopes up on either count, lady.

"Yes, ma'am." was all I said. Now let me go.

"I was hoping," she went on, "that you would like to start coming to our meetings." She meant the honor society, of course. And I would not want to start coming to their meetings.

"We have interesting discussion, you know." she said.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you do." I told her. Please let me go.

"We'd like so much to have your input."

Don't say, 'yes ma'am' here, boy. To say that now is a commitment to attend those things. So I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Wilkerson, . . . but . . . " Say something! But what? "But everyone there is so much older than me . . . and I think that everyone would be more comfortable if I were somewhere else." That should work. I'm just a little kid. Those big kids intimidate me and they don't want me around anyway. She'll let me go now.

"You help them to understand calculus." she countered. "Maybe they could help you adjust to being so far ahead of others your age."

I doubt it. Let me go.

"We have discussions about drinking and drugs, and good citizenship, and being leaders in the school. And a lot of people look to you, Jeremy, whether you realize it or not."

"Oh, I doubt anyone takes their cues from me, Mrs. Wilkerson." I said flatly. "Unless it's in how to be rude. And that is what I came here about; to tell you that I'm sorry and it won't happen again." Let's get back on the subject.

I started to take my leave; thanking her for her time and such. I was cutting this off now, before we went any further.

"Jeremy," she wasn't letting it end yet, "you do have some problems that need working out." She was serious, and she was calling me to stay seated.

I didn't sit back down. "Any problems I may have are getting seen to, ma'am." What a cold shut off. She probably should've slapped me cross-eyed for what that sounded like.

"No they're not, Jeremy." she said, in all seriousness now. "Sit down." this was the first time I ever heard a command from her. I sat.

"What problems are you talking about, Mrs. Wilkerson?" I asked. Let's hear the charges before formulating a defense.

"You have problems fitting in with your classmates, and that may be what initially led to your problems with drinking and drugs."

"Why would you think I have a problem with drinking and drugs, Mrs. Wilkerson?" She was starting to hit a little close to home now.

"It seems to be general knowledge." she said.

"General knowledge is not always correct." Imply that the problem is overstated and that she has heard only exaggerations.

"You're 13, Jeremy." she stated. "If you're doing those things at all, you have a problem. And it needs to be addressed or it will only get worse."

"It's being addressed, Mrs. Wilkerson." I said, not wanting to get emotional about this at all.

"Do you still drink?" she asked.

A direct question. I didn't want to lie to her, but I didn't want to discuss my drinking, either. I stared at her for what seemed like minutes, hoping she would forget her question, knowing she wouldn't. "Not much." I said quietly.

"Then it's too much." she responded quickly.

"Well, I've cut down." I told her, not knowing what else to say. OK, now please let me go. I really don't want to talk to you any more.

Maybe it will help if I add, "Mrs. McConnal's keeping an eye on me." There, she'll buy that. After all, she certainly has no plan of intervention herself.

"I know she does." she said. "And I've been keeping an eye on you, too." (Figures.) "But I haven't done anything about it up until now." (Don't tell me you plan to start.) "But I'm going to start now." (Damn!)

"Ma'am?" as if I didn't understand. But I did want to know what she planned to do.

"I'm not going to intrude on your private life outside of my classroom. Not yet, at least." She didn't look intimidated by a long shot. But if I know of you're abusing alcohol or drugs outside of my class I will report it to Mrs. McConnal."

You and a dozen other people.

"In my class, though, that's another matter." she continued.

"You have my assurance, Mrs. Wilkerson, that my behavior in your class will be appropriate in the future." I assured her. Maybe this will make her happy.

"The question is not your behavior, Jeremy. I'm sure it will be appropriate. The question is your condition of sobriety. If I see you high in my class again I'm going to spank you." She sounded like she meant that.

"Ma'am?" I didn't like that. "You plan to beat me when I've done nothing wrong in your class?" Put in those terms she could never think that justified.

"Being high in my class is doing something wrong." she said sternly. "When you're in my class you are my responsibility, almost as if you were my own child. And if you are high in my class in the future, I will take the appropriate action."

Appropriate action. You mean you plan to beat the hell out of me, dammit.

"I've never been high in your class, Mrs. Wilkerson." time to start lying.

"Don't give me that. You come to school high most of the time, and you're still high when my class rolls around." Certainly she couldn't know this, just suspect it.

"I think you're listening to gossip and taking it as fact, Mrs. Wilkerson. I know since I came to Mrs. McConnal's rehearsal in bad shape last year everyone presumes I do a lot more than I really do." Keep working on this. It's just a rumor.

"Jeremy," she said sweetly, "I can tell when you high."

No you can't.

"You come in here, eyes glazed over, vacant stare in your eyes. Don't you think I know you're stoned?" She was all sweetness and smiles, but she was talking about using that board of her's on me.

"I'm often up late reading, Mrs. Wilkerson. It's just that I'm sleepy. I think you just mistake that for being high. I really think you misunderstand." Be businesslike, she'll come around.

She went to you desk, pulled out her paddle, and slapped my books with it making a loud report. I saw it coming but still jumped at the sound of it landing so close to me.

"Do you see this paddle?" she asked intently.

"Yes, ma'am." came my quick reply. I couldn't see anything else right then.

"Well if you come into my class high again," she stated emphatically, "I am going to use it on your 13 year old bottom. And, believe me, you will feel every lick. Now do you understand me fully?"

"Yes ma'am." Oh, Lord, I knew I would feel every lick. I guess there's just no reasoning with this woman.

"I just came here to apologize." I reminded her sheepishly.

"Yes, and that was very sweet of you." she said, back to her former sweetness and smiles. I was scared of her now, more than ever. "But I haven't been acting like your friend. And I'm going to act like your friend from now on." (And beat the crap out of me?) "And I'm not going to let you, my friend, throw away all your gifts on drugs and alcohol. Not if I can do something about it. Not when you're this young."

I just looked at her, not making a sound.

"Now let's go home." she said smiling.

I said nothing but got up and took my books to leave. She didn't let me leave alone. She insisted on leaving the building together, with her arm around my shoulder as if we were tight or something; as if to demonstrate to me that she was my friend.

We parted in the parking lot.

I had time to become indignant by the time I knocked on Mrs. McConnal's front door. She didn't seem surprised to see me.

"She said she was going to PADDLE me." was how I greeted her when she opened to door. She saw the anger in my eyes, but did not respond to it.

"Not for apologizing to her, darling." Mrs. McConnal said. She invited me in.

"Whenever she thinks I'm high in her class." I said.

"Good. Would you like a Coca Cola?" she asked.

"No." I spouted, "Well . . . yes. Thank you." And after thinking a moment, "Did you tell her to do that?"

"No," she said as she poured us both drinks. "But I did expect it. I think every teacher should paddle you if you show up to their class stoned, don't you?"

"No!" How could she say that?

"Why not?"

"Because . . . because I don't want them to." was all I could think of.

She laughed. "Of course you don't WANT them to." she said chuckling. "But you have to agree that they should take some sort of action. You wouldn't want them to pass the buck to someone else, would you?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like turning the matter over to the police." she said seriously.

"You wouldn't do that to me, would you. You wouldn't call the police on me?" I was begging her to say she wouldn't.

"Of course not," she said motherly, "I'd bring you home and spank you." Then after a swallow of her drink, "But your other teachers should go ahead and do it at school."

"And then tell you, right?" I felt like I faced double jeopardy.

She smiled again. "Jeremy, if Mrs. Wilkerson takes you out into the hall and paddles you for being high, the whole school will know about it. She won't have to tell me. Although, yes, she probably would let me know herself."

"And you'd to what?" I asked.

"And I'll being you home and spank you again." she said matter-of- factly.

"Well it's not fair." I protested.

"In fact," she continued, "if you come to school high any more I hope every teacher who sees you in that condition paddles you, and I'll still spank you again when I get you home. But for now only Mrs. Wilkerson has overcome her hear of you enough to do that. Luckily she has you early enough so that she knows when you come in stoned or drunk."

Well, it's still not fair." I was sulking now.

"Jeremy, you know why we're doing this." Mrs. McConnal lectured me. "You know that the only alternative to this if putting you in some sort of institution. This may be your last chance to straighten out. And we're going to do everything in our power to help you. . . . Because we love you." And then she repeated, "And you know all of that."

I hung my head. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're not going to be angry with me now, are you?" she asked sincerely.

Not looking her in the eye, I answered, "No, ma'am."

Hell yes, I'm angry with you.

"And don't turn cold on Mrs. Wilkerson, either" she said. "It took a lot of courage for her to take the stand she has. She would never have done it if she didn't care about you."

"She'd have never done it if I hadn't gone to her to apologize." I pointed out. Reminding Mrs. McConnal that she had insisted on my doing that and that this was what I got for it.

"That's probably true." she agreed.

"You tricked me." I said, looking her square in the face. "You knew she would do this."

"No," she said emphatically, "I didn't trick you and I didn't know she would do this. I encouraged you to do the right thing. And Mrs. Wilkerson responded by doing the right thing. And you know it."

She was right. "Yes, ma'am."

But I was still mad as hell.

"Now lighten up, darling," she added, "she didn't paddle. Nobody did. And so long as you make a point to stay sober, no one will. That's what every other child in that school, no matter how old, faces. And none of them feel put upon by having that rule over them."

"I know, but they don't . . . "

She looked at me sympathetically, "They don't have to face the same thing you do. I know that, precious. But you have to find a better way to face the world than by glazing it over with liquor and drugs. That is essential, Jeremy. And I'm going to help you find a better way. Now so is Mrs. Wilkerson."

"Yes, ma'am." Sullen. Not one bit happy about this.

We hugged before I left. As I walked out her door she gave me a loving pat on my butt. My mind flashed onto the idea that this was to remind me that she could hit me there and make it hurt REAL bad if she wanted to. But I immediately knew that it was not meant to show that at all. It was meant to remind me that she loved me.
 

The End