| Last Updated: Sep 10, 2011 - 1:44:06 PM |
SUN VALLEY—In giant strokes of old-fashioned chalk, Jason wrote "is," "am," are" and "were." The sound of the chalk scratching on the board filled the silent classroom. At the end of the morning, the yellowish chalk dust would be sprinkled on his shirt cuffs. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee slowly invaded the sweet musk of old library that imbued Jason's classroom, arousing his desire for a cup.
As they drilled "I am," "you are," "we are," "they are," "you are" over and over again, the students' eyes darted at a point that just grazed Jason's forehead. A less sensitive teacher might have presumed that the students were rapt, devouring his every word and sigh. Like the audience of a telepromptered politician, Jason knew that this gathering had their gazes millimetrically trained away from him and on the battery-operated wall clock as it approached break time.
His daughter Kit, arrayed in striped pajamas, was contented to draw smiley faces in her notebook. Bringing her to class in her pajamas hadn't been the harsh punishment he had intended. Jason's cell phone rang, and he stopped chanting. He saw Suzanne's name in the caller ID window and immediately flipped open the phone. After the last night, he was still in love.
“You tried to rape Candy!” Suzanne was livid. He could hear her perfectly while leaving the cell phone at arm's length.
“It was all a mistake,” Jason said.
“A mistake you raped Candy?” Suzanne asked.
Victor, one of the two men in the morning class, raised his hand and said, “Teacher, what mean rape?”
“No, I didn't rape her,” he scoffed.
“You are a predator and . . . “ Suzanne said.
“Shut up and let me talk, Suzanne. It was a mistake. From behind Candy looks just like you. The kitchen was dark in the morning. I thought it was you and grabbed her fanny,” Jason said.
“Teacher,” Victor raised his hand again and asked, “what's the difference between funny and fanny?”
“Jason, because of you, Candy has given me notice, she's moving out. Now I lost my roommate and Kit's nanny. All because of your stupidity. It's all your fault. . .,” Suzanne said.
Meanwhile, Jason's students followed the lead of Mr. Leonard's students and tromped down the wooden stairs. Jason was left waiting for his cup of coffee, the steam to warm his cheeks and nostrils. After a while, “Hello hello hello.”
“I'm here,” Jason replied after a prolonged silence.
“You never grabbed me in the kitchen,” she said recriminating. “If you had, we still might be together.”
Suzanne knew how to hurt a guy: stick in the stiletto and give it a twist. The call cut off by itself. Jason hated when that happened. Suzanne had roiled any enjoyment of his morning cup of coffee. What about the fender bender on the freeway? Forgotten and replaced by new drama. Drama, drama, drama for Suzanne. Drama was good for art, bad for life—Jason would tell her that someday. He would tell her what songs to play at his funeral. And he would tell her how he thought he was losing her before he ever had her. So he was grateful for the times they had had together, and that they had brought Kit into the world.
Jason grabbed Kit's hand, as she was deeply engrossed now in drawing daisies with smiling faces. Father and daughter descended the stairs and emerged in the church's chilly and brilliantly sunny patio. Jason sidled up to the coffee urn and stood between clusters of students jabbering in Spanish.
“Maria, is there cream for the coffee?” he asked.
“Cream yes. Coffee no,” she said.
Through the wizardry of tilting the urn, the woman in a sweat jacket was able to scrounge up two-thirds of a cup of coffee. It wasn't as good as Dharma Cafe, but it was coffee.
“Thank you, Maria,” Jason said.
“Sorry, I'm not Maria,” she said pouting. “I'm Rosa.”
“Wow,” said Mr. Leonard, the other teacher at San Anselmo. “We sure have a lot of Marias.”
“Too many,” Jason said. “Maria Lopez, Maria Sanchez, Maria Gomez, Maria Perez.”
“Who's this cutie pie?” Mr. Leonard asked about Kit, smiling his laser-whites. She was in her stripped pajamas and lolled like a buoy in water. She looked away shyly and held tighter to daddy's hand. “Is this the little girl I hear so much about?”
Jason wasn't sure he trusted Mr. Leonard around his second-grade daughter.
(To be continued...)
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by San Francisco News
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