Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
“Bye, Ms. Starks. See you next year!” Student after student hugged me before rushing out of the class and into the wide hall toward the school’s front entrance, where buses and parents waited for them.
I followed behind them, electricity filling the air as adults and children scurried up and down the halls with their arms full of Christmas gifts and leftover food from holiday parties. When the hallways cleared of kids, my colleagues’ voices got louder and jollier as professionalism left the building with our students.
“Don’t let Santa eat your cookies, ho!” Laneesha, our over-the-top music teacher, called out to Mrs. Plano, the oldest cafeteria worker in our building, who still had on her hair net and uniform.
I turned, wondering if Laneesha had a death wish. To my surprise, Mrs. Plano cracked a huge smile and chuckled as she flicked her wrist Laneesha’s way.
“You so crazy, girl. You know Mr. Plano is the only man who samples my fresh baked goods.”
My eyes widened. The world must be ending since I didn’t know Mrs. Plano had such a raunchy sense of humor.
Where had I been? It was as if the employees of Farmerton Elementary had been released from prison and could finally run free. I hadn’t seen these folks this happy since before the first day of school.
“Have fun in Vegas!” Ms. Reese, one of the new teachers at our school, who was an endless bundle of energy, waved at Cyrus Rivers, our newly married assistant principal, as they passed each other in the hall.
“Thank you. I will.” Cyrus spoke with tight lips and an even stiffer posture.
Instead of looking at Ms. Reese, Cyrus turned his narrow head my way and squinted as if I were the one wishing him well.
“Hi, Cyrus.” I lifted my hand and lowered it quickly.
“Ruby.” Cyrus said my name like it was a curse word and crunched his face like he smelled a skunk.
He’d asked me out countless times over the years, but I turned him down every time. Nothing about his narrow frame and darting eyes appealed to me. Even his screechy voice grated my nerves. When his clammy hand first shook mine, I wanted to wash it with bleach. Thank goodness he finally gave up pursuing me.
Three months after his last request, Cyrus got engaged to the oldest daughter of Farmerton’s African Methodist Episcopal pastor. I saw Daisy St. John’s somewhat homely self in the grocery store last week. Cyrus must have said something crazy about me because she mean-mugged me like I was a debt collector coming to repo her used Ford Fusion with its bald tires. As we passed, I noticed her protruding belly. Cyrus may have been a dud to me, but he obviously knew how to charm somebody and put it down on his new wife.
Cyrus’s face got sourer as he paused near my classroom door and stared at me as if he wanted to have a conversation.
“You okay?” I spoke kindly despite wanting to put my hands on my hips and ask him what his doggone problem was.
“Yes, I am, Ms. Starks.”
We stared each other down like we were about to duel. He was so passive-aggressive, probably expecting me not to show out at work. I hated that he thought he could flex since he had a little title and was getting some cooch every night.
“How’s your wife?” I crossed my arms and smiled sweetly.
He blinked rapidly and darted his eyes around as if I had shared a big secret.
I’m glad I didn’t date your trifling behind.I wanted to tell him that but pursed my lips instead, throwing his nasty energy right back at him.
Within seconds, I was convicted for being so ugly.
“Merry Christmas, Cyrus.” I gave him a faint smile.
“Okay,” he mumbled before scurrying away.
I sighed.
Maybe Cyrus was misunderstood like me. The past was the past. Or at least it should have been.
When I reentered the quiet area of my nine-hundred-square-foot classroom, I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling the strong scent of the pine and fig-scented air freshener behind my desk. It reminded me of years long gone that were full of good memories.
Who was I to judge Cyrus? He had someone to love, and I had what? Coupons to clip? A cheap bracelet to string?
When he sat with us in the teachers’ lounge earlier this month seeking input for his Las Vegas honeymoon itinerary, I listened carefully. As everyone offered advice about restaurants and shows to see on the Strip, I silently critiqued whether I’d gone to each one and enjoyed that spot. I munched my sugar cookie and drank my overly sweet red punch, knowing the likelihood of my leaving Farmerton to go back to Vegas was slim to none.
