“Which part? The part about me going topless or you spitting in my mouth?”
His pupils are huge, maybe because of the dim lighting of the bar, and I can barely see the caramel color around them. “Both. All. Everything.”
Sighing, I take a sip of the beer the bartender places infront of me. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. But I don’t take it back. I’ll do absolutely anything to keep this job.”
He shifts on his stool, pursing his lips. “I?—”
“Oh. My God. Not like… not like that. But I am going to do better.” I take a deep breath. “You gave me a really nice apology the other day. And I was a dick about it. It was really nice. Sincere. I really appreciated it, and I forgive you. And then you went ahead and protected me or some shit today. Which I don’t need, mind you,” I say, “but I appreciate the effort.”
He nods, still looking wildly uncomfortable.
“I want to apologize again. More this time. I have been giving you a really hard time. I’ve been pushing you and testing you, and it’s really unprofessional and inappropriate of me to be doing everything that I’ve been doing. You’re my boss. You’re my supervisor. And you’re one of the good ones, it seems.” At least, that’s what every single one of my new coworkers has been trying to tell me for the past month.
He starts to say something, but I place my finger over his mouth. His very soft, very firm mouth. Oliver lets it stay for a beat, surprised, but then moves away.
“Sorry, I am a very handsy and very chatty drunk. You think I can talk when I’m sober, but you ain’t seen nothing yet. Sorry for touching your mouth. I can’t touch your mouth. Although it’s a very nice mouth,” I tell him, the feeling still spreading warmth over the pad of my pointer finger. “You were a dick at first, and I was pushing back a little, but it was very inapo-… inappoarate… inappropriate of me to do as your underling. I work for you. You are my boss. I should not be touching your mouth, and I should not be mouthing off. I really just wanted to impress you.”
He clears his throat, but gives me the space to ramble. What a polite young man.
What was I talking about? “You seem so competent. Andgood at your job. I want to impress you, but I don’t want to sacrifice who I am as a teacher. I did that for so long. I don’t want to do that anymore. You know?”
He is nodding, appeasing me like I am a three-year-old. I, in fact, feel like I have the vocabulary and mental capacity of a three-year-old right now.
“Well… SAY SOMETHING! It’s your turn to talk!”
He laughs, a full-bodied one, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever experienced it, and I think it’s my new favorite thing, like a splash of cool water on a hot summer day. “I really don’t feel like I should say anything of merit right now, because I’m not sure you’re going to remember anything in the morning. But I accepted your apology the first time, Georgia, and you are impressive. You are a good teacher. Unconventional, maybe, but yes, I believe you are a good teacher. I’ll admit that it’s taken me some time and some convincing to come to that conclusion.” He takes another sip of his beer. “I’m excited to work with you this school year. You have a lot of potential, and I mean that in the least condescending way possible.” He looks down at the phone I have in my hand. “Did you… are you… recording?”
I grin. “Yep, because you’re right. I’m not sure I’m going to remember this in the morning. I want to record this for all posterity.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners. I feel the rough pad of his fingers against the softness of my hand as he gently takes my phone. I remember the feeling of them caressing my throat. “Please, let’s not record this. But I do want to set some ground rules here. Offline.”
I scoff. “Would you like me to create a rubric, too?”
Still smiling, he continues. “We’re drinking together right now, at a bar that our school staff frequents, in the neighborhood our school serves. You’ve said some pretty…” He licks his lips imperceptibly, and I track the movement like a hawk. “…explicit things.” He fumbles with his words here. “This is… it’s not… we can’t… it’s inappropriate…”
I step in to save him, because even though I’m drunk, I think I get it. “No one will know about this, Oliver. This doesn’t belong to anyone except for you and me.” He looks relieved. “Like I said, you’re my boss. I’m your underling. No one will know.”
“Ever,” he says quietly, and I think that we both know what the other is saying.
“Ever,” I agree. “I’m all yours.”
A deep look of intensity, of something like greed, or maybe starvation, flashes across his face for half a second. But maybe I’m just hammered. Finally, he grins, and the moment is lost. He lays my phone flat on the table and presses the red “record” button. “This message is for Georgia Baker, recorded by Oliver Flores, at 9-” he glances at his watch, “13 p.m. on October 18th. Ms. Baker, you are a good teacher. You are impressive. You are competent. And I am very much looking forward to working with you this school year.” He presses the button to end the recording, then swipes up to find my Uber app. “And with that, I am calling your Uber home.”
“What!” I wail. “But I wanna keep hanging out! We’re having such a delightful time! Can you say more about how awesome I am?”
He enters the address of the bar and directs it to the address I have saved under “Home”. He looks up then, eyes sparkling, like whiskey in a crystal glass. “We are. And you are. But we have the whole rest of the year for that.”
SEVENTEEN
Oliver
On Monday morning,bright and early, almost two hours before students enter the building, I sit at my desk and sip my coffee, mentally preparing myself for the week. I glance through my calendar, organizing my life and notes in my head. I note the Principal’s Conference about district goals, the School Leadership Team meeting about our school goals, the meeting with the Parent Teacher Organization president regarding classroom materials, the meeting with District Finance regarding our enrollment numbers, the disciplinary meetings with the head of our after-school program, the compliance meetings with our Special Education department and school psychologist, the Department of Buildings for the air conditioning, CPS, the classroom observations, coaching sessions. The fundraiser planning meetings.
The thing is, even with this packed schedule, meetings on meetings on meetings, leaving no time for face time with students, I like my job. I love my job. I love running a school. I’m excellent at it. I don’t get to see students much, which used to be my favorite part about working in education, but I enjoy making decisions that positively affect them on a largerscale. I love working with teachers, parents, community members. I feel like an active, contributing member of the PS 2 community.
I think about what life would look like if I worked in the district office as the Deputy Superintendent. It could mean something even bigger. Instead of making large-scale decisions that impact one school, I could make decisions that positively impact the fifteen schools in the district. I could meet with principals instead of teachers, helping guide them to make the right choices for their school community. My “community” would just grow, be larger.
What I do not think about, however, is my encounter with Georgia on Friday night. Particularly what happened when I got home.
