Ink & Interruptions

            The click reverberated in my memory as I twisted the key in the lock. My morning walk had left me chilled and oddly unsettled, the empty streets and drawn curtains of my neighbors’ houses feeling more oppressive than peaceful today. I felt my dad’s hand on my shoulder as I leaned into the door; the silence of the morning air mirroring that of my dad’s. No words, apologies, well wishes, placations to just give her time. Just a soft touch, a nod, and then the opening and closing of the door again. That had been six months ago, and here I was, same house, same broken door, and the same canyon I had violently ripped open—swallowing every half-written text—loomed as wide as ever. This was what I wanted. Reaching out would signal that it wasn’t. That somehow, my mom had been right. But she wasn’t. And I would prove that.

            The door swung open but instead of the emptiness of space and boxes piled together, warmth stretched across the room from a floor lamp that towered in the corner, always on, chasing shadows into the corners of the small room. I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it on the back of the small grey couch that ran perpendicular to the TV mounted on the back wall, creating a makeshift divider between the entryway and what had become my living area. I glanced at my watch as I moved through the various rooms on the way to my bedroom, which was in the furthest corner of the house. I wasn’t sure what year the house was built, but the layout alone suggested the 70s or 80s. With every wall and door, the house felt designed for solitude, the opposite of my mother’s open-layout home where nothing was ever separate. Crap. The time flashing on my watch finally registered in my mind. I was running late; my last time around the block must have been slower than I thought.

            Picking up my pace, I reached into my closet and grabbed one of the three pairs of black slacks, a blue floral-patterned shirt, and my favorite cardigan. As I slipped out of my walking shoes and my two layers of athletic gear, I considered opening my phone and sending an email that explained away my absence with an ill-conceived and sudden contracted illness. I knew that he wouldn’t believe it, but at least I’d have the weekend to collect my thoughts and prepare my defense to what would surely be a lecture re-covering my role in the students’ lives. I slipped my feet into the most practical pair of flats I owned, wide at the top as to give my toes plenty of room to wiggle and scrunch throughout the day. I glanced back at my watch; a slicked back ponytail would have to be enough; there was no time for much else. I rubbed my hair over and over until I was sure I had convinced every strand to lay flat; I wrapped the rubber band around my hair three times, finishing the whole process by a quick tug to secure the base to the crown of my head.

            I stood in front of my floor-length mirror. My shirt was a little more wrinkled than it should have been, but at least my pants and shoes looked fine. I tugged at the fabric, trying to keep it from clinging to my stomach. I silently chastised myself for not trying it on first. I glanced at the green blouse draped across the foot of my bed and took a step. My alarm blared again. Exhaling sharply, I gave my shirt one last tug and turned away from the mirror.

            No use in delaying the inevitable, I thought, grabbing my phone and keys from the bedside table. It wasn’t like the students actually cared what I wore anyway. As I moved backward through the house, I switched off the lights, leaving only the light from the floor lamp to keep the space company while I was gone. My purse sat on the entryway table, right where I left it. I slung it over my shoulder, flipped the lock, and pulled the door closed behind me.

            A sharp gust of wind bit my skin as I stepped onto the porch, sending a shiver down my spine. Was it this cold earlier? Hugging my cardigan tighter around me, I double-clicked the unlock button on my car keys and hurried down the steps. The car door creaked as I yanked it open and slid behind the wheel. By the time I merged onto the highway, my thoughts were already racing ahead of me, winding through everything that waited at school—the students, the growing stack of papers, the conversation with Dr. Montgomery.

            Oak Harbor High School was one of the foremost schools in the city, with its imposing three story building and manicured grounds that seemed designed to intimidate as much as impress. I could still feel the weight of expectation and tradition that permeated the hallways, encased in the floor to ceiling trophy cases and reinforced by the shimmering hall-of-fame photos that spilled out in perfect rows down the halls. Kyle never seemed to feel the weight, but it was overwhelming when I was a student. When I graduated, my goal was to get as far away from the shadows cast by each overly adorned frame, but when Kyle secured a low-level job at a local law firm, I had very few options when it came to schools that needed a High School counselor.

            “It’s not good for a relationship when you spend more time in the car than with each other,” Aunt Jules had scolded when she caught my job search parameters.  

            I never planned to apply for the Oak Harbor position, but after three interviews and no call backs, I was desperate.

            I pulled slowly into the parking lot, navigating through the rows of cars until I made it to the faculty section. I circled around the last row of student parking, but as I pulled my bug forward, preparing to park in the fourth space down from the door, I pressed the brake. Someone was in my spot. We didn’t actually have assigned spaces, but it was the 6^th week of school, and the order of parking had already solidified into habit for all of us. I sat, car idling, for another minute trying to place the vehicle, but I could not create a connection between this single-cab, green truck and any of my co-workers.

            “I swear, if that’s a parent’s car,” I hissed as I pulled past the spot and circled back through the parking lot, heading toward the final row of parking in the faculty section.

            The wind was crisp, biting as it brushed against my face and inched its way under the hem of my pants, chilling my bones. I shuffled my feet fast, clutching my bag under my arm. By the time I reached the front door, my movements were stiff, each limb crying out for the warmth that the glow behind the door promised. I swung the door open and shook my body, trying to work the warmth through my limbs and hands.

            “God, it’s cold,” I muttered as I passed the front office and made the short walk down the hall to my office. 

            I moved through my keys, shuffling past several on my search for the one that went to my office door. “Evelyn.” The voice was sticky and too sweet; it pressed itself to the roof of my mouth. I took a deep breath.

            “Good morning, Jenna,” I said keeping my voice light as I unlocked my door and pushed it open.

            “Uh huh. I saw you come in and thought I’d come remind you about your meeting with Dr. Montgomery this morning,” she basically sang as she followed me into my office. Jenna had a way of appearing at the perfect moment, all sugar-sweet smiles and faux concern, never missing an opportunity to “help.”

            “Sure, come on in,” I muttered low as I set my bag down on my desk. “Thank you.” I said raising my voice, “Luckily, I remembered just fine on my own.”

            “Oh, good. I just saw it on the calendar and wouldn’t want you to forget, you know? Us girls have to have each other’s backs,” she flashed her teeth at me, grinning as I imagine a spider would watching a fly as it became tangled in her web.

            “Thank you again, Jenna,” I said as I picked through the files on my desk. My tone was sharp, but she lingered beginning to run her hands along the books that filled my shelves. “Well, like you said, I have a meeting to get to.”

            She jumped a little as a “Good luck” twittered from her mouth. I felt my eyes physically roll back in my head as she tossed her hair over her shoulder as she left my office. I sighed, gathered up the files I needed and followed her out the door of my office, being sure to pull it close behind me.

            Dr. Montgomery’s office was technically down the hall from mine, but reaching it meant pushing through two heavy metal doors before stepping into a space walled in glass—an attempt at transparency that felt more like a performance. No one seemed to notice the irony. Dr. Montgomery was seated at an imposing desk positioned in the middle of the room and facing the already open door. He was leaned in close to the screen of his desktop computer, focused on whatever pressing matter he had chosen to start his day with. I knocked lightly on the glass.

            “Good morning, Dr. Montgomery. Is now a good time?” He shifted in his seat, raising his head to look at me. I cleared my throat and held the file a little tighter against my chest. “I can always come back later today.”

            “No need, Ms. Mercer. Please sit down.” He said as he inclined his head toward the large, blue chairs that sat in front of his desk.

            I moved cautiously into the space, fumbling the file between my hands as I settled into one of the chairs. They were low enough that one had to look up slightly to make eye contact with him. That along with his row of degrees that sat framed on the bookcase shelf behind him made his authority palpable. Once I had fidgeted myself into the chair, I reached over and laid the student file on his desk.

            “Before I left work yesterday, I went through the student’s academic file and made notes alongside the pertinent information. I think you will see-”

            “Ms. Mercer, you’ve been doing a good job. A real good one—” he said pulling the file from beneath my hand and setting it beside his desk calendar. His fingers tapped once against the folder, the sound and following pause causing my body to tense, “But I think you will agree that there is an issue with how you are directing our student body.”

            “Dr. Montgomery, I am doing my best to help direct our student body in a way that allows them to succeed after they graduate. That means I have to-” I felt my hands go clammy, sweat beginning to permeate my slacks and moisten the skin underneath, “help the students determine what their aptitude is in certain fields. This oftentimes means-”

            “Yes, yes,” he said, moving his hand back and forth and dismissing my practiced explanation, “You should be doing all of that, but you have to keep the parents in mind.” His voice was low, powerful in a way that crushed mine and caused my words to settle like shattered glass around me. “Ms. Mercer, not to put to fine a point on it, but you do know how this school operates, correct? Like what funds our fine institution?”

            “Yes.” I could feel myself clipping off my answer, my anger bubbling under my skin, heat rising up my spine and creeping out behind my ears. “I am aware.”

            “Well, that is just great.” He clapped his hands together as if the entire issue had be resolved. “Then I am sure a smart woman like yourself does not need any help understanding how it would be unwise to tell the child of the most affluent school board member to, what was it?” He cocked his head to the side searching for my phrasing, the words I had told Sam last week, “throw caution to the wind and try out something in the arts for a change.”

            “Yes,” I pushed the palms of my hands into my thighs trying to keep my voice from wavering, “but if you look at the file, I gave you, you will see that Sam has tested higher in all of his humanities courses when compared to his performance in his math and science courses. His English and Art teachers have specifically commented on Sam’s performance in their classes. I just thought he might be more interested in a school that offered—”

            “Ms. Mercer,” he cut in letting the weight of his gaze solidify my silence, “we are not talking about Sam’s grades or what Sam may think he wants. We are talking about his parents and the very loud conversation I had to sit through with them after Sam went home and showed them which colleges he had applied to during your little meeting with him.”

            “So, I am not supposed to help the students?” I shouldn’t have asked it, but the words were out before I knew it.

            Dr. Montgomery let out a heavy sigh, one reserved for a stubborn child. He leaned back in his chair. “Ms. Mercer, our students are your top priority. I am simply trying to make sure you understand what that means.”   

            His eyes bore into mine. I tried to hold his gaze, to fight for Sam the way someone should have fought for me, but his eyes seemed to darken with each second that passed, and my resolve broke. I dropped my eyes to my lap where I was still painfully pressing my palms into my thighs, desperately trying to ground myself. “I am sorry. I just, I want what’s best for the students.” I curled my fingers into the material, gripping tighter as I forced a steady breath and looked up. “I guess I got carried away and forgot that the parents are part of the equation.” The betrayal tasted like acid on my tongue, burning down my throat as I swallowed the guilt that followed my complete abandonment of Sam’s dreams and aspirations.

            “I know,” his placating tone scraped down my skin, “but everything is a balancing act.” He leaned forward slightly, his hands folding neatly on the desk. “You would do well to remind yourself which side of that scale keeps you employed.” My jaw clenched at the threat. The familiar sensation of being boxed in crept over me—his tone of absolute authority conjuring up Aunt Julia, Kyle, and every outlined aspect of what should have been my future.

            “Yes, sir. Thank you.” I hated how my voice softened, giving in, giving up.

            “Good, very good.” He nodded his head with each ‘good.’ “I will let Mr. and Mrs. Parker know that we have spoken and that this will not be an issue again.” There was a sound behind me. His next meeting I guessed. This was over. I felt ashamed as I stood, leaving Sam’s dreams scattered around the room, casualties in a war that was still ongoing.

            “Thank you for your time, Dr. Montgomery.”

            He rose from his chair, his hand returning to Sam’s file. He grabbed the manila folder, walked the short distance to his personal printer, and snagged a single piece of paper from the printing tray. “This is the approved list of schools Mr. Parker is to consider applying to during your next college prep meeting.”

            “I will review them with him.” I reached out and took the file from his outstretched hand, the file felt both heavy and empty.

            “Remember, Ms. Mercer,” he said as he led me towards the office door, “‘Excellence in Education, Success for Life.’” The school’s motto dripped from his mouth like poison, causing my fingers to tighten around the file, indenting the flimsy binding. “Ah, there you are!” Dr. Montgomery’s booming voice caused my head to shoot up. My heart dropped to the floor when I saw him. Henry.