Chapter 4
2009
Heather was running late to the first faculty meeting of the year. It was late August and her first day at Alameda Senior High School (aka: Home of the Mighty Stallions). After struggling to find a parking space in the lot, she hurried through the unfamiliar halls in search of the multi-purpose room, where today’s meeting was being held. Heather had never taught at a high school before and felt a lot like a freshman herself on the first day of school: frightened and intimidated but trying to hide it, terrified but nervously hopeful about the positive things the new school year could bring.
When Heather finally located and pushed open the doors of the multi-purpose room, she cringed: everyone was already seated, listening to Principal Louis’ introductory remarks at the podium at the front of the room. When Heather entered the room, the principal halted his speech and smiled.
Principal Louis was mostly balding, and what remained of his hair was white and slightly unruly. A tall man who always wore bright knit sweaters and an easy smile, Heather remembered liking him immediately when she’d interviewed with him that spring. Principal Louis had the kind of kind, patient, welcoming energy a person searches for in, say, a father-in-law or a therapist. He’d immediately put her at ease.
“I suppose this is the perfect opportunity to introduce our new English teacher, Ms. Heather Fellaway,” he announced.
The entire room turned around in their chairs to face Heather and flash welcoming smiles. Heather smiled back, but it was engineered to hide an internal cringe. Being the center of attention in a room full of strangers was uncomfortable at best.
“Heather hails from Juan Crespi Middle School in El Sobrante,” Principal Louis continued. “She’s been teaching there for four years, and we’re honored to have her join our team here at Alameda Senior High School.”
The room hummed an obligatory warm greeting. Heather waved meekly, and scanned for an empty seat. Principal Louis motioned to an empty chair in the second row with a scarf draped over it.
“This seat is for you, Heather,” he explained. “As is the article of clothing draped over it.”
As Heather approached the chair, she could see that the scarf was, in fact, a Pashmina. She picked it up and examined it more closely.
“Is this a gift?” she asked.
“Think of it as a token of your initiation,” Principal Louis said.
“My…initiation?”
“I personally select a special item for each person who comes to work here,” the principal explained. “To commemorate their arrival and to show that I view each of them as a person with unique qualities and gifts that they have chosen to share with our community.”
“Thank you,” Heather replied in her most gracious voice. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s purple,” he added with a smile. “Which is the color of a person who is sensitive, understanding, compassionate….and shines brightly wherever they go!”
Heather wasn’t sure she agreed with the aforementioned adjectives when it came to her personality. In truth, she had never possessed a single purple item of clothing in her life. The color was too eye-grabbing, and commanded too much attention…overly-fun and carefree for a serious workaholic like herself. But she took her seat, running her fingers over the fabric, pretending to admire it while secretly trying to soothe her frazzled nerves.
Principal Louis continued his remarks. When Heather had steadied herself enough to look up, her eyes wandered involuntarily to the hair of the man seated directly in front of her in the front row.
She thought it was the most beautiful hair she’d ever seen on a man. Chin length, brown-mixed-with-deep orange locks. Impeccably coiffed.
He looked like a rock star.
“As many of you know,” Principal Louis’ words broke through Heather’s reverie, “I like to begin each academic year with a dose of creative inspiration.”
The principal gestured to the man in front of Heather. The one with the rock star hair.
“Tom Beckett here teaches ninth and tenth grade English. And he has agreed to share some of his original poetry with us today so that we can partake in a little taste of the fine arts.”
Tom Beckett rose to his feet. In his hands was a single piece of white paper. It was clear from the way Principal Louis regarded him that Tom was one of his favorites.
“Hi, everyone,” Tom took the mic. “I’m Tom Beckett for those of you who are new here,” he nodded in Heather’s direction. “As Principal Louis shared, I do teach ninth and tenth grade English. I also write poetry in my spare time.”
Heather had to hold back from rolling her eyes. No one ever read poetry at any of the faculty meetings at Crespi…let alone poetry that they themselves had composed. It was immediately clear that Tom was the perfect English teacher stereotype: call it whatever you wanted…a fuzzy, a woo woo, an eternal dreamer. The type who gallivanted through fields of nimble, picking daisies and reading poetry while the wind blew over him like a kiss…or whatever trite metaphor applied at the moment.
Heather, on the other hand, was serious and self-directed…uptight, some might even say. The opposite of a poet. Even though she hated public speaking and attention, she’d selected the career of an English teacher for one reason and one reason only: because she thought she’d be good at it.
“This is a poem I wrote specifically for the teacher and faculty of Alameda Senior High this summer. You know who you are…”
Tom cleared his throat and began:
The Stallions sing tonight
They race with the wind in the moonlight
We come again to this magical place
To fill young minds with knowledge that can’t be replaced
Another autumn, another fall, another wall to overcome
On a journey that will make us one
But we are already one.
We are already one.
Heather watched Principal Louis. He closed his eyes and placed a hand over his chest. When he opened them again, she saw that they were glistening.
“That was beautiful, Tom,” the principal emoted. “We are so fortunate to have a true poet among us. Aren’t we, everyone?”
The room applauded with more than a little gusto. Tom nodded and sat back down in front of Heather, his perfect hair bouncing a little on top of his head as he did.
“I want you all to reflect on Tom’s poem in these coming days,” Principal Louis told the faculty. “We here at Alameda Senior High are one. And we band together, year after year, to do the invaluable work of enriching young minds. We are one. And we always will be.”
Heather scanned the room for laughter or at least a sarcastic facial expression, but the faces around her were nothing but moved and appreciative. She was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with everyone here. Was the school a cult masquerading as a high school?
Heather had been assigned to teach tenth and eleventh grade English, four classes total. Fortunately, the first day of school was still a week and a half away, so she had ample time to prepare. As everyone rose at the end of the meeting and shuffled out of the room, Heather clutched a blue strip of paper in her hand, one that informed her that her assigned classroom was in Building C, Room 208.
“You’re not sure what to make of all of this, are you?” she heard someone say from behind.
Heather turned around to see that the voice belonged to a tall, attractive, rather muscular man dressed in a black collared shirt and khakis.
“I’m Matthew Yin.” He extended his hand.
“Heather Fellaway,” she replied, clearing her throat self-consciously. “I just…I’m not exactly used to receiving gifts from the principal in front of everyone.”
“Principal Louis is a very…unique person,” Matthew explained. “Let’s just say, he leads with his heart. Which isn’t the most common quality among high school principals.”
“How long have you been teaching here?” she asked.
“I don’t teach, actually,” Matthew replied. “I’m a therapist. And I coach the baseball team.”
Matthew craned his neck slightly to get a better look at the blue slip of paper in Heather’s hand.
“I used to have Health class in that room. Back when I went to high school here. I can show you were it is.”
“No kidding,” Heather smiled. “You’re from Alameda?”
Matthew nodded. “Born and raised.”
After a small struggle with the lock, Heather managed to pry open the door to her new classroom. She and Matthew peered inside: green floor tile that had probably been there since 1965, industrial-sized ceiling lamps that looked like white, frozen ripples in a pond.
And there was something else. Something unexpected.
Against the back wall of the classroom was a Shakria poster. Heather identified it immediately as one from her Oral Fixation World Tour era.
“It’s Shakira!” she blurted.
Matthew frowned slightly at first. “Oh,” he nodded with a small laugh, registering the poster. “Looks like the last person in here must have been a fan.”
“Do you like her?” Heather asked, turning to face him.
“She’s…okay,” Matthew shrugged, apparently choosing to ignore how intense Heather was suddenly acting. “Do you?”
“She’s…a goddess…” Heather murmured. She suddenly remembered herself and cleared her throat. “I mean, she’s alright. I’ve never seen her in concert or anything.”
She deliberately neglected to mention that this wasn’t by choice. Heather had actually dreamed of attending the Oral Fixation World Tour three years earlier. Her meager, new teacher salary at the time, however, had killed that dream. She’d even called into a radio station giving away free tickets…seventy one times. Only to get a blaring busy signal on each attempt.
She decided to change the subject. If given the chance, Heather knew she could talk about her obsession with Shakira for hours.
“Bringing back any memories from health class yet?” she asked Matthew, gesturing at the empty classroom.
“I’d tell you stories about the kinds of things that went down in that class,” Matthew laughed. “But you might be afraid to touch the walls afterwards.”
She believed him.
“You should come to the party I’m throwing on Friday,” he added. “A lot of people from school will be there.”
Heather’s first inclination was to decline a party invitation, but then she remembered she was new in town, new to Alameda Senior High, and had no friends. If she wanted a new life - which had been the entire point of moving and taking a job here - she knew she was going to have to accept some invitations.
“I don’t think I have any plans on Friday,” she replied.
“Cool. Come by my office at the end of the day and I’ll give you the details. Have fun with your room!”
After making a run to her car for supplies she’d purchased earlier - Lysol, white vinegar, a mop and bucket - Heather mixed the aforementioned ingredients in the bucket with hot water and began the draining task of mopping the classroom floor. Once finished, she applied the same procedure to the walls (or what she could reach of them, as she was only 5’7”). Matthew’s comment about the walls being diseased or something along those lines had gotten under her already germophobic skin.
By the time she was finished, Heather was exhausted and the room reeked of vinegar. She threw open the windows and decided it was time to call her mother…the now-former Crystal Meth Queen of Heather’s hometown.
Crystal Fellaway still lived in El Sobrante, and still had the same job as she did when Heather was a kid, which was working as a security guard at The Green Lantern, also known as the seediest dive bar in town. Over the past five years or so, however, the bar had been transformed and revitalized by local hipsters and twenty-somethings into a popular hangout. A far cry from its seedy, hick days of Heather’s childhood. Fortunately for Crystal, hipsters didn’t exactly pose a physical threat to anyone…which made her job even easier.
Heather dialed her mother’s cell phone. When a strange man answered, her breathing stopped involuntarily.
“Uh…this is Heather,” she finally managed. “I’m calling for Crystal. Who is this?”
Heather hated that her mother had been addicted to Crystal Meth when she was growing up. She despised the fact that her mother’s drug of choice had her actual name on it.
“Heather? The man’s voice replied sardonically. “I don’t know any Heather.”
“Who is this?” Heather asked.
“Who do you think it is?” he countered.
“Where is my mother?”
“Take it easy. Your mother’s sitting right here next to me on the couch. She’s about to leave for work.”
“Give me that!” Heather heard Crystal scold playfully in the background. The man chuckled a little.
“Honey, it’s me.”
“Who the hell was that, Mom?” Heather demanded.
Crystal let out a sigh. “Jesus. I was hoping to have more time to explain this to you…”
“What do you mean? Is it someone you’re seeing?”
Heather’s mother hadn’t dated anyone since getting clean five years ago, during Heather’s senior year of college. All of Crystal’s previous boyfriends - the ones she’d been with when she was tweaked out of her mind - had, in Heather’s mind, been a string of complete losers. Unfortunately, this guy sounded just like one of them. Heather’s heartbeat spiked and her blood froze as she immediately thought the worst: her mother was back on drugs and the awful men who came along with them.
“Seeing?” Crystal simpered. “Not really. Kind of?”
“What is going on?”
“When he said he didn’t know you, he was trying to make a joke, Hon,” Crystal explained. “Well…I guess it wasn’t a very funny joke. He doesn’t know you. But…he should. Maybe he still can.”
At that moment Heather realized who it was. She couldn’t even respond to her mother, or think of what to say next. She had spent so many years planning the perfect words for when this person reappeared in her life, if he ever did. Somewhere along the way, the burning anger she felt towards him had scabbed over and been replaced by relief at the fact that he wasn’t in her life, their life, any more. As a child, she’d waited and cried and pined for him. As a young adult, she’d felt heartbroken at the realization that he was likely never coming back.
Now, at 25, she’d found solace in the certainty of his continued absence.
Until today.
It wasn’t enough to just hang up the cell phone. Heather had to turn it off too. She pressed the power button, hard, until the screen went black. She knew her mother would call right, probably leave a message or two. She’d probably worry.
But it would pale in comparison to the worry Heather’s mother had put her through her entire life.
Had Crystal really said she had “sort of” been seeing him? Or was it “not really”?
Neither option was good, Heather conceded. The last time she’d seen her father in the flesh was the day he’d walked out on them. Heather was nine years old. The last time she’d spoken to him over the phone was the day of her middle school graduation, when he had called from Atlanta, where he lived with his real family, to wish her a half-hearted congratulations.
“Stay in school,” he’d said. “And don’t do drugs.”
It was the only fatherly advice he’d ever given her.
Heather took some deep breaths. The vinegar overwhelmed her senses and she coughed, sticking her head out one of the windows. She looked at the grass, the trees in the distance, the shiny cars in the parking lot. She felt her feet on the floor and reminded herself she wasn’t nine years old anymore. None of it changed the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but it helped her remember where she was, that she was safe.
The old Heather would have gotten into her car, driven fifteen miles back to her mother’s house in El Sobrante, and tried to rescue Crystal from herself. Heather still wanted to do these things, almost unbearably so…but today, Heather managed to pause just long enough to remember how many times she’d tried and failed to save her mother over the years. It had taken her so long to realize she didn’t want to do it anymore, that taking on this role in her mother’s life made her own miserable, made Heather less of the person she wanted to be.
This was the real reason she’d left El Sobrante, had moved away from home and taken the new job at Alameda Senior High: it was to give herself the chance at a real life.
Heather’s mind wandered to Matthew. He’d struck her as a kind person – the type she would like to have as a friend. She was going to need friends if she wanted to grow up.
She pulled her head back inside and looked up at the clock. Four PM. Now was a good time to go see him and ask him about the party.
Heather glanced back up at the Shakira poster and decided to take it as a sign. A sign that she had come to the right place. A sign that she belonged. Steadying her nerves and resolve, Heather closed all the windows, locked the door to her classroom, and made her way to Matthew’s office.