The Morning Of

by S. B. Cody

  “Yeah, and I’m not even any good at that,” he blurted out, surprised to find himself actually saying these words. “I can’t even tell how many times I’ve screwed up. Kids that I’ve failed. And that’s with kids that I work with for about seven hours a day, nine months out of the year. How badly am I going to fuck up when it’s someone that I have to guide through their entire life? What’s going to happen then?”

  “What do you mean you failed them? Just because they didn’t do well…”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he interrupted her. “I mean that I let them down.”

  “Connor, I’ve taught too. And you should know that you’re not responsible for everything that happens to them.”

  “Well, when one of them offs themselves, it’s gets a little more complicated.” With that, Connor decided that the conversation was over. He headed up the stairs, went into the bedroom. He wanted to avoid any further argument and the memories that came with it. He slammed the door as though he could keep it out, but it leaked through and as he collapsed on the bed he relived it all.

  It happened right towards the end of his second year of teaching. He had loved that year. He had good classes. He got to teach some of his favorite books. He saw test scores go up for about seventy-five percent of his kids. It had been during that year that he knew that he had made the right decision in becoming a teacher. He even came close to admitting that he was good at it. Then at the start of the final week of school, all the teachers were called into the auditorium.

  “Thank you for meeting on such short notice,” Principal Devin told them. “Unfortunately, I have some awful news to share.” Connor sat forward, wondering what had happened.

  “One of our 10th graders,” Devin continued, “Bradley Neuman, took his own life this weekend.” Connor felt his stomach drop. He’d had this kid in class. He pictured him sitting in his seat tucked in the back corner, and now lying in a coffin.

  “We don’t know any details about how or why it happened or anything. Whatever information we get, we’ll be sure to share with you. We wanted to make sure all of you were aware, though, as the students will probably be talking. So please don’t allow anyone to engage in the spreading of any rumors about this. And if any students should need help processing this, please send them to the counselor’s office. Right now the school is reaching out to his family to see what we can do for them, and we’re looking to organize a memorial service for him. If you have any questions, then please let us know. Thank you.”

  The group of teachers broke up in silence and headed to their rooms for the start of the day. When Connor got back to his, he sat in his chair and stared at where Bradley sat. Where he wouldn’t be sitting anymore. This didn’t make any sense to him. He couldn’t imagine any of his students actually doing something like this. He liked to think he could’ve helped if only he’d known… and it was at that moment that it all came back. He thought back to the last time he’d actually seen Bradley. It had just been a few short days ago. It was the previous Friday, and Connor was rushing to get out of the building because he had a doctor’s appointment right after school. As he slipped his bag over his shoulder, Bradley walked through the door of Connor’s classroom.

  “Mr. Sullivan,” the boy said in a deep voice that didn’t match his mousy demeanor.

  “Hey, Brad. What can I do for you?” Connor asked.

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

  “I’m kind of in a hurry. Is it important?” Connor asked, anxious at the thought of running late.

  “No. I guess not,” Bradley answered.

  “Okay. I’m sorry. Why don’t you come by Monday morning? Can it wait until then?”

  “Sure.” With that both Bradley and Connor exited the room. It would be the last time that Connor would ever see his student. Connor tried to look back on that day. What had Bradley been like? One second Connor would swear that he seemed happy and carefree like a teenage boy should be. The next moment, he was convinced that a large frown had been painted on the boy’s face. And what was he coming to talk to him about? Had he already decided to take his own life? Was he looking for someone to talk him out of it? Maybe if Connor had bothered to stay behind a few minutes, things could have turned out differently. Unfortunately, he could never really know.

  From there the entire year ran through Connor’s mind like a movie on fast forward. Every day, Bradley had come in, never making eye contact with anyone. Every day, he stayed in the corner and wouldn’t say a word to anyone. Bradley wore long sleeves every day, even when it was ninety-five degrees outside. Could that have been because he had been cutting himself? And could Connor really have been so goddamn blind? Had he really not noticed that something had been wrong with the kid?

  Every year he became convinced that he’d end up failing his students. When Brandy broached the subject of them having kids of their own, he felt convinced that he would fail them too.

  When the school held a memorial service he found that he couldn’t even look at Brad’s parents. While many of his teachers went and gave their condolences to them personally, Connor couldn’t bring himself to face them. Any time Connor passed the memorial plaque that got put up for him, he couldn’t bring himself to look at it.

  All of that was part of why he hated being called a hero now. In that moment he’d just reacted. But he hadn’t been proactive when it counted. When it counted, he’d just let the cards fall where they may. He’d let one of his students die.

  For the rest of the week, little was said between Connor and Brandy. Meals were eaten in silence. They gave each other small greetings at the start of each day. Connor could tell that Brandy wanted to continue their conversation, but he felt like he didn’t really have anything else to say. He felt awful treating her this way. He knew she didn’t deserve being kept at arm’s length. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. He kept waiting for her to get wise and take off. Each time she walked up to him he expected her to say that she’d be staying with her parents for a while. But, instead, she’d usually just ask him what he wanted for dinner or ask him to do something around the house. And that only managed to make him feel even worse.

  Then the day came for him to finally head back to school. She offered him a kiss on the cheek and wishes for a good day, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that all would be ignored. Connor headed to school, driving in silence the entire way there. He trotted through the halls, the whole place feeling so much bigger than he remembered. New pictures of people from around school had been placed in odd places. Connor assumed they had been put there to cover up bullet holes. When he stepped into it, his classroom felt like a ghost town.

  When the students arrived, all the teachers were asked to supervise in the hallways. A long procession of students filtered in through the doors. Each one of them passed through a metal detector. Once they did, a security guard waited for them and gave a quick search of their backpacks. When they had all been cleared, they headed towards the auditorium where Principal Devin would address the entire school. The whole process of getting the students from the door to their seat for the assembly took about an hour. As Connor observed the whole thing, he couldn’t help but be struck by a couple things. One, everyone was eerily quiet. On a typical day all the talking and shouting made it sound like a three-alarm fire. Of course, this day was anything but typical. Second, there seemed to be a relatively small number of kids coming in. Once they were all seated, he noticed that they only seemed to take up about three-fourths of the seats in the auditorium. Later, he would find out that attendance for that day had been at seventy-three percent. Many parents refused to allow their kids to go to school so soon afterwards. He couldn’t exactly say that he blamed them.

  Connor and the rest of the teachers made their own way to the assembly and took their seats. Principal Devin came to the stage and stood at the lectern.

  “Good morning, everyone, and welcome back to West,” he said in a somber tone. “I don�
��t need to tell all of you of the tremendous struggle that we all have in front of us. The school has gone through something which cannot be adequately expressed. Tragedy does not even seem to convey the feelings that come with having been a part of this. Moving forward won’t be easy, but move forward we must. Today we begin that process.

  “Now, first I want to give you all an idea of how we’ll proceed. While we are in session today, we won’t be having classes. The morning will be held right here. We have a few people here to speak to you that we’ll get to later. This afternoon, you’ll break up into your first period classes. And that time will be for all of you to speak and share your experiences. We want you to consider that a safe space where you can say whatever you need to.”

  The afternoon session in the classrooms had been awkward for Connor. Once everyone got settled, Connor let them know that this would be an open forum. Anyone should feel free to share their stories and their feelings. At first not a syllable would be uttered. Every student looked around, daring each other to break the ice. Five minutes passed, and Connor thought that it might stay like that all afternoon, but then one person spoke up and rattled off their experience. Then another and another. Some cried and some yelled. Some even spouting off about what they thought the solution should be. The moment things got political, Connor worried that fists might get thrown. Thankfully, it never came to that.

  Through all of it, Connor’s eyes would periodically land on parts of the wall that had been spackled over. Parts of the wall where bullets had been lodged. He wondered whether they were still in there. He shook at the image of them having hit somewhere else.

  One thing that stuck out for Connor during the whole thing was the student who didn’t say a word. He just stayed in the corner and kept his head down. When the final bell rang, Connor called him up to his desk.

  “Dennis, you doing okay?” he asked. “Did you want to make an appointment with one of the grief counselors?”

  “No. I’m fine,” Dennis answered, only looking up for a second.

  “You know, there’s no shame in admitting that you need some help. At a time like this, we all…”

  “I said I was fine,” Dennis blurted before heading out of the room. He rushed outside and made his way to his car. In all honesty, he hadn’t been feeling good since he’d been called in to give a hair sample. After all, why would they want something like that unless they thought he had done it? And now, even on the first day back, the rumblings had begun, just as he suspected they would. When he had gotten called back to the police station, Johnny and Terry had been there as well. And it didn’t take long before they shared the tale with everyone else, including Dennis’s presence there. Dennis knew what would come next. Everyone said he was a psycho before the shooting, and this did nothing to shed the image. He had stayed quiet during class because he knew the second he said anything, it would get turned around on him. Even as he slid behind the wheel of his car, he could feel people watching him, could almost hear them judging him. He raced home where he would be safe from it all. For now.

  Connor was left alone in his classroom, not liking what he had just seen. He sat down at his desk and looked up Dennis’s home number. He wanted to call his mother to let her know about his concerns. All he had been able to do was leave a message for her. He would need to keep an eye on him as the week progressed. So now he packed up his stuff and began heading back towards his car. On his way down the hall, he thought of something and took a detour. He realized that he hadn’t seen Kristin today at all. Given her behavior the last time he’d seen her, he could only imagine how she was coping.

  He headed towards her room wanting to see how she had been. When he got there, Kristin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a woman with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail walked around the room picking up trash. Connor recognized her as Mrs. Turner. She had been a teacher here during Connor’s first year but had retired. She still came around fairly regularly as a substitute teacher now. Connor never quite understood why someone would come right back into a building they just escaped from. At least he felt like it would be an escape for him when he finally retired.

  “Mrs. Turner?” Connor said as he walked in.

  “Hi, Mr. Sullivan,” she replied as she looked up with a smile. “Can I just say that I am so impressed by what you did during the lockdown? You really are a…”

  “Please. That’s fine.” Connor knew what word was coming and didn’t want to hear it. “Did you sub for Ms. Benson today?”

  “Yes. Quite a shame about her.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “I’ll actually be here all week for her. At least.”

  “All week?”

  “Yes. Maybe she’s just not ready to come back.”

  “No. Guess not. Well, you have a good day.”

  “You too, Mr. Sullivan.” Connor left her alone and exited the building. He hadn’t given Kristin much thought since the day of, but it now occurred to him that what he saw in the back of the ambulance may not have fully passed for her.

  Julie had the day off so she insisted on driving Terry to and from school. She had always prided herself on her willingness to give Terry as much space as he needed. Her mother tended to smother her as a girl, so she felt adamant that she wouldn’t do that to her son. But lately she had started to cling. Ever since she found that flyer in his dresser she demanded to know where he was at all times. Particularly if he said he would be with Johnny. Now that she pulled up she saw him sitting out front with Johnny, both of them hunched over and whispering to each other. As she stopped out front, she chugged down her fourth cup of coffee that day, desperate to stay awake. She tried to remember the last time she actually slept through the night.

  Julie went to honk the horn to call out to her son, but hesitated as she saw him commiserate with his friend. What could they be talking about? Is this what it feels like to not trust your own son? Ever since he’d gotten called in to give a hair sample, it seemed like everything made her jump. Every ring of the phone, every knock on the door. She felt convinced that that would be the death knell for Terry. Her stomach felt like it had been fed through a meat churner. Everything inside her said that she should tell someone about that flyer. A student with no alibi having a connection to an organization under investigation… that’s the kind of thing Smalls and Morgan would want to know. But if she did that, her son might be taken away, just like her father had been. But if she couldn’t even approach her son with it, then how could she ever approach the police. Hell, she hadn’t even shown the damn thing to Brian. She just felt like the moment she said it out loud it would become real. The moment you say the words, “I think my son may have committed mass murder,” you can’t take them back. Even if you insist that you didn’t mean it, everyone will know that you did. No matter what you do with the rest of your life, you will be known as the woman who ratted out her own son.

  Julie honked her horn, grabbing Terry’s attention. He stood up, gave some final comment to Johnny and then dragged his feet to the car.

  “How was the first day back?” Julie asked as he slumped into the passenger seat.

  “Fine,” Terry shrugged.

  “Is that it? Come on. You need to give me more than that,” she pleaded. “Did everything go smoothly? There weren’t any fights, were there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Terry,” Julie said as she stifled a whine.

  “What?”

  “I just wish you would talk to me.”

  “We’re talking right now, aren’t we?”

  “I guess that depends how you define it. You’re just a mystery to me, Terry. Me and your father.”

  “Stop worrying about me.”

  “Stop giving me a reason to worry.” She started saying something else but choked it back. She wanted to ask about the flyer. She wanted to ask about everything. But then what? Where would they go from there?

  26

  Dennis went through the rest of the week attempting to keep an e
ven lower profile than normal. On Tuesday he sat by himself at lunch like he usually did, but the entire time he could feel the glares of the entire student body. After that, Dennis began to eat his lunch in the bathroom. And even though he had never been one to skip class, he began staying in there for some of them.

  Wednesday morning, he stopped by his locker. He opened it to see a white piece of paper fall out, having been slipped between the slits on the door. He unfolded it, his hands trembling the entire time. He could already see red letters that had bled through the front of the sheet. Once it was opened, he saw the large block letters spelling out the message: Go to hell you fucking psycho! I hope you die. Dennis crumpled up the piece of paper and looked around him, convinced that someone would be sneaking up behind him, but he only saw people come and go in the halls offering nothing more than the typical stares.

  The entire week, Connor tried to keep a close eye on him. Dennis not showing up to class didn’t make it any easier. He never did hear back from Dennis’s mother either, not realizing that Dennis had heard the message first and erased it.

  Starting on Tuesday, the school attempted to begin easing the students back into actual classwork. For that whole first week, students only had half of their classes every day. Between each period they had free time so as to allow people to check in with the counselors. The teachers had also been instructed not to assign any homework at all that week.

  For Connor, the whole thing slogged by, feeling as if the entire school year happened in that one week. It didn’t help that each morning began with the thorough search of each student. Shrines to the students who had been lost were erected on many of their lockers. On more than one occasion, Connor would see someone break down crying when they passed by one of these memorials.

  The teachers had been warned that there may be a number of fights breaking out due to the pressure of coming back into the building, but thankfully there were few discipline problems at all that week. It seemed that most kids felt too exhausted to even bother. And those that didn’t knew better than to start something. Connor did witness one fight, however.