by Nella Tyler
“Absolutely!” Brent replied, letting my shoulder free as called after me, “Hope to see you there!”
“Thank you,” I answered as I hurried out of my father’s office.
Mazie
By Friday, nearly every one of the kids, including the stragglers that normally waited until the day before a field trip to hand in their permission slips had them on my desk.
Therefore, when I met the kids by the door as they walked in, hoping to collect the balance of them, most of the children were ready to oblige.
However, there was one girl, Susie, who had recently been in trouble for behavioral problems, both in school and at home, who hadn’t given me her permission slip.
Since there was no one else around when she walked into the class, I stopped her and asked if I could have a word with her.
“Okay,” Susie answered with a slight hesitation, glancing around as though she feared she was going to be in trouble again.
I felt bad for her because I was certain that she didn’t have a stable home life. Her parents were in the middle of a bitter divorce, and the stress of her parent’s constant arguing and fighting over custody had caused the young girl to act out.
It was an unfortunate situation because, through their own stress and grief, neither her mother nor her father had any idea how to stop this unwanted behavior.
“Susie, you’re not in trouble for anything, don’t worry,” I insisted, and that seemed to help her to relax.
“Okay,” she said again, more openly this time.
“I wanted to talk to you about your permission slip,” I answered, sinking down to her level, “I haven’t received it, and normally you’re pretty good about handing them in.”
“Yeah…I don’t know if I can go,” she replied, fidgeting nervously and refusing to look me in the eye.
“Why is that?” I asked, knowing she was lying but wanting to gather more information before I decided what to do about it.
“I’ve been staying with my dad, and there’s a lot going on right now. My mom usually handles permission slips and stuff, and I haven’t seen her.”
“Should I call your dad and ask him to remind you to take it out of your backpack?”
“No…that’s okay,” Susie replied as her eyes grew wide, as though afraid I might call her parents anyway.
Knowing something wasn’t right, I peered at her carefully, but without judgment.
“Alright, well, you know that if you have anything you want to talk about, you can always talk to me or you can talk to the school counselor,” I advised.
She shook her head in agreement.
“I know, but I don’t have the permission slip yet. That’s all. I promise I’ll remember on Monday.”
I agreed, though I still didn’t believe her and she quickly scooted past me, into the classroom.
Class went on as normal, and everyone was excited about the trip. After all, it was now only three school days away, with winter break following soon after. For a second-grader, that was nearly more excitement than they could handle.
We continued our lesson about the way the holiday season was celebrated around the world, as well as working on normal schoolwork.
I kept an eye on Susie, who I noticed didn’t participate as much as she normally did.
While she was acting out, she was also something of a show-off. She was extremely intelligent and liked the attention of getting all the answers right, likely because that was the only positive attention she had received as of late.
Although today, she sat with her hands folded on her desk and her eyes wandering around the room, refusing to make eye contact or raise her hand for anything. She looked concerned, but I wasn’t quite sure why.
When the class broke for lunch, though, Susie stayed behind and asked if it would be alright if she talked to me for a second.
“Of course, it’s alright. That’s what I’m here for,” I answered kindly as I waved the teacher’s aide, Charlotte, on ahead.
When the line of children disappeared down the hall, Susie ran back to her desk and pulled out a piece of paper before returning to where I was seated at my desk.
As she neared me, I could tell that the paper was her permission slip, but I didn’t say anything at first.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lawson, I lied,” Susie explained as she flipped the paper down on my desk, “My dad did sign it and I’m afraid you’re still going to call him.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I replied, trying not to sound the least bit judgmental, “The truth is always best because now I can help you. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”
“Because I don’t want to go,” she answered simply.
“Why not?”
“Because,” Susie answered as tears filled her eyes, “I’m afraid to see Santa. He might tell me I’m bad and…I don’t mean to be bad.”
“Oh, Susie!” I exclaimed, trying to be reserved but honest in what I told her, “You aren’t bad. I know you have a lot going on at home and Santa knows that too.”
“He does?” she inquired as a small grin tugged up at the corner of her mouth.
“Of course! Santa knows everything, but…what gave you the idea that he would say you were bad?”
“My dad,” she answered as her lip pouted slightly, “When he signed the permission slip, he said that I could go, but not to be surprised if he said I wasn’t getting anything for Christmas this year because I haven’t been a good girl.”
My heart broke for this poor girl, but I tried to hide the feeling of anger I suddenly had toward her father and insisted, “Like I said, Santa knows everything and whether you are good or not should be between you and him. You know how in class we talked about how it was always good to get the whole situation before making a judgment?”
“Yeah?” Susie replied, swiping a runaway tear off her cheek.
“Well, Santa is especially good at finding out the facts and making his own judgment because that’s what he does. He takes everything into consideration, and I’m sure you are going to get everything you want this Christmas.”
“So, you don’t think he’s going to be angry with me?”
“Not at all! I think you’ll have a great time.”
This time, a big grin crossed her face.
“Thank you, Ms. Lawson!” she exclaimed.
“Of course!” I insisted, “Anytime. Are you ready to go to lunch now?”
“I think so,” she answered, and so I walked her down to the lunchroom before coming back to finish up some paperwork, prepare for the second half of the day, and make a phone call to Susie’s father. I didn’t want to start any trouble, of course, but I did want him to know about the conversation I had with his daughter.
He seemed to be contrite about it and understand the effect the comment, which he swore was a joke, had on his daughter.
We agreed not to mention it to her, but he promised to be more careful about what he said to her, especially considering everything that was going on at home.
After I hung up the phone, I was pleased. Yet, I hoped that her father did as he said he would and genuinely understood the repercussions of taking out the stress of his failing marriage on Susie.
The rest of the day was uneventful, and after school, I met with my friend, Laura, for our yoga class.
“So, what’s going on in the teaching world?” Laura, a dedicated marketer and public relations woman, asked as we waited for the class to start.
“Well, we’re going to see Santa with the kids on Wednesday. That should be fun.” I told her, fully expecting to get teased for my obvious excitement.
“That’s funny. I’m going to see Santa this week too, but it’s for a client and promises to be far less fun,” she replied.
“How’s everything in the marketing world?”
“Always changing, progressing, and striving for bigger and better, but never actually achieving the Holy Grail of advertising,” she laughed, “You know, the same. The ever-exciting hamster wh
eel.”
I chuckled, knowing all too well the incessant, twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week potential for disaster that my father’s company somehow manages to avoid for its clients.
The burden had lessened in the past few years since more people joined the company, but when I was younger, the family could hardly get through a vacation without him being called away on business. It was ridiculous, which was why I wanted no part of it.
Laura, on the other hand, was a friend of mine since grade school and took to the business almost immediately.
In high school, she asked my father to be her mentor and that decision, after a lot of hard work and dedication on Laura’s part, landed her a well-paying job in my father’s company.
She loved her job but hated the co-owner, Leo Myers, as most people did. Though my father shielded her from a lot of his bullshit and she was good at what she did, so she could wade through it without going completely insane.
As the rest of the class gathered, Laura and I brought our mats up to the middle of the community center where the class was being held, and we positioned them.
“Seriously?” Laura giggled, watching me agonize over putting everything in its perfect place, “We’re supposed to be here de-stressing, not finding things to stress about.”
“You know me, I have to have it perfect, or I’ll never relax,” I replied insistently, “And if you keep complaining about my methods, I’ll come over there and organize your belongings too!”
“Girl, keep your crazy perfectionist paws off my mat,” she retorted playfully, “But if you need to organize my stuff, I wouldn’t mind you coming to my apartment and cleaning up a bit.”
“Um…I do…Every time I come over,” I insisted.
“Oh yeah! That’s right. You start having a panic attack if you don’t clean for the first hour we’re hanging out.”
I shot her a dirty look but didn’t reply, so the two of us sat in silence until the class started, which was only a few moments.
I wasn’t angry with her since I was used to her and everyone else that I knew teasing me about my habit of being a neat freak
However, when the class was finished, Laura was eager to make conversation, which indicated she thought I might have taken her teasing the wrong way.
“So, are you coming to your father’s party tomorrow night?”
“Of course,” I grinned, “I wouldn’t miss it…couldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, you know you like it! You’re the only one who isn’t a part of the company that gets to go to this grand event,” she chuckled.
“That’s not true. You were able to go long before you could even work, let alone be part of the company.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because I’m a protégé,” she teased and I chuckled, though I knew it wasn’t far from the truth.
To my father, Laura was something of a godsend because I wasn’t interested and he wanted to be able to share his experience with someone who understood his dedication to the craft.
“You know I was only teasing you before, right?” Laura insisted, wanting to make sure the air was clear.
“Of course, I do,” I answered honestly, “And besides, I’d be in denial if I didn’t embrace my anal tendencies.”
At this, Laura’s face screwed up, and she giggled.
“Dear, God! Never describe yourself like that again!”
“You know what I mean! I’m a neat freak!” I insisted, pushing her again.
“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass!” Laura retorted, and I rolled my eyes.
“That’s not what I meant…” I grumbled.
“Anyway, speaking of a pain in the ass, guess who’s supposed to be at your father’s gala tomorrow night?”
“Really? You want me to name everyone there who could be considered—”
“Nope! Just one. Dexter.”
“Oh,” I replied, trying to hide the blush that Laura could practically sense. She wasn’t a fan of him, hence her comment but she knew that I had a crush on him.
“So, are you going to get all dolled up for him? We could get a makeover tomorrow before the party,” Laura insisted suggestively, her eyebrows raising to match her tone.
“No!” I insisted testily, “Absolutely not! I’m not getting dolled up for anyone. I have way too much going on to worry about that right now.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” she rolled her eyes, acting completely unconvinced.
“I’m not!” I narrowed my eyes, though my heart started to pound nervously as I thought about him being there and seeing him again.
The last time I had seen him was a little over two years ago. Despite my father and his father owning the same company, and Laura, I had severed all ties with that fast-paced world and didn’t want a reason to return.
Besides, I told myself, genuinely assured that this was the truth, Dexter wouldn’t be interested anyway.
Dexter
I had seen Mr. Wilson and his constituents more this week than I had seen my house. However, the deal was slowly ending, and I was thrilled that there seemed to be a major payload in my near future.
While I continued to have them on the hook, however, they still weren’t completely in the boat. As I stepped into my father’s office to give him a final update before leaving for the weekend, that unfortunate fact was evident and resounding in my mind.
I knocked on the open door before I entered and my father waved me inside.
“Close the door, Dexter,” my father instructed as he shuffled the files on his desk, set his pen down, and tore his reading glasses off the bridge of his nose, “So…” he beamed, “how did the meeting go today?”
I knew from experience that the hopeful expression on his face wouldn’t last long. The second I started to speak, his face would drop and he would return his glasses to the bridge of his nose, his disappointment entirely palatable.
Afterward, he would stare at me with discontent as though I was wasting his time, regardless of what I had to say until I simply gave up on trying to converse.
“It went well!” I answered honestly, “They are taking the weekend to talk it over with the rest of the firm but—”
“Jesus Christ, Dexter!” my father cut me off abruptly, “This foreplay you’ve got with this client has gone on since October. Do the deed already. You have to strike while the iron’s hot!” he shook his head in my direction before returning his glasses to his face and acting exactly as I knew he would.
“Yes, but this is a delicate situation. This guy is old school, and he wants to make sure he’s making a good investment.”
“He’s seen what we have to offer,” my father hissed, “If we showed him any more of our hand, we’d be rolling over and spreading fucking eagle for this guy. Why can’t you close this deal, Dexter?”
“Don’t you trust me? I know what I’m doing,” I insisted, narrowing my eyes and stepping closer to him, trying to curb my anger.
“That’s debatable,” my father hissed condescendingly as he returned his attention to the files on his desk.
“I know what I’m doing. I’ll get it done,” I answered solidly but my father paid me no mind.
I ground my teeth as I allowed the ripple of annoyance to scurry down my spine before I said another word.
“And…there’s something else…” I added carefully after swallowing both my anger and my pride to wait patiently and see if I would even be granted a response.
My father allowed a few seconds pass without even the acknowledgment of his raised, disapproving eyes, but eventually, he dragged his gaze up to stare over his glasses. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, giving off the essence of annoyance. I could probably have told him the office was on fire and he would have continued to keep the stoic look of aggravation etched into his expression.
I wanted to talk to my father about the party that I was supposed to attend the following evening, but knowing that my father was no longer in a mood to talk to me, I knew there was nothing left to say. He wouldn’t h
ear it anyway, and even if he did, his words wouldn’t be helpful. If anything, they would incite a scene I didn’t care to create.
So, instead of saying anything more, I simply shook my head.
“Never mind. It’s not important,” I turned to leave and was happy I had wheeled myself around before I heard my father speak.
“I’ve always told you, Dexter, only start a conversation if you intend to go through with it. Being so vague and unsure is like pulling your gun in the Wild West; it will likely get you hung.”
I rolled my eyes and felt my lips snarl with contempt but refrained from saying anything more. Instead, I walked forward, leaving the negativity my father ignited inside of me in the doorframe.
If anything came of it, I would simply insist I was taking my father’s advice.
Thank God, it’s Friday, I decided as I left the office, making small talk with the secretary and other coworkers, as I usually did. Throughout my socializing, I was sure not to give anyone any indication that I was only a few words away from punching that smug look off my father’s face.
While I would likely be hailed as a hero for doing something like that, I would undoubtedly be fired and that certainly wouldn’t be beneficial to my bottom line.
See… I told myself as I finally escaped the watchful eyes of my coworkers, being a selfish bastard certainly has its perks.
When I met Garrett at the gym, he was looking a little sluggish and thus, it was my turn to give him a little bit of his own medicine.
“What’s the matter, dude? Two nights out on the town getting to you? I bet you’re feeling old. Do you feel old, because I hear that over the hill is calling your name!” I jeered as I watched his face redden and the veins in his overly large neck bulge.
“This coming from the pussy who couldn’t even go out with me last night?” he retorted.
“Yeah, because I had to work. You know, a job, the thing normal people have.”
“Why would I need a job when I have a best friend that doubles as an ATM?” he asked snidely, “Who’s the idiot in this situation?”