Today My Name Is Billie

by Neile Parisi

  “As we looked through my file, there was the observation sheet that Mr. Anderson had written talking about my excellent lesson, and what a great job I had done. I asked for copies of all of these, and was told that they would mail them to me. Both my union representative and I read the observation sheet. I should have demanded copies then, but they were insistent that they would copy the entire file and mail it to me—which they never did, even after repeated phone requests.

  “Now today, the observation sheet you showed me is totally different. He changed the wording. This observation says that I was sarcastic with students, and that parents had problems with me. And that Mr. Anderson recommended that I have an aide and another teacher observe my teaching abilities. They said they were going to ask another faculty member to sit in on my classes, which is against union rules. None of this was in the original observation. He changed the wording to cover his behind.”

  “Were you on paid suspension when you had this meeting at the Board of Education?”

  “Yes, it was a couple of weeks after I was suspended. And five in total faculty were reassigned or eliminated.”

  “Do you know if Mr. Anderson made reports to DCF against any of these other teachers?”

  “No, I do not, but I think his behavior and conduct were extreme and outrageous.”

  “What do you think was extreme and outrageous?”

  “He acted like he approved of my teaching. He came into my classroom, watched our experiment sessions, and said how great it was, that all the students were learning hands-on. Then, all of a sudden I was a terrible teacher, couldn’t manage my class, had to be observed by other teachers, and was referred to DCF. He purposely ignored vital information, and thus caused me extreme grief and physical and emotional stress.”

  “Was there anything that prevented the DCF investigator from interviewing the other teacher?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, she came to the hearing with her letter and the petition, and they never let her speak.”

  The judicator asked for a recess. My lawyer said, “Let’s see what they offer you.” Apparently, my fate was already sealed.

  We were called back into the room after about fifteen minutes.

  Judgment was swift and painful. In less than three hours, I was dismissed from my position and my career.

  I lost my job, and it was very, very painful. I lost my income, my pension, my pride, my hope. I was left with one thing, though: a BIG BLACK X next to my name assuring me that I would never teach in this state again, and maybe nowhere else in the country.

  My lawyer was useless and a disgrace.

  “So, Mrs. Murray, we have decided that if you choose to resign and surrender your license, we will not fire you and you can withdraw your teacher retirement. If not, you will be fired, and another lawsuit may occur.”

  “What? What kind of deal is that? I lose my job and career, and I can withdraw my money and never collect teacher retirement. That is not acceptable. What about my reputation? I’ll never get to teach again! I am known as a child abuser at this point. So my file says that? I have a record as an abuser?”

  “It could have been worse. They could have prosecuted you and sentenced you to jail time,” my lawyer quipped.

  “Well, if they believe I’m guilty, why didn’t they do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll tell you why. Because some of the honest students told the truth. I never punched Daniel.”

  “I’m sorry. This is their decision.”

  “So my record says I punched him. Well, I’m not satisfied with this decision.”

  “You’ll have to report to the Board of Education in a few days and sign the forms saying you choose to resign.”

  “But I didn’t choose to resign; I was forced into it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” my lawyer said, as he gathered up his papers and left.

  Well, he got his $8,000, so he didn’t care. I got nothing.

  I wasn’t done. I called my union president, and she called DCF and demanded that my name be withdrawn from the DCF Department’s registry at the next administrative hearing. Several months later, I received a letter stating that the allegations were now listed as unsubstantiated, and that my name would not appear on a search of the perpetrator registry.

  I went home after court ended and told Philip.

  “Did they use the petition and letter?”

  “No, neither. They said they weren’t necessary.”

  “I knew you should have gotten another lawyer.”

  “He was the best in town,” I replied.

  Apparently, my fate with Philip was already sealed, as well. He was acting differently. It was obvious in our conversations and in our relationship. He acted embarrassed, and when people at his place of work asked questions, he didn’t know how to answer them. He retreated from all activities in order to eliminate the conversations. He couldn’t field the questions, so he stopped talking about any of it.

  He asked, “So, what are you going to do now? Sit around and cry and read, as usual? Why don’t you try to get another job—any job? We need the income. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Something has to change.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Job Search

  I APPEARED AT THE BOARD OF EDUCATION three days later and signed my career away. I surrendered my license.

  I developed a routine for survival. Each morning, I would rise and pray for guidance. I didn’t feel close to God, but I communicated regularly anyway. Then I would scour the papers searching for a teaching job. I did branch out in my search to include private and religious schools, but the pay was horrible and the duties overwhelming. One particular school was a charter school that required you to be there at 6:00 A.M. and stay till 6:00 P.M. for after-school activities. It was definitely asking too much. I decided to only apply to the jobs I really wanted to get, and not waste time on the others.

  For three months, I applied to seventeen different school districts, to no avail. Each took my information, saying they would call me for an interview.

  “Hi, my name is Billie Murray, and I am certified in grades one through eight. I have extensive training in eighth-grade science, and I’d like to apply for the open position in your middle school.”

  “Sure, have you filled out an application for the job?”

  “Yes, I have, and I haven’t heard from anyone in weeks. Could you please check for me?”

  “Sure, hold on, please.”

  Thirteen minutes later, someone else returned to the phone. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. We are reviewing your application, and will get back to you. Thank you.” Click.

  “Hi, I called last week about an eighth-grade science job, and was wondering if I can get an interview.”

  “Let me check. Please hold on.”

  Three minutes passed, and I heard, “Sorry that position has been filled.” Click.

  “Hello, I’m calling again about the middle school science job in your district—is it still available?”

  “Yes. Let me have your phone number, and someone will call you for an interview.”

  None of them called. And when I called them back, they did not return my calls.

  It must be true there is still a huge black X next to my name. The school board said that if I resigned, they wouldn’t fire me. I had no choice. I resigned on the condition that the X be removed from my name. I had to surrender my license, never receive my teacher retirement, and stay off school property. All of these were conditions of the deal.

  I made the choice to resign because I felt that being fired would be worse on my record, especially if I was ever going to try to teach again. The Department of Children and Families had agreed to remove the designation of child abuser from my records, but it made no difference. I still couldn’t secure an interview with any Board of Education in the state.

  It reminded me of the former mayor’s son who was questioned in the case of the murder of his former girlfriend. Eve
n after he was dismissed as a suspect, he lost his job, his wife left him, and then he ended his own life, professing his innocence till the end. How tragic.

  How many innocent people have lost their lives to lies, false information, and pure evil? There is no restitution, only pain and misery.

  In another case, two men spent twenty-seven years behind bars because they were accused of raping a young woman—they lost their case and were sent to prison, and then years later she confessed that someone else raped her and the verdict was overturned and they were released. But their lives were over, in a way: they missed births, birthdays, graduations, deaths, and moments in history they can never regain. One of them wasn’t allowed to go his mother’s funeral. The amazing thing about all of this is that the two men don’t even hold a grudge. They forgave her and found peace in prison. They discovered God, religion, and solace. They were so young when they entered prison that it was the only home they knew. I hope they can write a book someday and be reimbursed for all the misery they endured.

  For me, the greatest pain came at home. My husband and the boys didn’t know me, didn’t love me, didn’t even like me. They didn’t understand. During the day, I was either looking for a job or reading bestsellers. I thought, that’s what I should do—write a book.

  I lost track of time, and I didn’t care. I spent most of my time away from home. It was too painful to see Philip and the boys. I knew I was losing them.

  Philip wanted to talk one night. We hadn’t really talked in a great while.

  “Billie, this is very difficult for me. You know I love you, and the boys do, too. I have tried to come up with a solution to help us all. I have decided to take the boys to my mom and dad’s for a while. We’ll be leaving on Saturday. We need some time apart. I think you need some help. I can’t help you. You need professional help.”

  “Please, don’t!” I begged. “I’m trying to find work, really I am. Give me a little more time. Every day, I make progress. I think I’m going to write a book. It will help me to deal with everything that has happened.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. It’s been six months, and nothing has changed. I don’t know you anymore. You are so different. The boys ask, ‘Where has Mom gone? What’s wrong with Mom? Where is she all the time?’ You don’t play with them or talk to them. We just can’t go on like this anymore. Please get some help. I’m sorry.”

  Philip held me in his arms for a long time and kissed me goodbye. I knew it was goodbye. I could feel it in his arms and see it in his eyes, those same eyes I had fallen in love with. His eyes, now crying, were incapable of lying.

  Saturday came, and again I cried as I hugged my boys goodbye, assuring them that this would only be for a short while until I got a job.

  “Take care of yourself, Philip. I’ll see you soon.”

  I never got a job, and my family didn’t come back. I knew I had to leave, secure a job, and start a new life, but where would I go? I was scared. What the hell was really going to happen to me? I threw a few things in my car and left. I didn’t even look back, because I knew that my life there as I knew it was over.

  CHAPTER 17

  A New Life in South Carolina

  I DROVE SOUTH FOR HOURS, and when I saw the sign for Easly, South Carolina, I had to stop. It was a quaint little Southern town where the kudzu climbed up anything vertical: telephone poles, clotheslines, even antennas. The people were warm and eager to help with directions, information, and local gossip. I pulled into the parking space directly in front of Mabel’s Diner. A plump little waitress seated me, and immediately poured me a cup of coffee as the specials spilled from her mouth.

  “So, tell me about the biscuits and gravy.”

  “They the best in Souf Calina,” she announced proudly.

  “Then that’s what I’ll have, thanks.”

  She quickly returned with silverware and a napkin.

  “So what can you tell me about Easly, South Carolina?”

  “What you wanna knows?”

  “Well, my name is Billie, and I’m new in town. I’m actually looking for a job and a place to stay. What’s your name?”

  “Jessie.”

  “Pleased to meet ya. Let’s talk about you, Jessie.”

  “Okay, Billie, but don’t ya talk about ma cookin’, ma body, or ma man. But y’all wanna talk about Jesus, I got lots to tell ya.”

  I laughed so hard out loud, and then I realized I hadn’t laughed in over nine months. It sounded so good. “I’m going to like it here in Easly. So, where do you think I can sleep tonight?”

  “Not at my place, Miss Billie.”

  Again, I laughed. Jessie recommended a motel where she worked her second job. The Thunderbird was neat and clean on the outskirts of town. She was right. She said if the train whistle didn’t wake you, the hogs certainly would. Tomorrow, I would look for another home after I looked for a job.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Morning of My Birthday

  TWELVE YEARS LATER

  THE MORNING WAS UNEVENTFUL. I continued with my usual routine. I was up early at 5:00 to unlock all the doors and turn on all the lights in the school. I had my coffee on the back stoop, watching the sunrise between the pines break through the pink sky, and thought about my family. Where were they now? Did they think about me, or was it so long ago that I was just a faded memory? I hoped my mom had kept my memory alive in their hearts. She tried to keep track of them, and sometimes told me of events in their lives.

  It was the same for some of the students at Thomas E. Easly School. Several of the students were being raised by grandparents, aunts, and uncles. I wasn’t sure if they even knew where their parents actually were. Some did know, but they also knew they didn’t want to see them. Others begged to know who they were and where they came from. All of them felt some kind of love which helped them cope daily.

  I also thought about Daniel Ray. What had happened to that poor boy? I no longer hated him. I only felt sorry for him. I learned to forgive him, the principal, and Philip. I had gained peace and power through forgiveness, but I was left with a massive hurt in my heart that never quite left. Poor Daniel. What a sad life and waste of a gifted mind. I hoped he had found help.

  Where was Philip now? Where was his enduring love? It had been twelve years since I’d been with him. Six years ago, I managed to slip into a crowd and walk to the back of the bleachers just in time to see Max, our second son, receive his high school diploma. I wept as I cheered and clapped long after he had left the stage. That was the closest I’d been to him in twelve years. I missed him so much, and all the years of activities that I couldn’t be a part of. It just wasn’t fair. I told myself that someday, I would clear my name and regain my reputation. Today, I was wondering if that would ever happen.

  Max was a genius in science, and I had often prayed that he would follow my footsteps and teach. Now, I wasn’t so sure. To be honest, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. I was slowly losing faith that I would ever experience a normal existence again.

  Joseph was our oldest son: bright, beautiful, and bodacious, as he described himself. He was a free spirit, and left home at eighteen to reform the world. The last time I saw him had also been twelve years earlier, when he was fourteen. I wondered what he looked like now, where he lived, and what he was doing with his life.

  Luckily for me, his grandma, my mom, wrote to me often and called me weekly to keep me informed of the major events in their lives. She was the only one who believed me. Her voice was the most comforting sound in the whole world. When I spoke to her, I knew she loved me and that everything would be all right. I heard believable hope in her voice. She calmed the dark memories that clawed at my soul every day. She fortified me with her words. She said that someday, it would all be over, she just knew it. And I knew that when she hung up the phone, she wept, sometimes for days. Nothing compares to a mother’s love.

  Joseph wasn’t at Max’s graduation, so I assumed Philip had lost touch with him. Someday, I would see my
boys again, and love them again. I wasn’t so sure about Philip. I knew he had moved on, and rumor had it, he was now with someone else.

  I myself had met a wonderful man, Jonathan, three years previously. He worked at the local grocery store—the only one in town. Jonathan was such a catch. He was a retired police officer who had lost his wife several years earlier. Because his children and grandchildren lived in South Carolina, he had decided to stay there. He had four children and ten grandchildren. “That’s a lot of Christmas gifts!” he said with a chuckle. I thought, I wish I had grandchildren. I wish I could still see my boys. Someday I would, I promised myself.

  He was a caring man who had lost his wife a few years back, and had always been lonely after that. We chatted as he bagged my groceries, and it took me over a year to finally say yes to his repeated offers of “coffee and.”

  I liked him. I wanted to let go of the past and be with him to be free of the darkness inside, but I had reason to be cautious, to abort any excitement, to protect myself from anything that might lead to another bitter disappointment. What if he rejected me when he learned of my past, even though I was innocent? I didn’t feel strong inside.

  We attended local school plays, which sometimes produced dark memories that possessed such power over me that I was reduced to tears. They rushed into my mind with such force that I became paralyzed and couldn’t move. Would I ever be able to be around schools, activities, or even students again without experiencing a meltdown? Would I ever be able to teach again? Kind Jonathan waited patiently for me to stop crying. He never pried, just held my arm with a strong grip, comforting me until I was able to compose myself and stand.