“First George has all the subtlety of an octopus on speed, then you . . .” She ripped off my jacket and balled it up before shoving it furiously into my chest. “Unbelievable!” She stormed off, and I hurried to follow her.
“Wait! Elizabeth!” She held one hand up to me without looking over her shoulder and shook her head, the universal signal for “get lost.” I watched, stunned and helpless, as she strode back into the gymnasium.
Well, that went well. I can’t wait for the harassment claim to show up on my desk.
* * *
To say the next several weeks were uncomfortable would be an understatement. I could not fathom how I had been so wrong. I was sure I had read all the signs—the glances, the giggles, the sly comments. Now, in retrospect, it was obvious. She was making fun of me, laughing at me, insulting me, but I was too dense—too smitten—to see it.
It didn’t hurt so much that she didn’t have feelings for me. It hurt that she did have feelings for me—feelings of disgust. Feelings of disdain. I had no idea what I had done to ignite her dislike. And I was too cowardly to ask.
I searched my memory for any slight I’d dealt her. Yes, there was the insult to her mother, but I thought we’d moved past that. I honestly could not think of anything else I’d done. I was the type of person who always wanted to tackle challenges head on, but what could you do when you didn’t even know what the issue was? It gnawed at me. It kept me awake at night.
I needed to get over it. I eagerly welcomed the approaching holiday break to escape those angry brown eyes.
On the last day before break as students rushed out the doors like felons on parole, I lingered long enough to make a final round of the halls before making my own getaway. As I passed through the east wing, I noticed a large water spill on the floor. I was not sure where Mr. Collins was, but I could certainly handle sopping up the mess with a few paper towels. I skirted around the puddle and headed around the corner to the janitor’s closet.
It was a small room the size of a walk-in closet, and the rolls of paper towels were located on the back wall. I pulled the chain on the lightbulb overhead and stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind me. I rummaged in the dimness until I found the towels then turned to leave . . . only . . . my hand met thin air when I reached for the door knob. I looked down and saw nothing except a hole where the handle once was. I pushed on the door, but it had locked behind me.
Great.
I looked at my watch. Four thirty. I knew Mr. Collins’ shift did not end until five thirty, and he would probably come by, so I was in no danger of being stranded in a closet over the two-week winter break. I pulled out my cell phone to call him, but there was no reception inside the cave. I sighed.
All around me were cleaning supplies and newspapers. In one corner was a folded lawn chair next to a small end table upon which was a stack of magazines. With nothing better to do, I sat in the chair and opened the magazine on the top of the stack. The words were English but made little sense to me. I flipped back to the cover. It read: Astrophysical Journal. No wonder.
Intrigued, I riffled through the stack. Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics. Physics of the Dark Universe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Bill Collins was brushing up on his wizarding skills in preparation for a position at Hogwarts.
I shifted through the rest of the magazines hoping to find something of interest, but nary a People or Playboy was to be found. I planted my chin in my palm and settled in to wait.
I must have dozed off in the dim silence, because I jerked awake when the door swung open. I raised my hand to shield my dark-accustomed eyes against the sudden glare.
“Will?” Elizabeth’s voice asked in surprise.
“Wait! Don’t—” the room went dark again as the door closed behind her “—let the door shut,” I uttered weakly.
“What? Why? Oh, hell!” I heard her fumbling for the non-existent door handle. She banged on the door for a moment, then said, “Are we trapped?”
“Yes.”
She reached into her jacket pocket for her phone, only to arrive at the same conclusion that I had. “And no cell reception. Fantastic.”
“Relax. Bill’s shift isn’t over until five thirty. He’ll let us out.” I checked my watch again. “In half an hour.”
“I came in for paper towels . . .” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder toward the hallway outside.
“Yes, so did I.”
Elizabeth rubbed her arms as if chilled. It looked more like a protective gesture, aimed to put space between us. The tense silence made my ears ring.
“Well, this is awkward.”
“Yeah,” she said. More silence.
“It’s going to be a very long half hour if you give me the cold shoulder the whole time.” I crossed my legs nonchalantly. I could do this all night.
“I could start by making a comment about how you’re trapped in the closet.”
“Is it some kind of rule that you have to be rude to me? Or is it just voluntary?”
“Rude? Me? Ha, that’s a joke. I wasn’t the one slobbering all over you.”
“I said I was sorry. It was a mistake. Believe me, I’m regretting it more than you.”
“Really? Why is that? Ms. Brunhilda isn’t attractive enough for you? In my potholder sweater and Brillo Pad hair?”
My mouth hung open. How did she know about that?
She snorted a bitter laugh. “You must know Charles has the biggest mouth in the school.”
I did now. I’ll kill him. I tried a defensive posture.
“I’ve seen you bust Richard’s balls to his face. You can’t honestly be that sensitive.”
“That’s just like you to turn it around to my problem.” She shook her head derisively. “You are the worst principal I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with.”
Well, this was getting personal.
“How so? Because I don’t hold everyone’s hand in a drum circle? Because I expect everyone to do their job well? Because I have high standards?”
Even in the dim light I could see her face had flushed red. I guess I pressed a button. Served her right.
“You know, it wouldn’t be so bad if you were just an asshole. But the fact that you’re completely clueless to it is astonishing. As is your complete and utter lack of social skills. Do you have any friends? Do you even go home at night? Or do you just camp out in your office, calculating your weekly stats?”
“So, it’s fine for you to insult me personally but it’s overkill for me to provide constructive criticism? Unbelievable.”
“Constructive criticism? That’s what you call it when Veronica comes to me in tears, asking me if I can help grade her papers because you’ve given her a warning?”
“Veronica’s performance is none of your concern.”
“Apparently, it’s none of yours either. Did you know that her husband was in a car crash in August and has been in the hospital since then? That man is learning to walk again, and all you care about is whether at least sixty-five percent of her class passes the next standardized test.”
I said nothing. I hadn’t known.
“Or that Richard teaches yoga at a homeless shelter every Saturday, and that’s why he doesn’t come to your stupid ‘educational enrichment’ classes.”
Nope. Hadn’t known that either.
“Or that George had to take out a loan to pay for his mother’s hospital stay because you cut off her trust fund? Oh, wait, I guess you would know that.”
Now that, I knew, was a bald-faced lie. I was glad she’d brought him up; I was beginning to feel bad, but now I was furious.
“You seem awfully interested in George and his finances. If you knew half the truth about him, you’d know why I detest him.”
She shook her head, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
“And that’s just my point. He’s not good enough for you. None of us are good enough for you. If it had been you instead of Charlie who interviewed me, I’d never h
ave taken this job. Almost from the first day we met, I knew that you were a self-absorbed tool.”
“That’s enough.” I ground my teeth and balled my fists. I was about to unleash a litany of insults that would be sure to reduce her to a quivering blob of tears, when the closet door jerked open.
Bill Collins stood framed in the doorway briefly before he stepped inside. Forgetting our argument, both Elizabeth and I shouted, “No!” Alas, we were too late. The door clicked shut.
“What are you two doing in here?” Bill’s soft, bewildered voice hung in the air.
“Now we’re locked in here for the next two weeks!!” Elizabeth exclaimed, panic laced in her voice. I suspect she was more disturbed by the fact she’d be stuck with me than by the prospect of possible cannibalism.
“Why?” Bill put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the door handle.
“Why on earth do you have the door handle in your pocket?” I yelled.
“In case I get locked in, of course.”
Creep
I had two long, miserable weeks to consider all Elizabeth had said. Was she right? Did I look down on everyone around me? I had to admit that there were times when it seemed to me that what I thought was clearly superior to what others thought, that I was right and they were wrong. But better than them? No.
Yet, if I was honest, I could see her point. Being criticized, even with the best of intentions, is never fun. If there’s already a seed of resentment, say, planted by a certain person who has reason to despise me . . .
Of course, her accusations went well beyond my interactions with her, and that’s where it really stung. How could I have been so ignorant about my own co-workers’ life situations? Was I that unapproachable? Was I that . . . disliked?
I vowed to change that. Not for Elizabeth—no, that was a lost cause. But I could make a better effort to know and show that I care for the people who work for me. I owed it to them.
So, I reached out to Veronica Crane over the holidays and stopped by to visit her husband. I assured her that she could take as much time as she needed, that her job would still be there. I helped her fill out paperwork for family leave and committed to ensuring that she was financially stable, whether through insurance, state benefits, or a personal loan. I went completely Charles Dickens on her and sent a full Christmas dinner to her house, followed by several Amazon deliveries for her two kids. It was nerve wracking at first—I don’t have any kids and have no idea what ten-year-old twin boys would want. But I figured an X-Box and a few games couldn’t hurt. God bless us, everyone.
When school resumed in January, I sought out Bill Collins and asked him point blank about his reading materials.
“What are you doing with these?” I asked, holding up a fan of astrophysics academic journals.
He shrugged. “Just keeping up.”
“With what?” I laughed.
“My old friends at NASA.”
My jaw dropped. “You were a janitor at NASA?”
“Of course, not. I was an astrophysicist. I retired fifteen years ago.”
“What the hell are you doing working as a janitor?”
He shrugged. “My wife doesn’t like me staying around the house. I had to find a job, and this is as easy and mindless as it gets. I can think about things while I’m working.”
“Things?”
“Oh, yeah. String theory. Subatomic particles and their defiance of physics. The simultaneous expansion and contraction of an infinite universe. Things. My friend Neil and I had this theory we were working on before he went all Hollywood and became Mr. Tyson.”
“Your friend Neil. Wait. Did you just name-drop Neil deGrasse Tyson?”
“Oh, do you know him too?”
* * *
“And that, my friend, is why I chose phys ed.” I peered over the mountain of geometry homework at Richard, who stood at my office door. “At six p.m. on a Friday, your bachelor life has clearly gotten out of hand.” He grinned and sank into the chair before my desk.
“Somebody had to step up. Veronica’s out for the next three weeks, and geometry teachers are hard to come by.”
“I’m surprised you remember it well enough to grade papers.”
“Never underestimate the power of Google.”
He chuckled and fidgeted with his ball cap. “You up for a beer? Or whatever girly drink it is you order. Mai Tai or Sex on the Beach?”
I gave the papers a wry glance and tossed my red pen on the desk. “Sure.” I stood and thrust my arms into my jacket. “I’ll order you your first Blow Job.”
His friendship had sort of snuck up on me. We had nothing in common, with him being a military man and me being a wuss, but I liked him and he seemed to like me, so there it was.
We walked three blocks to an old Irish bar and sat at a table. He spun his chair around and sat on it like a cowboy, folding his arms on the back.
“That one’s a real cutie,” he said, nodding toward the door. I looked over my shoulder and saw Elizabeth shrugging out of her coat. I looked back at Richard. He had a sort of dreamy smile on his face, made utterly ridiculous by the foam mustache left by his beer. My stomach dropped, and I looked down into my glass.
Suddenly, this was the last place I wanted to be. I’d hid from her like a scared mouse ever since school resumed. It was a matter of self-preservation. I couldn’t get over the things she’d said to me. I couldn’t be in the same room with her. If she entered the teacher’s lounge, I’d leave. I’d patrol the other side of the yard when the students waited for pick-ups. I ate at my desk instead of the cafeteria unless I was on duty, and even then I kept my distance. None of it changed how I felt about her.
I hated that she hated me, and I hated myself for still wanting her.
“Hey there, darlin’!” Richard held up his hand and waved her over.
“Oh, hey, hi guys!” Elizabeth’s smile lit up her eyes, crinkling the fine lines around them. I always liked that on a woman; I’d take laugh lines over Botox any day. Her hand dropped on my shoulder and I froze. “This is my sister, Lydia. Lydia, this is Richard and Will.”
I looked up and nodded politely at the strawberry blonde standing next to Elizabeth. They were film negative images of each other: chestnut hair and chocolate eyes next to auburn hair and cornflower blue eyes. Both were beautiful in their own way, but I’d always have a preference for the warmth of Elizabeth’s peach complexion over the cream of her sister’s.
“Can we join you?” Elizabeth glanced at Richard and then at me. I nodded, still unable to speak. Richard pulled out the extra chairs and the ladies sat.
Two beers later, I still had not said a word. Somehow the conversation carried on around me, yet nobody seemed to notice that I was there. I wanted to sink under the table. I wanted to go home.
“I saw you, you know.” My head jerked up. Elizabeth had pulled her chair a few inches closer to me and was leaning in, her voice low.
“What?” I think it came out as a squeak.
“I saw you yesterday. You paid for the cookies.”
I stared at her blankly.
“The Thin Mints. George stole them from the Girl Scouts’ table, and you paid for them.”
I nodded.
“It was nice.”
I blinked and gave her a smile that probably looked like I was crapping myself.
She leaned in further, her voice barely audible. “And . . . I’m sorry.”
I shook my head slightly and cleared my throat. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
She glanced at Richard and Lydia, who were deeply embroiled in a flirtation that assured me he was not likely go home alone.
“Do you think we could talk outside?” she asked, touching my forearm lightly. I nodded once, and after giving Lydia and Richard a brief (and ignored) explanation, we stepped outside into the frigid night air.
She pulled her cream woolen coat tighter around her and looked at the ground. I stayed silent while she gathered her thoughts.
&nb
sp; “The thing is, I’m really sorry. I said some pretty rough things to you, and you didn’t deserve that. I can see it now. George told me . . .” She looked around uncomfortably, then took a deep breath and started again. “It doesn’t matter what he said. The point is, I guess my feelings were hurt, and I was ready to believe him.”
“I hurt your feelings?”
She nodded and gave me a crooked smile. “You know, Ms. Brunhilda. Not pretty enough to tempt you. It hurt. Then when I changed the way I looked, you accused me of looking for another job. And let’s not forget what you said about my mom.”
I cringed. “Elizabeth, I’m the one who should be apologizing. Everything you said that day was true. Everything.” I took a step closer to her. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
She stuffed her hands into her pockets and looked down.
“Yeah, I am too. I’m sorry for leading you on.”
I froze. So I hadn’t been wrong; she had been flirting with me. I took a step backwards.
“You knew how I felt?”
She nodded.
“And you led me on so that you could reject me? Like some kind of lesson?”
“It sounds terrible when you put it like that, but yes, I guess that’s what I did.”
“That’s really shitty, Elizabeth.”
“Why do you think I’m apologizing? I know it was shitty. I feel bad about it. I want to apologize. I hate how things are. I hate the tension. I want us to be friends. Or at least not enemies.”
My emotions were in complete disarray. I had a mix of anger and elation, humiliation and vindication all at once. Mostly I just wanted to punch George. I took a deep breath.
“Ok, I guess I did deserve it; I was an ass. So . . . yeah. Not enemies.”
That uneasy truce was the best I could hope for.
* * *
“So she confessed that she’d led you on.” Anne handed me a glass of wine and curled up next to me on her sofa. Her condo was the first place I’d headed from the bar.
I nodded.
“But in response to something George had told her.”
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 30