“So this sheet right here is the guidelines for the report. You will see which parts are graded and how many points everything is worth. You can do it on whatever book you want.” I eyed a particular group of rowdy boys in the back. “Within reason,” I added.
“Crap,” one of them, Zain, muttered. “That’s censorship you know?”
“Hey, I don’t make all the rules, kid. Take that up with the school board.” Where the hell do kids hear this shit?
I finished handing out the assignment and telling them the rest of the requirements for the book report. Words like “work cited pages” and “APA format” seemed lost on them as their eyes started to glaze over. I couldn’t blame them because I caught myself trying to stifle a yawn or two, as well.
I walked over to my desk when I was done boring the class half to death, and scribbled out a quick note. As soon as I was done signing my name, the bell rang to dismiss the students. “Jackson, wait a second.”
I didn’t miss his epic eye roll as he shoved his notebook and text into his backpack. I stayed seated behind my desk until every student, except Jackson, fled my class and then stood to walk over to him. With an outstretched hand, I handed Jackson the folded piece of paper. “I expect this to get delivered to your father, and I want a response tomorrow. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson grumbled, as he snatched the paper from my grasp and jammed it into his pocket.
I tried to stifle a smile as I went to sit back at my desk, waiting for the next kids to arrive. It was almost time to irritate some more students.
****
“Where are you?” the female voice asked through the speaker of the phone.
“Um, sitting on my couch,” I answered and scratched my chin. I really needed to shave but couldn’t be bothered at the moment.
“Exactly,” was the snippy reply.
“Oooookay,” I drug out the word. “Was there a purpose for this call? I have papers to grade.”
“Do not use that tone of voice with me Anthony Matteo Capriotti.”
“Sorry, Mom,” I replied ruefully and stifled a sigh.
“Sorry for taking that tone or sorry that you’re late for our dinner?”
Shit! My mother and I had a monthly standing dinner date. We got together the third Monday of the month and had been since my father died a little over a year ago. The rest of the time was divided between her work as a social worker and helping my sister, Sofia, with her two small children.
I jackknifed off the couch and hurried to put my shoes on. “Crap! I’m sorry! I got caught up grading papers and lost track of the time. I’m on my way.”
“Of course, you did,” she said, with a knowing sigh. “See you soon. At Giuseppe’s.”
I hung up the phone without another word and raced to my car. Her final parting comment wasn’t needed, as we ate at Giuseppe’s every time we met up. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of town so it’d take more than a few minutes to arrive there. But the food was great and well worth the trip. And it was an added bonus that Giuseppe was my uncle.
With a squeal of the tires I pulled into the first parking spot I could find and sprinted toward the restaurant. When I arrived at the door, I stopped long enough to catch my breath and pull myself together to look presentable. With a deep breath, I pulled the door open and stepped inside to find my mother. Of course, she was seated at our usual table by the window. I took another deep breath and slowly exhaled it and walked to the table, already bracing myself for the inevitable conversations of when would I finally settle down and make her a grandmother.
The dinner passed as I expected, with me deflecting any conversations that had to do with relationships or children. A little over an hour later, I was back in the comforts of my own home grading more papers. With the exception of waking up naked with my ex, my life was pretty routine, and it was exactly how I liked it. I didn’t have time for much excitement.
Class the next day was exactly how I knew it’d be. We traipsed down to the library while the kids searched for a book to do their book report on. A few students picked out their books straight away and settled at various tables to dive in. Others wandered around aimlessly looking clueless. And the rest? Well, they didn’t even hide the fact that they weren’t interested and instead just engaged in conversations amongst their friends. I just stayed in the back and chatted with the librarian. Well, I chatted and she flirted.
I never gave her any encouragement, or indication, that I was interested in her in that way. But she was relentless. I could literally see the sparks of sexual interest in her eyes and the way she’d try to seductively bite her lip was hard to go unnoticed—and a bit comical. But how do you tell someone you’re not into them because they don’t have a dick? Especially when that someone is a colleague?
I’d tried to give her hints. I’d turned down every invitation. And at one point I even lied and said I was seeing someone, but still she continued on. I knew I was going to have to be blunt and let her down—harshly. Because she obviously didn’t like things the gentle way. She’d let me know that little unwanted tidbit of information more than once. And while I had to give her kudos for going after what she wanted, I just wished it wasn’t me she was after. It was going to be a long school year, and we weren’t even done with the first semester.
When we arrived back to my classroom, I had the students pull out the books they’d chosen and let them get an early start on reading. The look of confusion on Jackson’s face was hard to miss. Just one more piece of the puzzle falling into place.
“Jackson,” I said once the bell rang. “Do you have something for me?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled and rifled through his backpack. “Here.” He thrust the paper in my direction.
I flipped it open and smiled when I saw the scrawl on the bottom that was supposed to represent Mr. Anderson’s signature.
“Great. So Wednesday I’ll see you after school,” I said as I made a quick note on my calendar.
“Do we really have to do this?” he asked quietly.
“If you want to pass this class, then yes we have to do this. You’re not the only one who is giving their time up for this, you know,” I reminded him.
“I guess.” He focused all of his attention on zipping up his backpack.
“Get to class and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya, Mr. A.”
I watched the little guy’s retreating back before I turned around to erase the dry-erase board. I was looking forward to Wednesday afternoon. Not only was I going to get to spend more time with Jackson, but I would hopefully narrow down exactly what his problem was.
Chapter 7
Marcus
“Don’t forget I have to stay after school today,” Jackson reminded me before he got out of my car.
“Right. I’ll be here at five to get you,” I said. I didn’t want to hurry him, but we were once again late for drop off.
Jackson had conveniently misplaced his shoes this morning and flat out refused to wear any other pair. After spending a good twenty minutes that I didn’t have to waste, we finally found them buried in the back of his closet. Clearly, the cleaned room didn’t last that long. Thankfully traffic was light, and I dropped him off and had my ass planted in my office chair with seconds to spare.
My day was spent schmoozing new clients and going over the mock ups for a huge campaign that we would be presenting. Putting in the long hours during my marriage to Rebecca had its advantages. My hard work and diligence paid off, and I was able to move up the employment ladder rather quickly. At thirty years old, I headed my own advertisement team. I was pulling in my own clients, doing the presentations, and had a small department who answered to me. By thirty-five I was head of the entire company. Mr. Frazier, of Frazier Advertising was retiring and his son didn’t want any part of it. He had his own dreams and being head of an advertisement agency wasn’t one of them. So the position went to me, with the blessing of Mr. Frazier’s son. And now I had an en
tire company who answered to me. And as amazing as it was, it was also overwhelming at times.
“If that’s all you have for me, Mr. Anderson, I’m going to call it a night,” Sheila said as she stood up from where she was seated in the chair that faced the front of my desk. Her ever present steno pad was clutched in her hand along with her favorite pen that she used to take meticulous notes.
“Sure, that’s no problem.” I waved her off, already distracted as I scrolled through an email.
“Thanks, besides I promised my husband I’d make him pot roast, and seeing as it’s already after five, if I don’t leave now to finish it up, we won’t be eating until almost eight,” she said with a laugh as she started to walk out of the room.
“What did you just say?” Sheila stopped in the doorway and stared at me with wide eyes. “That if I didn’t finish the pot roast my family and I won’t be eating until almost eight?”
“What time did you say it was?” I asked irritably. I didn’t care about her pot roast.
“After five?”
“Damn it!” I screamed as I jumped to my feet. I threw my brief case on my desk and shoved any piece of paper that littered the top into it and slammed the lid shut. I raced over to the coatrack and snagged my suit jacket off and nearly shoved a gaping Sheila out of my way as I hurried out the door.
“Fuck!” I yelled and pounded my hand on my steering wheel. I had one, just one, important job to do today and that was to pick up my son from school—and I failed miserably.
Luck happened to be on my side again as I drove to Jackson’s school. Cars were scarce as I had not hit the rush hour traffic yet, and I made it to school much faster than I did that morning. I didn’t even bother turning off the ignition as I braked in front of the main entrance and rushed into the building.
“There you are,” a soft voice said to me as I skid to a stop in Jackson’s classroom.
“I am so sorry. I got-.”
“Held up at work,” Jackson finished for me, and I felt the shame down to my bones. “I know.”
I winced at his tone. Jackson didn’t sound angry or irritated with me. No, he sounded … disappointed. And that made me feel even worse. But, who could blame him? I was disappointed in myself.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. A,” Jackson said as he shouldered up his backpack and made his way out the door.
“Mr. A, I can guarantee you that this will not happen again.”
“Anthony.”
“Pardon?” I asked, squinting my eyes in confusion.
“My students call me Mr. A. Parents may call me Anthony,” Anthony said as he stood up from the student desk he was seated at.
“I see. Well I’ll make sure I’m here to get him on time on Monday,” I reassured him.
“Friday,” Anthony told me as he neatly stacked the books that were on top of the desk.
“Friday?”
“Yes. After what I noticed today, I believe that Jackson will benefit from three days a week instead of two.”
“Is it that bad?” I asked in surprise.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied and his eyes were filled with judgment even though his voice remained extremely friendly. “Friday.”
With that final word Anthony turned his back on me, and I knew I had been dismissed. I stepped out into the hallway and saw Jackson standing there waiting for me.
“How did it go?” I asked as we walked out to my car. Thankfully it was still there.
Jackson just shrugged and opened the passenger side door to crawl inside. He shrugged off his backpack, threw it on the floor and clicked his seatbelt into place with a snap. Then he slammed the door shut and turned his head until he stared out the window.
“So I take it you’re not speaking to me,” I said when I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
Still no response.
“Jackson, I’m so sorry. I got caught up in a meeting and time just slipped away from me.” I cast a quick glance in his direction.
“Sure, it did,” Jackson said softly.
“I swear it did, buddy.”
“Aren’t you the one who always tells me not to lie?”
I swallowed and nodded even though he couldn’t see me. Where was he going with this?
“Then why are you lying to me right now?” he asked.
“Kiddo, I-.” I stopped talking. What the hell did I say to that? “What do you think I’m lying to you about?”
Jackson turned to stare at me with wide, sad eyes. “That you got busy at work. Just admit that you forgot to come get me.”
I couldn’t answer him, and my silence was all the confirmation he needed. Jackson was right. The minute I clocked in at work my mind went straight into manager mode. Nothing else mattered, including my son… and I knew I’d never be able to make things right with him.
Dinner that night was exactly how I expected it to be. Jackson just poked at his food and barely ate anything, even though I’d ordered his favorite pizza as a way to make amends. And when I finally sent him to take a shower and get ready for bed, he didn’t even argue.
My heart was heavy and guilt ridden as I cleaned up the dinner remains. When I went to dump Jackson’s plate in the trash, I grimaced when I saw that he’d only taken a bite. I dumped his food in the trash and rinsed his plate before loading it in the dishwasher. I stashed the extra pizza, loaded with pepperoni, in the fridge and figured we could have it for leftovers tomorrow.
I made my way to his bedroom and knocked lightly on the door. When I entered, I saw the form of his body lying on his bed under his comforter.
“Are you asleep?” I asked even though I knew the question would be met with silence.
I crept quietly into his room and sat down on the edge of his bed. Jackson didn’t even look in my direction, but I could tell by the hitch of his breath that he was listening to me.
“I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about today. I promise you, I will not forget you on Friday. You’re my son and you matter to me more than anything else in this world. I love you very much.”
I stood up and leaned over the bed to kiss him on his temple. And when I was walking out the door, I heard a faint voice, “I love you too, Dad.”
With a smile I walked into my office, but when I sat down at my desk, for the first time in I wasn’t sure how long, my heart and mind weren’t focused on work. Instead, they were focused on how to make things right with Jackson.
Chapter 8
Anthony
“This book is so stupid.” Jackson tossed the paperback on the desk in frustration.
“You’re the one who picked it,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, because the cover made it seem cool. But it’s not.”
“Why isn’t it cool?” I asked and tried to stifle a grin.
“Well, why can’t they see color? And why is the creepy old man the only one who can?”
It was so hard to hide the laugh that was trying to escape, so I covered it with a cough. I could definitely see his point with the old man being a creep. “That’s the entire point of the book. Why don’t you read it and find out?”
Jackson stared at me with a look that screamed really? It was our Friday after school session, and we had made some progress with his book report, with a few struggles along the way.
“Tell you what, how about you read a chapter and then I read a chapter? How’s that sound?” I offered.
The gratitude that filled his eyes nearly took my breath away. And it made me wonder if I was the first teacher who noticed that this poor kid struggled to read. And that thought almost brought me to tears. How could they miss something this big?
“Really?” he asked wearily.
“Absolutely. Start here.” I opened the book and flipped to the chapter he was stuck on and handed it to him.
Slowly, he started to read. I listened as he stumbled through the words. I encouraged him when he’d start to get frustrated. And I had him sound out the words slowly, and repeat them back to me multiple t
imes until he felt more confident in reading them.
“My head hurts,” Jackson grumbled. “Can’t you take over?”
“It’s not my turn yet. You have a few more pages left,” I replied.
“Well, then can I go get a drink of water? My stomach aches.”
“Sure,” I said cheerfully. “Just as soon as your chapter is over.”
“But, it hurts so bad,” Jackson whined.
“Which one? Your head or your stomach?” I asked.
Jackson’s eyes widened for a second. “Um, both?”
I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh that time. “Finish your chapter, and then it’ll be my turn.”
Jackson sighed and returned to his book. I had made it a point to check the time when he started reading, and then checked it again when he was finally finished. Between stumbling over the words, getting some of the sentences confused, and accidentally rereading a few lines—not to mention the times he stopped to complain of stomach and headaches—it took him almost thirty minutes to read the pages aloud. And that’s when I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I needed to speak to his father. I just wasn’t sure how to go about it. Talking to him about such a touchy subject wasn’t something you went into lightly and just blurted out. And I didn’t think it would be something that Mr. Anderson would easily accept.
“Good job, buddy. Now go take a quick drink and then it’s my turn.”
Jackson was grateful and rushed out of the classroom. He was gone no less than a minute before he was beside me again. I opened the book back up and started to read the pages aloud to him. And while I read, I couldn’t help but notice how enthralled he was at the story. He seemed to love every word I spoke and was lost in the story that I was reading him. So no, he didn’t think the book was stupid, he just didn’t comprehend what he was trying to read.
“Alright, now let’s start summarizing what we just read so we can add that to your report.”
“What?” Jackson asked in confusion.
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