Good, it’s working, Haunt thought.
“I’m glad that we’ve made you feel welcome here.” Jaffe said before clearing his throat.
“I’m glad, too,” Haunt said, ignoring Ms. Davis’ glare the best he could. “I hope to continue working here for many more years to come.”
Mr. Jaffe offered a weak smile, and out the corner of his eye, Haunt sensed Ms. Davis studying him.
“Two weeks ago,” Jaffe said, leaning back in his seat again, “I gave you a 30 day improvement plan.”
“Yes, and I feel like I have improved, sir. You even said so yourself when you evaluated me last—”
Mr. Jaffe put up his hand. There was a fat blister underneath his index finger that was screaming to be picked.
“I know what I said back then, but the fact of the matter is—”
“And I have tried, Mr. Jaffe,” Haunt pushed on. “Today’s accident—”
“Is in a series of many,” Ms. Davis interrupted him. The predator had finally pounced.
“Ms. Davis,” Haunt began, building up the courage to look her in the eyes. Instead, he settled on her slender nose. “I think if you look at my time here as a whole you’ll see that I’ve done more good than harm.”
Ms. Davis flipped three pages of her legal pad.
“October 2nd of last year,” she read. “Parents complained when their children came home telling them that you said, ‘What’s wrong with you people,’. Emphasis on the, ‘You people.’”
“That was very early in my time here, Ms. Davis,” he said, feeling hot above his collar. “And when I said, ‘you people,’ we both know—We all know—that I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Do we?” she said, fluttering her fake eyelashes.
“Of course we do,” Haunt said. He wanted to stand up. “I carpool with Steve Covington for Christ’s sake. I’m not racist, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Do not raise your voice at me, Mr. Haunt,” she said calmly. But in that calmness was a layer of warning behind it; a thick layer of, ‘Just try me, asshole’ “I never said you were racist. I’m simply reading what the notes tell me. But you did say that, didn’t you, Mr. Haunt? You did call some of your black students, ‘you people,’ did you not?”
“I did, but I didn’t mean—”
“December 15th, also of last year. You were in the auditorium on lunch duty and were supposed to be watching the students. But Mr. Jaffe walked in and caught you texting. While this was going on, a female student was caught performing oral sex on a male student in the back of the room. You’re lucky that didn’t make the news.”
Haunt cleared his throat. He remembered that incident all too well. The superintendent even talked to him about it. He had only been on the job for four months when it happened. They had threatened to fire him back then, too, but fortunately for him, the school had a strong union. The union rep had made the argument that he shouldn’t have been the only person in the auditorium watching the kids in the first place. A security guard should have been present as well. Unfortunately for him now, the teacher’s union wasn’t even a shadow of what it was a year ago. The state’s new governor had made certain of that.
“I think it’s unfair that you bring that up when the district absolved me of that.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“April 2nd of last year,” she continued, flipping a page. “Students recorded you on a cell phone yelling at them and they posted it on YouTube.”
Haunt blinked away angry tears. How could he possibly win this battle? The evidence was all right there in her damn yellow legal pad. He wanted to snatch it from her lap and throw it out the window. Instead, Mr. Jaffe intervened.
“Okay, Ms. Davis, I think that’s enough.”
“You were the one who called me down, Mr. Jaffe,” she said while flipping to another page. “Two weeks ago, you let a student out of your classroom to ‘go to the bathroom.’ The student never returned,’ isn’t that right, Mr. Haunt?”
Haunt bit his lower lip. He wanted to scream.
“Said student proceeded to leave the building and slashed a boy’s face with a box cutter two blocks away,” Ms. Davis said. “The student in question said it was for gang initiation week. But you never called down to the office to report that the boy had even left your classroom. Isn’t that right, Mr. Haunt?”
Haunt rubbed his face and remained quiet. He looked away from her.
“Mr. Haunt?” she persisted.
“What?”
“Isn’t that right that you didn’t call down to the office when the boy had been out of your classroom for over 20 minutes?”
“Yes! What do you want me to say? That I did call down to the office? You already know I didn’t. I already told Mr. Jaffe that two weeks ago.”
She then looked at the principal, but he didn’t return her glance, so she continued.
“You blamed the security guards that day, too. Isn’t that right, Mr. Haunt?”
“Well, they should have been watching the doors!”
“So you’re telling me that you feel completely innocent about what happened to the poor boy who had his face slashed?”
“I—” but he had nothing to say to that. He remained quiet.
“The only reason I bring these incidents up is because any one of these would have gotten you fired in another school. Just because you’re in an urban district, do you think that makes you invulnerable?”
“God no,” he said. He was losing this badly.
“You can’t say that Mr. Jaffe hasn’t been fair in keeping you here after you’ve made so many mistakes,” she continued. Haunt opened his mouth but she kept talking.
“We’ve given you three strikes,” she said. “We’ve given you more than three strikes. I have a whole other page of mistakes you’ve made. Would you like me to read them to you?”
“No.” he said with an air of finality.
“Suit yourself,” she said, and she looked at Mr. Jaffe. The principal cleared his throat.
“I’m going to be fair,” Mr. Jaffe said. “We can fire you, or you can resign.”
Chapter Nine
“What a bitch.”
Steve Covington drove his friend home. Steve was a 24-year-old, 5’6” black man with the shoulders of a lineman and the widow’s peak of a 40-year-old. He was also Haunt’s only male friend.
To Steve, Haunt was unlike any other old person he knew. Instead of being gruff, disillusioned and opinionated (like his father), Haunt was kind, gentle, and even a little strange. Instead of offering handshakes, he offered hugs. He also had the most honest eyes Steve had ever seen. Jeff Haunt was a good man.
Their friendship extended outside of work, too. When Steve’s aunt died of brain cancer a few months back, Haunt was the only person from work who came to the funeral. He brought roses and cried for her. But they shared good times, too, like when they watched Giants games at Hooters every time Big Blue played. The Giants were Haunt’s thing, and music was Steve’s. And just like Steve tailgated with Haunt when the Giants made it to the playoffs last year, Haunt saw some of Steve’s shows. Steve played bass in a Genesis tribute band called, The Giant Hogweed. They only played the Peter Gabriel years, from Trespass to The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. Haunt never had the heart to tell Steve that Phil Collins was a much better singer than Peter Gabriel and that Genesis got much better after Gabriel left. He couldn’t look Steve in the eyes when he talked to him about Genesis, but he would kindly sit there and listen to him talk about them. Haunt owed him that much for always listening to his problems.
To Haunt, Steve was a rational male voice he could talk with and confess his problems to. He had lost all of his friends years ago after he married Marigold. He had been glad to be rid of those friends, though. Many of them were still drug abusers like he used to be after his mom died. Some of them were even dead now. Really, Steve was the best thing he had going for him, other than Marigold, of course.
“I mean, you know I’m not racist, r
ight?” Haunt asked. “I wouldn’t drive with you if I was.”
“Well, gas is pretty expensive these days. Maybe you just put on your KKK outfit over the weekends.”
“Come on, Steve. I mean it.”
“Of course you’re not racist, man,” Steve said. “Lighten up. I’m only joking.”
Haunt sighed. His whole world had grown tempestuous these past few hours. Lightening up was not in the forecast.
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Yeah. Probably not. I’m sorry. I was just trying to cheer you up.”
There was a pause, and the only sound was that of the whizzing road.
“They tried to get me to resign,” Haunt said.
“And please tell me you didn’t,” Steve said, putting on the air conditioner. “They got Mr. Preziosi to resign last year. He works at a mall now. I think he’s at one of those kiosks. My students said they saw him there.”
Haunt barely remembered Mr. Preziosi. He was a fat guy, probably about 500 pounds. Huge.
“No, I let them fire me, so I’ll still be able to collect unemployment for awhile. What sucks is losing my health benefits. It’s going to cost an arm and a leg now.”
“Yeah, that does suck. I’m not gonna lie. Especially since your wife is preggers.”
Steve turned off the highway and drove onto the commercial streets past the Wendy’s and the Barnes & Nobles.
“Have you thought about how you’re going to tell her yet?”
“If I tell her,” Haunt said. The embers of hatred still burned in his stomach, but they were calming down. He got most of it out in the school parking lot when he punched the fence and dropped F-bombs. “Today might not be the best day to tell her.”
“NO day is the best day to tell her. But you still gotta do it. It’d be pretty shitty of you if you didn’t. I mean, she told you when she got fired, right?”
“Yeah,” Haunt said, looking away.
“Yeah, what?”
“Yeah, she did. But that’s different.”
“Different how?”
Haunt didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He wished he could just crawl into a cave and not wake up again until all this was over.
“She was honest with you, so you gotta be honest with her, man. It’s only right. I mean, it’s not like lying is gonna make it any easier when you do finally grow some balls and tell her. It’s only gonna make things worse. She might even leave you for it. And you know what? You’d deserve it.”
Haunt’s mouth gaped. How could Steve say such a thing? But after a moment he got over it. His friend was right, as always.
“It’s just that I’m supposed to be the provider, Steve. And I—”. His voice caught and tears wetted his eyelashes. But he wouldn’t let himself cry. Not in front of Steve.
The car came to a gradual stop at a red light. Steve patted Haunt’s shoulder and looked him in the face. There was comfort in Steve’s brown eyes, and strength, too.
“And you will provide for her, man. Eventually. You just gotta get over this little hump, which you will. I know you will. You’re a good guy, Jeff, and you deserve the best.”
The light changed and Steve started driving again. But he still looked at Haunt as his car slowly inched forward behind the other cars. “But you gotta tell your wife, man, and today. Holding onto shit like that could be the worst mistake you ever made. My dad used to keep shit from my mom all the time, and she left his ass. And he deserved it.”
“But you live with your dad!”
“I do, and I love him to death for letting me stay there for free. But he still deserved it. Secrets can kill any good relationship, Jeff. And my parent’s relationship was far from good. You can’t keep secrets from your wife, dude. Especially with her being pregnant and all. You don’t want that kind of shit on your mind when you’re driving her to the hospital. Man up and just tell her what happened today. I mean, you love her, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Haunt said proudly.
“Then act like it. Grow some stones, dude. Respect her like she respects you and tell her the truth. Be a man.”
Haunt smiled. He couldn’t help it.
“You’re a good friend, Steve,” he said as his friend turned off the highway and headed past the bank a mile from Haunt’s place.
Steve dropped Haunt at his yellow house with the brown roof.
Haunt lived on a street of middle-class, two-story homes with clean, fence-free lawns where kids ran and played. Most houses in Randolph NJ looked like this, and Haunt and Marigold always wanted to see a kid of their own running barefoot on their front lawn. They had plenty of room in the backyard for a swing set and maybe even a slide. But after what happened today…
Haunt stepped out the car and opened the trunk. He pulled out a box with all of his possessions in it and his shoulders sagged. A whole year and a half working at the school and this was all he had.
“Hey,” Steve said. “If you need anything, just call. I got a show tonight at the Barn, but I’ll keep my phone on. It shouldn’t be too late. You can even come by if you want. I’ll tell AJ to hook you up with some free drinks.”
Haunt just smiled.
“Not tonight, buddy, but thanks for asking.”
“Suit yourself, man,” Steve said, and he drove off.
I’m going to make things right, Haunt thought after Steve left. And no lying to her! Steve’s right. I have to tell her the truth.
Well, here went nothing.
The first thing he noticed was the open basement door. It blocked his path.
“Honey?” Haunt said, putting the box down on the carpet and pushing the door forward to look down the staircase. He turned on the light and saw a slipper sticking up from the bottom step.
“Marigold!”
He bounded down the stairs—BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!—and screamed when he saw his wife.
“Marigold, wake up, baby. Please don’t do this to me. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”
Her eyes were closed and her crotch was soaked with blood. A red bruise stained her forehead.
“Marigold, please, please, please,” Haunt begged, shaking her back and forth on the floor. “Wake up, Marigold! Wake up!”
He put his ear to her chest and thank God! A heartbeat. He kissed the bruise on her forehead with his tongue partly sticking out, almost offering tiny licks. He fumbled with his cell phone and called 911.
Chapter Ten
Marigold woke up on cold cement. Her stomach groaned and air sputtered out of her anus and vagina. It smelled like dried blood.
When it was finally out, she moaned. Whatever had gotten into her was gone now.
The ceiling was wavy like there was too much heat in the room. She turned over and rested a hand across her stomach. It felt different for some reason, flatter.
She pushed herself up and her legs turned into spaghetti. The ground shifted. When she caught her balance, her eyes narrowed on the basement window. It was so bright she couldn’t stand to—
“Look.”
“Huh?”
That sounded like it came from the washer and dryer. But the area shifted in front of her as if it was water. When she looked again, nobody was there. Didn’t she just hear somebody say something a second ago?
Never mind.
Marigold staggered over to the stairs and stopped at the sight of red splotches on the ground. The small amoeba-like circles turned the gray floor brown. She scratched the back of her head and felt scabs underneath her hair.
BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!
Marigold jumped. Her eyes raced to the closed door at the top of the stairs.
But there was only silence now.
She grabbed the banister and—
“Marigold!” a voice shrieked from behind the door.
“Wake up, baby. Please don’t do this to me. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”
There was a flashing light beneath the door and the room shook. Everything in the basement crashed, including Marigold, who fell to her back. On the col
d floor, she sensed Jeff on the other side of the door. His ear was against it, listening. But listening for what?
A heartbeat, a distant voice whispered. He’s listening for a heartbeat.
“Jeff,” Marigold said, picking herself up. “Hold on. I’m coming.”
She raised her leg to take her first step. Her panties were soggy. Blood had seeped right through and stuck to her thighs, making them sticky. She dragged herself up the stairs, cringing.
“Marigold, please, please, please,” Jeff cried, and she felt teardrops hit the other side of the door.
Three more steps to go.
“Wake up, Marigold, wake up!” the room trembled.
She grabbed the doorknob. It was freezing.
She covered her hand with the bottom of her pajama shirt, and turned the doorknob to open the door. On the other side was a corridor of brown darkness that expanded in front of her like an unfurled carpet.
“What the hell?”
The smell of mud assaulted her nostrils. It awakened a sort of consciousness within her that she hadn’t felt a moment ago. Beneath her feet the stairs were gone; just more brown darkness stretching on forever.
And then, it hit her right between her eyes like a paintball pellet.
Did she…die?
Her hands clutched her stomach, but her belly was flat and doughy like before she had gotten pregnant.
“Aiden!”She shouted at her stomach, clawing at it. “Where are you?”
She met no response. She tore at her hair and let out a guttural shriek. Her knees buckled and she fell. Instinctively she put her hand out to catch herself and gasped. A slimy, wet object slurped her hand. Did something just lick her?
Marigold shook out her hand and backed up against the wall. A legion of tongues slurped at her hungrily. She nearly jumped right out of her pajamas. She turned to run but the muddy ground was too thick. So she stomped into the brown darkness as the moist tongues panted for her flesh.
The sound made her trudge faster. The mud loosened around her ankles. Her feet got into a good rhythm: left, right, left, right. But she hit another slippery patch and fell face first. The sea of mud split apart and the walls laughed at her. It sounded like dogs wagging their tongues in heat.
The Darkness of the Womb Page 3