Whisper Down the Lane, Clay Chapman [best short books to read txt] 📗

No jewelry, unless you count her wireless glasses. She seems to go through a rotation of hip-length blazers. Today is turquoise. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says as she glances over her own agenda. “Quick addendum. I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

I would’ve said bunny, but that’s just me.

“I’ll have a card for Ruth tomorrow. If you could all sign it, that’d be wonderful. Just a little something to say we’re all sorry for her loss. I’ll leave it in the faculty lounge.”

No mention of Professor Howdy or what happened to him. No suspects.

Our faculty meeting begins with a team-building exercise. The agenda even says so. Just a fun activity to bring teachers together. “This is a great game to play with students,” Condrey says. “Especially on the first day. Nice icebreaker.”

I’m imagining tossing a beach ball around the circle to see how long we can collectively keep it in the air or some version of Zip-Zap-Zop.

“Two Truths and One Lie,” she announces. “In class, I always prefer Two Truths and One Tall Tale, just so I’m not advocating for kids to fib…but we’re all adults.”

The rules are simple. Each teacher has to share three things about themselves. Two are true, the third is a total fabrication.

Condrey zeros in on me from across the circle and smiles. Something about her stare makes me feel the slightest bit on edge. Had she heard me mocking her? Why do I suddenly feel like she caught me doing something I shouldn’t? “Why don’t you go first, Richard?”

“Sure.” I feel the spotlight shining on me. I glance through its imagined glare and find Tamara. She leans back in her chair with one eyebrow arched as if to say, This should be fun.

“Hi. I’m Richard, your friendly neighborhood art teacher. Okay. Let’s see…”

My mind goes blank. This is harder than I’d expected.

“Okay. Uh…Got it. This summer I married the love of my life.”

(True.)

That statement earns me a few aahs from the circle, several teachers turning to Tamara to give their nod of approval. Only I seem to notice Tamara rolling her eyes.

“In college, I got to hike the Grand Teton and I broke my leg coming down.”

(True.)

“And…I have never eaten at McDonald’s before.”

(Lie.)

Condrey surveys the circle to see if anyone might know where the fib is hidden. “Which one’s the tall tale?” She tries her best not to look at Tamara, who now bows her head just enough to silently state that she will not be contributing.

Dunstan raises his hand, his fingers grazing my shoulder. “Breaking your leg?”

All eyes are on me. Staring. Like I am the guest on some talk show and this is my big interview. I can feel the initial beads of sweat pebbling my forehead, rising from my skin.

“Sorry,” I say. “That one’s true. Still have the scars to prove it…”

“I’m guessing,” Condrey cuts in, “that it’s McDonald’s. Unless there’s something you want to tell Tamara…” The faculty all laughs. Well, chortles anyway. Huh-huh-huh.

“You got me.”

Got me. Condrey seems pleased. Yes—I’ve got you.

She’s onto the next teacher, and almost immediately, I find myself having a hard time focusing. Her words loosen, fading away. Tamara was right, of course. I’m bored out of my gourd. That didn’t take long. This meeting is only supposed to take up sixty minutes of our lives. Sixty mind-numbing minutes of bureaucratic jibber-jabber. Figuring out parking spaces. Prep for the annual bake sale. The book fair. It’s exhausting, but I keep my eyes open. I don’t doze.

I’m simply not…present. I find myself glancing at the nape of Tamara’s neck from across the circle. I can just make out the hint of scales peeking from beneath her collar. I remember the first time I saw the snake for myself. Tamara has mastered this trick of flexing her bicep so that it looks as if the serpent is coiling around her arm. Reminds me of those old hula girl tattoos on septuagenarian sailors, faded hips of blue ink dancing the hukilau with every twist of their wrist. Whenever I looked at Tamara’s tattoo, I could have sworn I saw it writhing on its own. Alive.

“It’s traumatizing.” I snap back to hear Tamara’s voice lifting. She sounds agitated. Something’s riling her up. “We’re doing more damage than good.”

“I appreciate your point of view on this,” Condrey calmly responds. “I do, but this is happening statewide. It’s not just us, it’s all through Virginia.”

“I can’t be the only one who feels this way. Am I?” Tamara searches the circle.

What are we talking about here? I couldn’t have drifted for that long. I have to catch up before I’m called on.

Too late. Tamara glances across the ring of teachers and locks her eyes directly onto me, cueing me to agree with her. I nod. It’s the best I can do given the circumstances.

“I’m well aware of how parents feel,” Condrey says, clearly in politician mode. “But this is coming from the superintendent. We need our students to be prepared.”

Tamara shakes her head. “Prepared for…what? Are we really saying a third-grader is going to bring in a semiautomatic and start shooting up their classmates?”

Some of the older teachers recoil. Even Condrey winces.

This is one of the many things I love about Tamara. Watching her get all riled up, like a firefighter racing into a burning building while everyone else stands back and stares. Most of us mere mortals have beliefs. Tamara has convictions. I always dread getting into an argument with her. I have made a practice out of avoiding conflict at all costs throughout my life, but she dives right on in, headfirst. Her parents are the same way. Holidays are a blast, believe me.

“How do I explain this to Elijah?” she asks. “He’ll be afraid to come to school, because what I’ll be saying—what we’re all saying—is this is a place to be afraid of. It’s no longer safe.”

Condrey matches her. “What about someone we don’t know? A man with a gun finds his way into the