"Inside the Teacher's Lounge" The students had their time in the cafeteria in two shifts, and the teachers of Stanton had theirs as well, also in two shifts. One tiresome day early in the year, a good number of them gathered together and talked, as all people tend to do, about everything and nothing. The first lunch period had Madsen, Raulson, Post, Katajisto, McGowen, and Torvald in the same room; the second had Cerio, Headmistress Marbel, Keys, Keeping, O'Brien, and Johansson—among others for both times. Some had lunch in their class or outdoors; it was always a question of who would meet who in the lounge. The newer teachers found themselves tired in spite of how early into the year they were; the veterans looked pleased with their work so far, and welcomed the appearance of familiar and new faces in their class. Of course, over the summer, many of their techniques had been refined and more knowledge came into their being; they grew as their students had grown. Such an idea was beyond the group that sat in the teacher's lounge that afternoon, though; they concerned themselves only with the scrambled conversation and their meager yet elegant meals. "Good year so far, all?" questioned Emma "Em" McGowen first chance she got. The gathering of teachers welcomed her and replied with nods. "So far, so good." Silence. Either their individual lunches were really good enough to merit wordlessness, or none of them had anything to say. It was really just ice, though, and nothing else to talk about. "Any great new projects for this year?" attempted Hitomi Madsen. The ice soon melted as people began talking about what they had planned, or wished to plan, for the school year. "Well, it has always been a dream of mine to take my class on an archaeological dig," spoke Janna Raulson. "Of course, we'd never have the funding, and my curriculum usually doesn't deal with anything really that old." "Perhaps I'll fly it by Ms. Marbel and see what she thinks." Madsen took a sip of tea as Raulson thanked her. McGowen snickered and spoke up next. "Well, something really big... I dunno. I've been playing with a few things here and there over the summer. Tell me what you think: the physics of internal combustion in relation to various auto-mechanical devices." "Such as?" "Cars, motorbikes, things like that. It'd be a good way to teach them how real stuff works, and there's always something scientific in those things." "Well, as long as it's relevant." "Relevant as hell," she squeaked happily. "It stands a better chance than my idea," lamented Raulson. McGowen gave her a cheerful pat on the shoulders and smiled broadly enough for them both. "Hey, if you want, we could combine our resources and send both our classes on a field trip: you with your history, and I with biology and forensics. I think the HM would approve of something if more than one teacher backs it up. Strength in numbers and all that." Raulson smiled and toasted her juice to Em's idea. "It's a good suggestion. Hitomi, why don't you let Emma and I suggest it to Bernie and see what she thinks? You don't need to go through such trouble..." "It's no problem," replied Miss Madsen. She relented quietly, though, and then relented again concerning her own plans: "I've already started my big project, actually." "Oh?" "Mm." She finished her soup and wiped her mouth clean, then cooled her mouth down with water before speaking. "I've paired off the girls in groups of two. They're to study each other and then write a report on the person they've observed. By the end of the year, everybody will know everybody, and I believe we will all understand each other better. It's really like killing a flock of birds with just one stone." "Clever!" noted McGowen merrily. "Wish I had thought of it." "Yes, well, I've got the copyrights, so if you do it without asking, I'll sue your ass off." "Whoa, potty mouth!" The women laughed out loud, some coming very close to choking on their food. Only one among them rolled her eyes. "So what of you, Miss Leena?" asked a cheerful Elspeth Post, still flushed from laughing. "Do tell us what your big plan is for this year! Are you going to give us another championship?" "I'm not the one who gives those out," she replied wisely. "All I do is train those girls as best as I can. I've been told that I have the gift of spotting out good talent, and training of course, but that's all. I was lucky this year to keep so many of my players from previous years. We also have a new goalie." "To replace Andretta Paurs?" Leena nodded. "Her name is Kathlyn Parkin. The odd thing is that she's asthmatic and can barely run, but she can catch just about anything that's thrown at her. Oh, I meant to ask Miss Johansson something when I saw her, but she hasn't been around my area recently!" "What?" "I wanted to know if Katt went through with enrolling in her class." (It was not uncommon to hear Leena speak of her students so informally, since they did the same to her, so nobody was offended) "An asthmatic in a music class..." The idea grew like wet fungus in many minds, seeming foolish at first until one really thought about it. Elspeth, the one most musically-inclined next to Miss Johansson herself, had once heard a story about a man with asthma problems who had increased the strength of his lungs by playing the oboe—or had it been the clarinet? Whichever it was, music seemed to work, so it made sense after all that Leena was concerned about something like that. Post related the anecdote to everyone shortly. "Oh, oh." "Sarah Johansson has second lunch," stated Andeira Torvald, who had not spoken up until then—and even then it was an obvious statement. "It doesn't matter," shrugged Leena. "I'll ask Katt later today." "Post," sang McGowen after finishing her meal (she split her brownie with Andeira, who looked like she would need the chocolate), "we've not heard from you, dearie. Students in my class are already talking about your special plans. Care to indulge us?" Elspeth smiled and nodded. "Since you were so courteous to share your dessert, I believe I will. In the past, I've selected Stanton's productions, and held auditions for each; but this year, I'm doing something totally different—with Bernie's approval, of course." "Of course. So what is it?" "I've asked the students to write their own musicals and plays," she declared proudly. "I came up with the idea while I was swimming. Not only would it drive them to new creative limits and encourage them to get more involved in drama, but it would also give them a sense of accomplishment and the chance to really share their creative sides. Besides, we would save quite a bit of money from royalties and such, and I'd like to see something fresh on the stage." "Not a bad idea, Elspeth!" said Hitomi, commending her friend. "Now I wish I had thought of it!" "Oh," scoffed Em, "you're both jealous of my scheme—erm, idea. Jannie n' I are gonna team up, right Jannie?" "Janna," she corrected in deadpan—but she did like the idea. All eyes were now turning to Andeira "A.T." Torvald, the linguistics (Foreign Languages) teacher, to see what plans she'd have. "Um, yes?" she said. Everyone gave her encouraging smiles, knowing how much support the lonely, stricken instructor needed just to get going. "Do you have anything special in mind for this year?" asked Em gently, taking her hand. Andeira blew out a sigh. "Oh, no, I'm just... business as usual." "Oh, come on." "How about your class competes with Ms. O'Brien's Latin class?" suggested Leena. Now Andeira was not exactly competitive, and she had great respect for O'Brien's mastery of the dead language. Besides, any competition with the semi-fanatic would be a losing one. She declined without giving it two minutes' thought. "No, sorry." "Why not?" She gave her reasons. "Oh. Well, perhaps you can at least humor yourself." "I'll stick to my curriculum, thanks." Leena frowned in defeat and shrugged. "Oh well. I guess it's your decision. You know, if you ever need any help..." "Come to you all," sighed Torvald. She had heard that offer before, and was tired of it. "Anyway," said Madsen briskly, trying to lighten the mood, "I have a feeling it's going to be a good year. New changes, new faces, bigger goals, greater risks... I really don't want myself in any other position. That's what I ask myself whenever I'm feeling low: would I rather be anywhere else?" "You? Feel low??" Madsen smiled humbly and nodded. "My first year was Hell. I actually had a nervous breakdown. I went into one of the teacher's bathrooms and didn't come out until I had calmed down. You know, that very same year, I received word from my parents for the first time in nearly ten years. Can you believe it? My mother called and asked if I was still—" Madsen had to interrupt herself just then, because she had nearly revealed one little secret that only three other people knew, two of them being her parents. She was not quite close enough to any of the other teachers in the lounge (or even in the whole school) to tell them, so she forced herself to keep her mouth shut. Naturally, everyone was curious. "...What? Still what?" "May I please be permitted to not reveal that information?" she requested. "Aw, come on!" "It's very private and personal," she whispered. Even the playful McGowen could see how serious she was, so she and everyone else granted her request. "But ten years?" said Leena in awe. "That sounds terrible. I talk to my family every week; I visit them in Finland every summer. It would be painful not to see any of them. Why did they isolate themselves so much from you—or did you do that?" "I'm afraid all three of us were at fault there," she admitted. "I don't want to say anything, but let's just say that I did something irresponsible that they disapproved of." "And they never spoke to you until just now?!" "No." A painful hush, like a cold noose, choked the whole room. "Jeez," murmured Em, sipping her drink down. She didn't say any more. "Well, it's history. It was my choice to commit that act, and it was theirs to disown me. It doesn't matter anyway; I've been able to stand on my own two feet without them, though it took a lot of hard work. And yes, I overcame the stress of previous years." "Thank God indeed!" said McGowen cheerily. "I still can't imagine someone like you losing their cool." Madsen blushed at the praise, and would've loved to continue the conversation—but the lunch bell rang, signaling for all students to leave the cafeteria and go to their next class. Even the teachers were reluctant to leave, and many resolved to talk to Miss Marbel about extending the so-called lunch hour. ............ The second lunch hour came not five minutes after the first ended, and with it came a whole new flock of teachers ready to talk about whatever was on their minds. The Headmistress (casually called "HM" or "Bernie" by more than a few people) took that lunch hour and associated with the other faculty, though sometimes she was away to visit with her longtime friend and lover (who would eventually be introduced to most of the teachers, but for that moment she was unknown). "Good afternoon," greeted Headmistress Marbel to the teachers seated in the lounge. A woman of great sophistication, class, and wisdom, she garnished respect and admiration wherever she went—small wonder she found herself as general caretaker of the school. Marbel's past was blurry with a multicolored flair—she had been an advocate of political, social, and gender rights in the 60s and 70s—but time had cooled her firebrand demeanor down to a more reserved, more cautious form. She was no less effective from the change; Marbel could still gather attention and call order relatively quickly. Everyone greeted her accordingly, many with smiles. She gave a breath of relief as she sat, organized her hair, and dusted her suit off. "I think it would be fair to assume it's been a rough but enjoyable week so far for all of us?" she began cheerfully. Her response came back positive, since few teachers really had any special troubles so early on—but of course, she knew the real hassle wouldn't show itself until later. "Every year we see some new girl who thinks her genius from middle school's going to save her," noted Janet Keys. "Every year, we get a slacker who just wants to have fun—and every year, I can't help but find pleasure in bursting their bubble." "That's wicked!" laughed one of the teachers. "No kidding. It's cruel but fun. I can sympathize." "Of course, my class is always interesting," noted Abigail Keeping, her legs and arms crossed politely. "Every year it becomes more and more enjoyable, my job." "Then you're happy?" "Oh yes, but never completely." "Never is right." The women shared a sympathetic laugh and drank to the quest to find complete happiness. Marbel, attacking her sandwich hungrily, inquired the new music teacher on what it was like to replace a beloved veteran. "I don't mean to replace Mrs. Harding," replied Sarah Johansson, using only a sliver of her Swedish accent. "I don't even want to fill her shoes. I will just do my thing and see how the girls like my innovation." "'Replacement' is such a dirty word anyway," murmured Marbel. "It makes the preceding company seem outdated and worn-out, like an old truck being traded in for a new one. And dear Mrs. Harding was no truck." "Well, not if you mean she was reliable and sturdy." "And she had a few miles on her," muttered Abi Cerio saucily. The women chuckled. Marbel was not pleased with the comment but let it slide. "So otherwise, are you getting used to the work?" "I don't think I'll 'get used to it' until January, or even next year. I've always liked music and teaching, but I feel like an alien here." "You must ease yourself into the position; that's all you can do," suggested Keys. "First, get them to respect you and your authority. Get down to their level, but don't get too friendly." "Yes, that's the worst thing you can do," said Marbel quietly. "If the girls think of you as more of a friend than a mentor, you've lost them. The most difficult part is to find that happy medium." "Teaching is easy in practice," added Abi. "It's something you love and have a great deal of knowledge of. It's getting across to them that's hard. I'm already starting to worry if my methods aren't going over their heads—but then I tell myself," she added wittily, "they chose my classes and I didn't!" (Hers was a math course that was optional, preferably to seasoned students, so her statement was correct) "And when in doubt," added Abigail Keeping, "come to us for aid. Most of the women here have been here for years and years; they could tell you things you'd never know, such as who to look out for. "I already have a good idea about that," noted Johansson. The teachers smiled, slowly welcoming in their new staff (Abi Cerio was also new, but she carried a much more confident air than any other novice) with silent nods, smiles, and polite social gestures. "Oh, Bernie," said Janet Keys informally, "I meant to ask you something that one of the teachers suggested to me." "Yes?" "Well...... lunch hour's a bit... short, don't you think? I mean, it's not really an hour." "It doesn't need to be. You don't need more than half an hour, forty minutes at most, to sit down and eat. Really. Any more is just lost time." "Yeah, but—" "I can see why you'd want a longer time, but Janet, we have weekends, and surely you've got time once you get home to do as you please. I stay by this length because it's reasonable and it adheres to business; many companies hereafter allow their employees no longer than thirty minutes. Remember, we are setting them for occupations." Janet frowned, but had to nod in agreement. When looked at from that perspective, it made sense. "Still," she added, swallowing her food down, "a bit more time wouldn't hurt. There are plenty of girls who have to walk some distance to get to the cafeteria, and the lines for lunch are usually long." "I don't mean to sound cold, but they can adjust." Keys made a face and decided to be silent. Not content to rest in the mute room, Abi Cerio jabbed the nearest teacher to her with her elbow, provoking thought or at worst, irritation. "Sammy, you've been quiet this afternoon. Care to share your thoughts?" "No..." "Not even on the length of lunch or the difficulty of your class?" "No... but I am sad to see so few students in my class this year." "I've heard that we were cutting Latin," said Keeping to Marbel. Samantha O'Brien flew into a shock, nearly suffocating on her food and her surprise as she reprimanded the rumor. Marbel, unfortunately, did not confirm its falsehood. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, Samantha, but she is correct," she said sadly. "We are canceling Latin and concentrating on general foreign languages. I know how your heart is set on that..." "But you can't do that! Not after all this time!" "So you think I'm responsible? I defended you, but the Superintendent was strongly adamant. 'We're losing funding', he said, 'and we cannot afford to keep one study up, especially if the registered number of students decreases over time. You've got to admit for yourself that the interest is not as high as it used to be'. Well, I tried my best, Samantha, I really did—but I couldn't argue for long against the person who directs me and cuts my checks. It's nothing personal—" "They all say that," grumbled O'Brien nastily. Marbel pursed her lips in irritation and changed her mood, slightly, to one of strength. "Listen, I did what I could. Now this doesn't mean you're out of a job: you're the best we've had and I fought tooth and nail just to keep you on staff. After this year is over, you will be assisting Ms. Torvald with general linguistics. You can still keep teaching Latin; you'll just have to adjust to other languages. It's better than being laid off, Samantha, it really is." Naturally, O'Brien didn't like the idea, least of all because she believed that Marbel, a woman who stood up strong for what she believed in, could've fought a bit harder and longer. Rationally, she had the woman to thank, for she had saved her job in a sense and kept her from unemployment—but for the moment, she was angry. "I think I'll have my lunch outside," she snorted, and just like that, she was off. Abi Cerio, who she had brushed by last on the way out, sighed and shook her head. "Oh well. I wish I could do something, but I barely know her. The Super has a point, Bernie—Latin's going the way of the dodo. It'd make more sense to just merge her class with AT's." "Yes... I just feel I could do more for her. She's a strong worker and a loyal friend. It feels like I've betrayed her." Marbel sighed and hung her head, drawing circles around her teacup absently. Their session together ended on a low note, Miss Marbel coming out of the lounge the least spirited. She owed it to Samantha to apologize at least, and to ask forgiveness, but the devoted woman would probably have been angry for a month longer. She loved teaching Latin, and to have it erased or even forged into a more general class was like ripping out a part of her body. Of course, it wasn't enough that Marbel had the school and faculty to worry about: she was constantly being watched by the Superintendent, who felt her past as a radical still reflected into her middle age, and thus, her work. And of course there was her lover to worry over, but Joanna was the least and most pleasing of her troubles. One by one, they all weathered the following weeks.
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