After modeling the first example, the students work in small groups to decipher the many metaphors and symbols in the story. Much to my delight, they actually seem to enjoy the story and they’ve mastered the tasks I’ve given them.
With three minutes left to the period, I write the final example on the board, and tell the students they’ve done a wonderful job. “So for homework.” My words are met with a collective and audible groan from the class. “I’m just going to ignore that,” I say with a dismissive laugh. “Anyway, at the end of Journey, we’re left with the image of the traveler, resting against a tree as he reflects on the choices that brought him to this point. For homework, I’d like you to take the place of the traveler, and write a brief metaphor for your own life and the choices you’ve made. It can be in a poem, or a narrative. Even a visual design. Just something that conveys the lessons you’ve learned and the choices you’ve made.”
A hand shoots up from the row in front of Mrs. Gallagher. It’s Robbie, a boy who hasn’t said or done much through the period. Despite my best efforts, I could not get him to lift his pen for much of the forty-five minute lesson. My heart soars when his hand goes up, thinking maybe I’ve reached him.
“Yes, Robbie.” I can’t hide the excitement in my words.
A deep voice issues from his mouth as he shakes his too-long hair out of his eyes. “You know none of us are going to do this, right? I mean we don’t have to. You’re not even really a teacher.”
“You’re right,” I respond without missing a beat. “I won’t be here tomorrow and I’m not your real teacher. And you’re right in saying that you don’t have to do the assignment. The truth of the matter is that you don’t have to do anything. Your life is your choice. But let me leave you with this. If you spend your life looking only to avoid doing the things you’re asked to do, you’ll never learn what you’re capable of. By side-stepping the tasks that seem unappealing or difficult, you’ll never know what you’re truly able to do.”
On my last word, the bell rings, dismissing the class. Not in a million years could I have timed it better. When the last student leaves the room, Mrs. Gallagher apologizes for Robbie’s behavior. “But for what it’s worth, I think you handled that very well.”
“And I loved the truth in your response. It echoed everything you demonstrated in your interview.” Mr. Gildon extends his hand, congratulating me on a lesson well-done. Then he excuses himself and Mrs. Reese as they have a child study team meeting to attend.
As the bell to start the next class rings, I realize the room is empty. “No class in here this period,” I say.
“No, but that works out well for us. Please sit.” Mrs. Gallagher pulls two desks to face one another, prompting me to sit.
“Thank you again for this opportunity, Mrs. Gallagher.”
Waving away my formality, she says, “Please, call me June.”
“Of course.” It’s impossible to read her, so I sit and wait for her to say something.
“We did an exhaustive search when this position opened. Sifting through nearly a thousand resumes, we went through rounds and rounds of interviews. It took us weeks to narrow it down to two prospects. And we really felt like we had the cream of the crop in our grasp.”
Smiling, I bite back the sting I feel at knowing that I wasn’t one of her top choices.
“But clearly I was wrong.” Her words barrel over me. “You did a phenomenal job today, especially for having very limited time to prepare. If my husband hadn’t given me your name, I would have had to start all over.”
“I’m sorry,” I spit out, confusion spilling from my mouth. “Did you say you received my name from your husband? I don’t mean to sound rude at all, but who is your husband and how did he get my name.”
Shooting me an equally confused look, she says, “Oh, I thought you knew. I mean I assumed you knew. He’s a captain in the FDNY. One of his firefighters gave him your name, asking if he could put in a good word for you here. He did and here we are. And I’d love to have you on staff at the beginning of the school year.”
An odd mixture of elation at landing the job and frustration at David’s interference bubble in my chest. But I bite it back, not wanting to be anything but professional in the face of my future boss.
Holding out my hand, I reply, “I’d really be honored. Thank you so much.”
As we exit the classroom, navigating our way through the quiet hallways, she explains that, pending superintendent approval, she’d love to have me on staff over the summer for an interdisciplinary curriculum writing project. It will revamp the current approach to reading and writing. When she tells me she thinks I’m the perfect fit, it’s impossible for me not to feel proud.
After another thirty minutes of signing paperwork, all of which she’ll pass along to administration, we say our goodbyes. “I will be in touch later this week with all the final details. I don’t foresee any problems with the rest of the process, though you’ll definitely need to come back in to at least meet Dr. Ruddard.”
“Absolutely. And thank you again, Mrs. Gallagher.”
Stepping out into the sun-lit sky is a stark change from the fluorescent lighting of the building. After adjusting to it, I spot David’s car immediately. It’s right where he’d parked earlier, almost two hours ago. As I walk toward the car, he steps out, a bright and hopeful smile on his face.
“You were in there a long ass time. That has to be good, right?”
“You jerk!” Poking him hard in the chest, he looks at me utterly confused about my reaction.
“What the hell?” Rubbing his hand over the spot I just poked, he narrows his eyes on me, looking more than a touch pissed off.
Not wanting to get into it in the parking lot for fear of making a scene that anyone can see, seething, I step into the car. He follows suit, huffing as he clicks his seatbelt into place. “Care to tell me what the hell the issue is?” Somewhat petulantly, I cross my arms over my chest and sit there silently. “Fine,” he spits out, turning on the engine.
Wordlessly, we pull out of the lot. My mind races with a million different thoughts. They all collide together, confusing the shit out of me. Equally offended and elated, it’s clear to see that I’m a mess.
“Just drop me off at the nearest train station,” I demand, thankful we’d loaded all my bags into the car before the interview. We drive in awkward and anger-laden silence for the next ten minutes.
When he pulls into the lot of the train station, he pushes the button down on the auto-lock. Twisting in his seat, he faces me, scrubbing a hand over his face. And damn it, even when I’m pissed off beyond all belief, he’s still gorgeous. “How did the lesson go? The interview?” His jaw is clenched so tightly, I can see the muscles twitching under the strain.
“Fine, thanks to you,” I pout.
Realization unfolds on his face. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Who the hell are you to interfere in my life like that? It’s none of your business. I can get a job on my own talents and hard work. Not because my boy—someone I know calls in a favor for me.” Out of breath, I slump against the seat.
“So you got the job?” Hope springs into his voice, completely ignoring the way I berated him seconds ago.
“That’s what you got out of what I said?” Sarcasm flies from my lips, only making him chuckle.
Shrugging, he says, “I like to focus on the positives and not the irate woman sitting next to me. So?” he drags out the word, leaning forward. “Did you get the job?”
I nod. “Not officially yet. But it looks like it’s mine, barring any major objections from the superintendent.”
“That’s amazing! Congratulations.” His happiness is contagious, but it’s not enough to crack my foul mood over him interfering.