Common disclaimers apply. If you're reading this , you are doing so of your own free will and thus you're the one to blame if it's illegal. Also this is copyrighted material, so ask for permission before you mess with it.
For those of you who've been following the tale, this is chapter three and takes place a good while after the second part which ended with Chris running away. It may be a bit confusing but please bear with me.
Of Meetings
By Julian K Pearlson
The door stood like a hungry maw ready to swallow up whatever unfortunate creature chanced to come by. The peeling yellow paint didn't match the fresh white of the silk blouse that hung off the shoulders of the house's apparently solitary inhabitant. In turn , the clean , relatively new blouse clashed with the ancient black leather chaps and frayed blue jeans. It did, however, go perfectly well with the man's weary stare which scanned up and down the page full of numbers. Emitting a sigh that sounded a lot like a derisive snort , the man crossed out five out pf the twenty neatly written answers. "And that makes it a 75%, the highest grade of the whole bunch", said he to no one in particular and picked up another page.
In truth his sole companion was the elderly dog that lay at his feet. The beagle was nearly as old as the owner, who'd received a squealing puppy for his fifth birthday. Now, twenty some odd years later the dog rarely emitted any sound, let alone a squeal. It didn't bother his master at all. In fact , he liked it that way. He liked to listen to silence, so different from the noisiness and the bustle of New York. The city where he grew up , went to college, fell in... Clipping that thought in it's root he concentrated on the quiz sheet in front of him and scanned along the neat rows and columns of questions and answers. Who would have thought that a music major would end up teaching math in the out of the way town of Fairlawn? If anyone told him so ten years ago he'd have laughed. Sure, he loved math as a kid, but everyone knew that his future lay in music. Why else would his parents let him spend his every waking moment with the chorus?
Another one finished, a failing grade this time. He would really have to go over polynomials with them. The entire class didn't do so well. Going over the material wouldn't be much of a problem. They were a few days ahead of the schedule so they would have a plenty of time to digest the topic. He shifted his weight and the leather creaked. The strange sound resonated through the normally still area as he finished the last of them. That done, he rose and plucked a rubber band off the porch steps. Restraining his shoulder length hair he walked in and deposited the stack on the table. He considered his present situation and hadn't found it at all unpleasant. The school paid for his house and the six acres of land attached to it . The house, of course , was in the middle of nowhere, but that amounted to much desired solitude so he wasn't complaining. The money was decent too. He ven had enough to get a horse, which by needed to be taken out on a run anyway.
"All right kids!"
The clamoring continued as if he hadn't spoken. If he hadn't braided his hair , it would be sticking out at odd angles by now.
"Guys!"
A few voices lowered but the majority of his eighth grade class continues to talk.
"Gentlemen, unless each and every one of you has perfect scores , I don't see why you should be talking. Or should I give you a re test right now?"
That produced the much desired silence and he continued.
"As you may have noticed by now, your grades are dismal."
"But the quarterlies are coming up!"
He searched the room for the source of the disgruntled sound and found Lucien. The normally quiet boy was seething. Cheeks red and eyes flashing the teenager continued," Did you do this on purpose? Christmas is coming up and just because you live alone doesn't mean you have to spoil it for the rest of us! You really don't give a shit do you? Why don't you just get laid and get a life!?", and then, finally comprehending the gravity of his words he sat down, tight lipped and scared.
The class was oddly silent, waiting for their teacher's reaction. He did nothing . For a long minute he stood at the cathedra, just looking at his student. Lucien was one of the best kids in the class, one of the few he actually enjoyed teaching . He really didn't want to do this but the kid left him no choice. The pink slip found it's way into his hand and he wrote in his neat musician's handwriting, "Lucien Duncan, parental conference on Friday, December 17th at 6:30 PM ", and then signed his name" Master Christopher Randolph, department of advanced mathematics." The St. Jude school seal was already there.
"Mr. Duncan, I believe you have a date with the headmaster?"
The boy stood and quickly left, shooting one last fearful glance at his classmates. " Back to the matter of the quiz. You will be given a retest a week from now which will over write your current grades. Until then, we will continue on with the unit, just to avoid the repeat embarrassment and a dismal Christmas." After that, the day went smoothly, just like any other day at the St. Jude Academy for boys.
Three days later, at precisely 6PM, Master Christopher Randolph entered his office and turned on the overhead lights. He would have been perfectly happy with the small, green table lamp, but the occasion called for the cold white overheads. They made him uncomfortable and he truthfully didn't want to be here. Being a math teacher, he wasn't universally well liked, as say, art teachers tended to be. Also, Lucien was one of his favorite students and he hated to make his holidays hell. The kid deserved it though. Even if he did nothing more than state the truth.
Truth be told he was lonely. He lived alone. No. not alone, he had a dog, but still, he craved human contact. Not the casual brushes of egos in the lounge, but contact, full interaction and that was something he carved and was terrified of at the same time. To want it and to run from it tore at him and he knew so. During the three years at Rutgers he'd been true to his pledge. Not a single person made it past his walls. He had a few casual acquaintances, but only out of necessity. Emotional cravings scared him. Not because he was afraid t get hurt, but because he didn't ant a repeat of that week in the motel, because he still lacked the courage to pick his stings up from Eileen's apartment, because he still saw John's face every night before he slept and probably because he'd kept tabs on Mr. Jonathan Redgrave, assistant to the dean of economics at Columbia. He still despised himself and the unclean feeling wouldn't go away. Sometimes he wondered if it ever would. Still, he deserved it, so instead of doing anything about it, he immersed himself up to the ears in work, which in turn amounted to his current situation. "So some good id come from it all," he mused as he leafed through the file. Lucien was a model student. His grades, although not spectacular were comfortably high and he'd never had any behavioral problems until now. Perhaps that's why he'd never seen his patents? A pity really that it took a pink slip to get to know a students parents. Then again, who was he to judge? The way things were going, he'd never have kids.
Here ends part 3 of the saga. I'm sorry I took so long since the last installment, but between school, work and moving I barely had time. Anyway, expect a continuation within a few days and do send feedback to Lherelenfeline@aol.com.