Actually Invisible, page 18
“I saw them together at the pep rally on Friday.” I thought for a second. “I do want to see what Brandon said.”
“Are you sure?” She looked like she was ready to close the app.
“Yes. Like I said, I just want to be prepared.” I reached for her phone.
She squinted and scrolled some more. “Here it is.”
Brandon Stoneman: All that teacher ever wants us to do is talk about our feelings and act like we care about other peoples that is the definition of gay
I chuckled. “Is that it? One lousy run-on sentence?”
She smirked. “I think so.”
“Remind me to talk to him about punctuation.” I sat back in my chair. “You wouldn’t believe his nerve eighth period today. He was on fire asking questions about my wife and if I would save any straight kids from a school shooter.” I shook my head, wincing slightly. “But I’m actually proud of myself for not backing down from him. And the other kids didn’t humor him, either. I guess that’s a win?” I looked at the clock. “Did I mention I sent the proposal for the GSA?”
She clapped her hands together. “What? No! Josie, that is so awesome. These kids are never going to forget it.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, neither will I.” I paused. “Thanks for coming over.”
She stood up slowly. “I really am sorry about today. I was worked up about the comments and just wished I could make it better for you, but then I just ended up making it worse.” On her way to the door, she turned back around to face me. “Do you want me to post a comment about anything on your behalf?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I’m going to have to speak up for myself at that meeting tonight, so I’ll just wait until then.”
“Okay,” she said. “Go eat some dinner. You don’t want to be nervous and hungry.” She turned and walked out.
I looked down at my phone and searched my recent missed calls for Adelaide Foster’s number, hoping she hadn’t called me from a landline. I texted:
Hello, Adelaide. This is Josie Rein-Thompson. Sure, we can talk. I’m supposed to tell you that you can’t come to the school board meeting because it’s for community members only. Sorry!
Almost immediately, my phone vibrated with a text:
What if I told you I live across the street from the school and have a son in your seventh period class?
- 45 -
Friday, June 16, 2006
Tara and I had been dating for about six months. We spent most of our time in her apartment, eating takeout and watching movies. If I ever mentioned Cam in conversation, Tara would narrow her hazel eyes at me and then turn her face away, tossing her curly brown hair in my direction. Eventually, I decided that the ensuing silent treatment wasn’t worth it, so I kept my Cam thoughts to myself.
By trade, Tara is an actor. I was drawn to her dramatics at first, but they soon began to irritate me to the point of near-hatred. I stopped singing because she thought I was competing with her voice. I hadn’t written poetry since Cam and I had broken up because I couldn’t bring myself to access any deep feelings, even though Tara often asked me to write about her, but I couldn’t. I let Tara take the lead on most things—from telling me which soap to use to how to style my hair—and I even let her hide me from her parents. After all, what other life did I know?
It was her twenty-fifth birthday. We were getting ready to go out to dinner for the occasion when she turned to me, backed me up against a wall, and said teasingly, “Ugh, look at those eyebrows. What is this—a circus? Let me go get my tweezers.”
What she didn’t know was that, the night before, I had had a dream that was still sitting in the pit of my stomach. In my dream, I was on the patio of a beach condominium, looking down at the ocean, watching it for any signs of a storm. Everyone knew a tidal wave was coming, but we weren’t sure when. All I could think about was where Cam was. Was she safe? How could I let her know to get away from the ocean? I woke up just as I saw the giant wave coming toward me—right before it was going to break over the building.
All day, I was fighting the urge to call Cam. After that day she had told me not to call her anymore, I had respected her wishes—mostly. There were times, mostly in the middle of the night, when I would block my number and call her just to hear her voice. I had considered doing it that morning, but I resisted.
She used to do the same thing, too. In fact, it had become a sort of game for us—a silent game that nobody was winning. Anytime I saw a private number calling me, I would answer immediately. Sometimes, I would say something out loud like “I miss you” or “I hope you’re doing okay,” but sometimes I would just sit and enjoy knowing she was sitting there on the other end with me.
With my back against the wall, I glared at Tara as she entered her bathroom to retrieve the tweezers. Across the room, the early-summer sun was shining on the bright green trees outside of her sliding glass door. I remembered how Cam and I had taken one of many road trips one summer with no air conditioning in the Rocket, and we had gotten stuck in traffic on a highway. The day was sweltering with no airflow and the sun beating down on us, and I took pictures of the emerald green trees to our right against their backdrop of a cloudless sky. We laughed about how sweaty we were, and I took a picture of Cam sticking her tongue out at me, panting like a dog. We kissed in her idling car, listening to Jann Arden, not caring what strangers saw us.
“No,” I said. “My eyebrows are fine.”
“Oh, just let me even them out,” she said, walking back toward me.
“No,” I said more firmly, feeling the familiar disgust bubbling inside of me.
The truth is that I had started dating Tara way too soon after the breakup. In fact, I started dating any girl who would look at me twice about a month after my final conversation with Cam. During that first month, I had spent most of my time in bed at my dad’s apartment, unable to eat or sleep and practically unable to move. I went to classes when I had to and went through the motions of life—even successfully completing my student teaching—but when I came home, I went straight to my bed. Dad would talk to me through the door, trying to gently encourage me to come out. He offered pizza, karaoke, Scrabble, trips to Paris—but I just couldn’t do it. When the fog lifted after that month, I was on a mission to find someone to take my mind off of her. I went on dates with about five different women before I met Tara, and she entertained me to the point of it sticking.
She raised the tweezers to my face, and I sidestepped her and backed into the small kitchen decorated with Italian chefs. “Tara, I mean it. Leave me alone.”
“What’s with you?” She pouted. “It’s my birthday. Don’t be mean to me on my birthday.”
“Mean to you? You pretty much just told me I look like a sideshow freak.” I bit a piece of skin hanging off of my finger.
“I was joking!” She walked closer. I wasn’t lightening up. I allowed the heaviness to stay with me until I thought about what it would be like to walk out of her apartment and never see her again.
“I can’t do this anymore.” I looked her in the eye. “I’m an asshole to do this on your birthday, but I’m not happy. And you aren’t, either. I know it’s killing you to lie to your parents every day.”
She flinched. “I told you I’m not ready to tell them yet. My brother just came out last year, and they’ve had a hard enough time—”
“I know. I’m not blaming you. I’m just not happy for a lot of reasons, and I think I need to spend some time by myself.” I thought about how she would get angry with me if I would exercise because she thought I was trying to look better than she did—how she made me watch horror movies when I told her they gave me nightmares. “Maybe we can try again sometime, but this isn’t working for me right now.” I walked past her and into her bedroom, picking up the clothes I had left on her floor.
When I walked down the steps and got into Woody, I felt a potent mixture of guilt and relief. Who breaks up with someone on their birthday? But who stays with someone just to … be with someone? I knew it was the right thing to do, even if the timing might be wrong.
Getting onto the highway to go back to my dad’s apartment, there was no question what I was going to do next. I rolled the windows up and dialed *67 before Cam’s number.
She answered after two rings. “Hey. I was just thinking about you.”
I stayed silent, wondering if she could hear the hum of the engine, and then, without warning, I started to cry. I tried to do it as quietly as possible, hoping she wouldn’t be able to hear me, but it was obvious she could when she said, “I know. I am so sorry. I know.”
We stayed that way for a few more minutes until we both stopped altogether. Before she hung up, she whispered. “I love you.”
- 46 -
Monday, March 25, 2019
On my way home to change my clothes, I called Cam. She answered in her car, and I could hear Liesel whining from the backseat.
“She okay? Did she take a nap?” I asked.
“Big girls don’t take naps!”
“I guess I’m on speaker phone.” I laughed. “Hi, baby! How was your day? Did you have fun at school?”
But she was back to whining, clearly missing that nap. I heard shuffling as Cam took me off of speakerphone and brought the phone to her ear.
“She’s miserable. I’m hoping she falls asleep in the car for a little bit to take the edge off. Sheesh.”
I smiled. “How was your day?”
“Surprisingly fine. None of my kids even brought up the scary stuff from Friday, so I don’t know if they’ve just forgotten, blocked it out, or got tired of talking about it with their parents over the weekend.”
“Maybe all three?”
“Yeah. Hey, what was with your lockdown today?”
“I’m pretty sure they did it because of what happened at your school. Something about working out kinks with procedures?”
“Makes sense. And did you say your email friend sent you flowers? Should I be jealous?”
I was grateful that she was starting to find some humor in the situation, too. “No, but Brandon Stoneman actually asked me that same question in front of his entire class.”
“Ugh, that kid really is a total douche. What did you say?”
I chuckled. “That you’d feel less jealous and more guilty that you hadn’t been the one to send them yourself.”
“Ha! Wait … do you want me to send you flowers? I can send you flowers.”
“No! That’s not the point. But if you ever do, you know they should be—”
“Daisies. Duh.”
I smiled and then spoke without thinking. “Listen, Cam … do you want to come to the meeting with me tonight?” I snorted. “Oh man, that sounded like I was asking you out, didn’t it?”
Liesel wasn’t whining anymore, and I hoped that she was asleep. Cam’s car was so quiet, in fact, that I thought she either hadn’t heard me, or the connection was bad. “Cam?”
“I’m thinking.” She was quiet again. “With everything going on, do you think it would be wise to parade me around tonight?”
“I was thinking less parading and more sitting next to you, but okay.” She didn’t want to come. She was okay to support me from afar, but she wasn’t okay with the spotlight being on her.
“If you really want me to, Jo, of course I will.”
But the key word was “really.” She would do it if I absolutely needed her to, but it wouldn’t be because she wanted to.
There I was again, lying by myself on the exam table at the fertility clinic.
“You’re right,” I said as casually as I could. “I shouldn’t draw too much attention to myself. After all, everyone’s already paying attention to me, anyway.”
“Speaking of,” she changed the subject, “what are you planning on wearing? What statement do you want to make?”
I hadn’t thought about it. “Hmmm, well, I currently have on gray corduroys and a cream polo shirt. Should I go for more … I don’t know … feminine?”
“Maybe? I mean, you don’t want to not be yourself, but maybe the board will be more inclined to go easy on you if you’re … conventional looking?”
“Ew, that sounds ridiculous. What does that even mean? Like wear a dress? I haven’t worn a dress to school in about ten years. They’ll see right through me.”
“But your legs are so—”
“Cameron! I don’t want to be sexy. I want to be professional yet … sympathetic. Normal? Not-deviant? Ugh … ”
Neither of us spoke for a little while, each of us clicking turn signals at intervals, getting closer to home from different directions.
“I know,” she said. “You have that really pretty navy blouse with the tiny red roses on it.”
I gasped. “You are brilliant. That will show her I’m not afraid.”
“Her? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
For the rest of the ride home, I filled her in about the florist. We laughed together about the woman hanging up on me and laughed even harder when I gave her my description of the website. By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was warm with acceptance and love.
When Cam’s car pulled up, I got out of my car and walked to Liesel’s door. Reaching in, I unbuckled her from her car seat and lifted her gently, resting her head on my shoulder. She breathed evenly into my neck as I carried her into the house.
- 47 -
The sun was just considering its descent when I was on my way to the school board meeting. Liesel had woken up shortly after we went inside the house, so we were all able to sit and have dinner together. Before I left, Cam kissed me and told me she was proud of me. For what, I wasn’t sure yet.
If I lost my job, we would survive.
If I lost my job, we would still be a family who loves each other.
Now, on my way back to the school, I called Adelaide. She told me that her son, Ellis, is in my seventh period Honors English class and that she had first gotten wind of the situation through Ellis himself, who doesn’t normally say much about school at all but had mentioned some kind of “teacher scandal” that had piqued her interest as a reporter. He was vague about the details, though, so when someone called in the story the next day, she was eager for more. When the caller—Brian Anderson himself, apparently—described what had happened, she knew there had to be more to it. That’s when she went to Facebook and “couldn’t make heads or tails.”
Ellis is a sweet, quiet kid who gets good grades in my class but would definitely rather be doing math—which I would never take personally, obviously. According to Adelaide, he was upset about some people saying negative things about me because I am “always fair and nice.” I thought about how that word kept coming up everywhere: nice. What does it even mean? Is everyone defining it the same way? Is it a good thing that I’m nice, or am I too nice because I sometimes touch a student’s shoulder or—worse—let them hug me?
I told Adelaide what Derek Stoneman had said to me about not having media at the meeting, and she had said, “Ha! It’s funny, then, that his friend Brian was the one who called me. Maybe he should have told Mr. Anderson his rule, rather than you.” She went on to explain that, as a community member, she was welcome to attend the meeting and that she would identify herself as both a local and a reporter. They wouldn’t be able to kick her out.
The questions she asked me were direct, and I tried to answer them honestly without saying too much. I couldn’t tell yet what her spin was going to be, but I had nothing to hide.
While I was pulling into the school’s parking lot, a robin swooped down in front of my car and landed on the grass near the outside of the district office where the meeting was being held. I took a deep breath and prepared to thank my dad for the sign that he was with me when the grass suddenly filled with more robins.
I counted them quickly: thirteen. Smiling, I knew he was reminding me that not only was he with me but that I am like my beloved birthdate—not everyone’s favorite thing, and that was absolutely okay.
I turned off the engine and closed my eyes, silently giving myself a new kind of pep talk: “You have a family who loves you. You are a good teacher. You are who you are.”
Someone knocked on my window, and I jumped and looked up to see Donna leaning forward to look at me. “You ready?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
I took off my seatbelt and got out of the car, taking in the fresh spring air. “I think so,” I said to her, and we walked toward the door together.
Looking around, I was surprised to see so many cars there. My stomach sank. “Why are there so many people here? Maybe I’m not ready for this.”
She shrugged. “This has been kind of a thing on social media, so it’s probably a bunch of people being nosy. I would definitely prepare to have anything you say posted all over the internet.”
“Can they do that?” I stopped walking and looked at her.
“By law, the board can’t stop them from recording. I’m not saying it’s going to happen, but I definitely wouldn’t be surprised.” She walked ahead of me and opened the door, holding it for me.
I thanked her and walked in. There was a chair set up right inside the entrance that had a sign taped to it:
THE SCHOOL BOARD MEETING HAS MOVED TO THE HS AUDITORIUM.
It had been a while since I was at a board meeting, so I wasn’t sure if this was usual or not. I looked at Donna.
She tilted her head to the side and said, “Well, I guess there are a lot of people here.” Then she waved me to the left to head toward the auditorium.
As we got closer, we could hear the mumblings of a crowd. Some students were gathered outside the doors, and when they saw us, a few of them waved. I gave them a closed-lip smile and a small wave before opening the door.
