Parent-Teacher Conference Ch. 02

The Beginning

The end of the school year was always a stressful time for me. Not only do I have to administer and grade over 100 final exams, but grading final projects, completing report cards, and of course, the dreaded packing of my classroom. I wasn't sure which part I hated more as it was so much work at a time that was filled with so much joy and sorrow as I closed the chapter on another school year. Two years ago, I took a transfer from my elementary school to the local middle school and discovered the move was the best thing I could have done for myself. One of the side benefits I've found was instead of tearing down my room by myself, I have eager students who help me strip my walls, return my textbooks, and pack my things.

My move was the result of an incident that occurred when I was still teaching elementary school three and a half years ago. During the first parent/teacher conference of the school year, a man who claimed to be the father of one of my students seduced me. I'll admit, I cooperated... fully. He never forced me to do what we did. It resulted in a night of unbridled passion and sex that shook me to my core, and haunted my dreams from time to time, but it was all a lie. For several weeks after, I'd come in to find a red rose and a note from this mystery man promising me an explanation. Finally, I left him a note saying I was willing to meet with him and 'hear him out' but also asking that he not make me wait forever. I guess that was my mistake as the next day, my note was gone, but there was no response from him. No note, no rose, nothing, leaving me with a broken heart.

An experience like this would disrupt even the most levelheaded or strong, self-confident woman, and it shook me to my core. I felt foolish for being so gullible in trusting a total stranger, but I wasn't thinking with my head, I was 'thinking' with my heart and libido. I'm not conceited or full of myself, but I don't think I'm the most unattractive female I've ever seen. I mean, okay, I'm short, I stand only 5'3" in bare feet, but I have bright blue eyes, curly blond hair that hangs to the center of my back, and I hold a curvy frame rather well. I have full breasts (38D) and I've been told I have a heart-shaped ass. I'm not the most athletic or fit, but I'm not overly giggly either. I always dress professionally at work, slacks and a blouse with the occasional vest or blazer, and casually everywhere else. I'm mindful that I could encounter a parent or student in any situation so I'm usually wearing jeans, long shorts, or Capri's with either a t-shirt, sweatshirt, or button down shirt depending on my mood when I go grocery shopping, for example. I've been told I'm attractive by friends, former boyfriends and lovers, students, and family members, but it's not something I've ever taken too seriously.

My transfer to middle school, or junior high as some would call it, was the result of a friend who wanted to take the test to earn her single subject teaching credential in English, but didn't want to prepare alone. Together, we studied and prepared until test time. It came as no surprise that she passed, but it was somewhat of a surprise that I passed as well. What neither of us knew was her husband was about to be transferred to another state, and thus, the transfer she had just been approved for, would become my new job. I had wanted to be an English teacher when I went to school, but my college advisor talked me into becoming an elementary school teacher instead, citing that it would be easier for me to find a job and my caring personality would mesh better with little kids. I did earn my minor in English and tried to incorporate as much literature as I could in my class, a task that became much easier in middle school. It was a good thing, as I needed a new environment, a change of pace, and a fresh start.

It all started on the last Wednesday of the school year, I sat at my desk grading the last of my final exams, listening to my iPod on the small external speakers I had purchased when my ear buds began hurting my ears. They also kept me from being surprised by someone entering my room because I couldn't hear them. Another lesson I learned from my encounter with that mystery man I mentioned earlier. My desk sat by the window on the far side of my classroom, which allowed me a nice view of my school's grounds. Occasionally, I'd notice people walking by, mostly teachers carrying boxes of their personal items to their cars. I really wasn't paying much attention to their activities as I had my own work to finish. My desk was pretty barren as most of my stuff was packed and sitting in a box, including pens, storage units, paperweights, and other small items that seem to clutter my desk by June. Even though a lot of the stuff ends up in the trashcan, I take the time to sort through it all to make sure there wasn't something important in all of the material that found its way to my desk.

When my last final was graded, I looked up at the clock. I was quite surprised to see it was a little after 3:30 p.m., even though it felt much later. I figured it was due to the minimum days. I started to log into the electronic grade-book so I could enter these scores and possibly get my report cards done, or at least get a dent in them, when I heard the "PING" of the e-mail program alerting me to a new message. I rolled my eyes at the thought of another "DON'T FORGET" message from my principal, department chair, or colleague about things that needed to be done before we were released for the summer. I figured I'd better get the torture over with so I clicked on the icon and opened my e-mail. There was one new message. Now, we've been told countless number of times to never open an e-mail from someone we don't know. The problem was, I had found that some parents have weird e-mails and it's just better if I take the chance and move the message to my JUNK folder if necessary after I was sure what the message was all about. What I saw shocked me.

TO: Alexis Perry

FROM: A. Friend

SUBJECT: Do Not Reply

Alexis Perry,

You are about to get 2 visitors asking about an incident that occurred over 3 years ago. Please tell them NOTHING! This is for your safety as well as mine. Delete this message after you finish reading & I will explain everything very soon.

Oliver Stone

P.S. Was I the reason you changed schools?

I think I read the e-mail three times to make sure I wasn't seeing things. After over three years, I was receiving a cryptic message from a person claiming to be my mystery man. Quickly, for reasons I couldn't explain, I printed the message, and then sent the original email to the TRASH folder. While the message printed, I clicked on the TRASH folder and deleted all the read messages, including this new one, then grabbed the message and realized I need to hide it, just in case the sender was serious about my safety.

I had just hidden the message and closed the e-mail program when my door opened and two men wearing black suits, black ties, white shirts, and dark sunglasses entered my room. The first one was tall with short salt-and-pepper hair, and the other one was a bit shorter and had short brown hair, looked like a military buzz cut, but their skin tone was a bit odd as it wasn't quite white, but it wasn't tan like someone from a more Central American country. Maybe it was because I was so worn down by the end-of-the-year activities, but when I turned off my iPod, I said, "Don't tell me -- you're the 'Men in Black -- Men in Black... The galaxy defenders,'" I said the last part in a singsong voice. Some days, sarcasm is my best defense.

"Are you Alexis Perry?" asked Salt-and-Pepper.

"Yes," I said.

"I'm Agent Fleck," said Salt-and-Pepper. "This is Agent Wyman. May we ask you a few questions?"

Each one pulled out what appeared to be official looking badges, but for all I knew they were something you could buy in a toy store, joke shop, or costume store. I looked at them and shrugged, "May I ask what this is about?"

Agent Wyman reached into his jacket, handed me a piece of paper and said, "Ma'am, have you ever seen this man before?"

I took the paper, and realized it was a photograph of the mystery man from over three years ago, Oliver Stone. I remembered his smile, his voice, and other things I'd rather not discuss right now. I frowned and said, "No, I don't think so. Why? Who is he?"

They looked at each other for a moment then turned back at me. Agent Fleck said, "Ma'am, please take a closer look. Are you sure you haven't seen him before? Perhaps during a parent/teacher conference?"

I looked up at Agent Fleck, annoyed. Perhaps it was because I was tired from three straight days of finals, but I wasn't in the mood for this interruption that was more about my personal life than anything else. I took a deep breath, and said, "Do you have any idea how often I see parents during the school year? It ranges from never to monthly. And as far as 'parent/teacher' conferences, I haven't had one of those in two years, unless of course, you count the occasional IEP meeting, but those are confidential. Now, what is this all about anyway? You show me this man's picture, and you don't even tell me his name or why you are looking for him. You are bothering me when I have over 100 report cards I need to complete so if you don't mind, please cut to the chase or leave."

I'm sure I got their attention but I didn't care. They had come into my classroom and began asking me questions about a man I hadn't seen in over three years and I wasn't about to tell them my dirty little secrets, especially in my classroom.

"Ma'am," began Agent Wyman, "about three and a half years ago we got a report that a man claiming to be one 'Oliver Stone' entered your classroom, claimed to be the father of one of your students, and met with you. At the conclusion of this meeting, you followed him out to the parking lot where he spoke with you at your car. When he left, you were seen following him."

'Shit,' I thought. "If this was the case, why didn't you talk to me back then? I'm sure I spoke to a few parents in the parking lot when I taught elementary school. And as far as 'following them' out of the parking lot, that doesn't mean much as you could only go one way on that street without driving over a cement median. I often followed a parent out for a brief distance when I'd leave school. I have also followed my principal, his secretary, and several other teachers."

"Ma'am," continue Agent Wyman, "we had been monitoring his activities for a period of time and shortly after his encounter with you he disappeared."

I shook my head in exasperation and said, "I've already told you, I don't know this man."

"So you claim," hissed Agent Fleck.

"Look," I handed Agent Wyman back the picture, "I have a lot of report cards I need to finish and I've answered your questions about this... this man you claim I've met. You expect me to remember someone I allegedly met over three years ago and to be completely honest with you, I can barely remember the students I taught, let alone their parents, even one as handsome as this guy is. I know this sounds callous and cold, but it's the reality of teaching. Sure, there are a few kids who stand out, but in over five years of teaching, I've had over 300 students and countless parents, guardians, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc., and sometimes I see a person on the street and I can't even remember why I know them. Maybe I knew them in high school. Maybe I met them in college. Maybe I saw them the local Starbucks. WHO KNOWS?" I shouted and jumped to my feet. My temper was raging and I was sick and tired of the stupid game these 'gentlemen' wanted to play. "What I do know is you're here asking me about someone you claim I met over three years ago and you seem to listen about as well as some of my students, so if you'll excuse me if I ask you to leave so I can resume the work I'm being paid to do!"

Wyman took the picture from me and slipped it back into his pocket. Neither one made an effort to leave my classroom but seemed to be staring at me through their sunglasses. 'Why were they still wearing those in my room?' Finally, Wyman cleared his throat and said, "Ma'am, it's not our intention to upset you. We're just following orders."

"What orders?" I asked.

"To find Mr. Stone," said Fleck.

"A man I've already told you I've never met," I snapped.

"Yes, we heard," hissed Fleck. "However, I don't feel you've been quite truthful with us."

"How so?" I snapped.

"Did you receive a message warning you of our pending arrival?" asked Fleck.

"What kind of message?" I asked even though I knew the answer.

"Oh, a phone call, a note, or an e-mail perhaps," said Fleck.

"Nope," I lied wondering how they would know about the e-mail. "But feel free to check for yourself if you'd like."

Fleck and Wyman exchanged a quick glance then moved so quickly I didn't know what had happened until after it happened. Wyman grabbed me and pulled me away from my desk, holding my arms behind my back while Fleck moved and stood where I was just standing a moment before. "Hey!" I cried as Wyman's grip tightened around my arms. He appeared to be much stronger than he initially looked.

Fleck sat in my chair and wiggled the mouse, causing my monitor to flicker on while I struggled against Wyman's incredibly tight grip. My electronic grade-book login page appeared on the screen. Fleck closed the window, and searched my desktop until he saw the e-mail icon. He double-clicked and my e-mail program popped open. There on the screen were all my e-mails about the different activities for the end-of-the-year including schedules, check-out procedures, report cards, textbook return, the packing of our classroom, and the calendar for next school year including summer trainings we were expected to attend. Then we all heard the "PING" that alerted me that a new message had come in. A wicked smile crossed Agent Fleck's face as he clicked on it. The screen went white, and then a large sparkly margarita glass appeared with some dancing characters and flashing words that read, "End of Year Staff Party at Los Tres Amigos this Friday starting at 4:00pm! First round free! Hope to see you all there!"

Fleck closed the message and looked at me. He seemed to be searching my face for something, and then he smiled. He turned back to my computer, and clicked on the TRASH folder. The screen changed and all that appeared was, "THERE ARE NO MESSAGES TO VIEW IN THIS FOLDER." Fleck looked at me, and even though I couldn't see his eyes, I could tell he was pissed. He hissed, "You emptied your trash folder?"

"Had to," I said the calmest tone I could muster. "This e-mail program is kind of stupid and if I don't empty the trash daily the e-mail storage gets too full and it starts kicking back any incoming messages, regardless of how important they are or who they are from."

Fleck proceeded to check all my folders, SENT MAIL, DRAFTS, and SPAM, but found nothing, literally. Earlier today I had emptied all the other folders as part of my end-of-the-year ritual, so it was one less thing I had to do, the only difference was that I had emptied my TRASH sooner than normal. Suddenly, Fleck slammed his palms on my desk, stood up glaring at me through his sunglasses and said through his clenched teeth, "If I find out you've been lying to me I'll make your life a living hell until you wish you were dead. Release her."

Wyman roughly released my arms as Fleck walked passed me. "We'll be in touch Ms. Perry," Fleck hissed and looked down at me.

"I hope not," I said.

I stood and watched them leave, rubbing my arms where Wyman held them. After a few minutes, I collapsed into my chair, trembling. I set my elbows on my desk, buried my face in my hands, and tried to process what had just occurred. After a few minutes and several deep breaths, I heard a "PING" from my e-mail program. I debated for a few minutes if I even want to look, but curiosity got the best of me, so I took a deep breath, or five, and clicked on my INBOX.

To: Alexis Perry

From: A. Friend

Subject: Are you hurt?

Alexis Perry,

I owe you my life. I don't know how to thank you. Please know I will come to see you very soon and explain everything when I can. Reply and let me know you're all right, then delete both messages.

Oliver Stone

A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I read these words. It should have occurred to me then that something was odd about this, but instead of questioning this, I clicked reply.

To: A. Friend

From: Alexis Perry

Subject: Re: Are you hurt?

Shaken -- not stirred. And yes, I changed schools in part because of you, & in part because I wanted a change. So, who were those clowns anyway?

~Alexis

I hit send, then printed both messages, and deleted them both, which included emptying the TRASH yet again. I waited for about ten minutes, but when I didn't get a response, I figured I wouldn't, so I decided to shut down my computer and go home. I knew I was too rattled to even think about report cards or grades, and I decided I didn't want to bother taking any boxes home either, so just I gathered my things and left, locking my classroom as I did.

As I walked to my car, I felt as if someone was watching me. Maybe it was just my encounter with Fleck and Wyman, or the cryptic e-mails, but something was off. It wasn't the first time I'd felt this way, but it was never this strong before. I looked at my car, walked around it, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I climbed in and put the key in the ignition. I looked at myself in my rear view mirror, and told myself to stop being silly. Yet, the mysterious e-mails and odd visit regarding the events from three and a half years ago were floating in my brain. I thought about the night when a mysterious man, who claimed his name was Oliver Stone entered my life, took me to dinner, made passionate love to me, and then disappeared from my life, until now. 'Why now, after over three years, is he back?'

I said a brief prayer, and turned the key. The engine roared to life, and I realized that I'd watched too many episodes of spy shows and crime dramas that caused my imagination to running amuck. I decided I wasn't going to cook so I drove to the local Panda Express, ordered a Mandarin Chicken Panda Bowl with half-steamed rice and half chow-mien, two sauces on the side, and a large Diet Pepsi with no ice. I paid for my food, and drove home listening to Journey and Madonna on the radio.

I parked in my designated spot, next to my storage garage at my apartment and stepped out of my car. I walked around my car, gathered my things and dinner, closed the door and shrieked. There standing before me was Oliver Stone, the mystery man from three and half years ago. Still just as I remember him, six-foot tall, with brown eyes that reminded me of creamy caramel, black hair, muscular build, and very handsome.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I had to see you," he said. "To see if you were truly all right."

"I'm fine," I snapped.

"I forgot how beautiful you are and I wish I had come back sooner."

I blushed and felt bad for snapping at him, as I asked, "Why didn't you?"

"In part, because I couldn't."

"What does that mean?" I asked rather annoyed.

"It means what it means," he replied. "And it's something I don't wish to discuss right now."

"Did you get my note from three years ago?" I needed to know.

"Yes I did, but I had to leave the next day and I didn't want to hurt you."

"For Europe?" I snapped. I was really getting tired of this cryptic conservation.

"You remembered," he said and smiled. "But no. I never made it to Europe then and I don't have time to explain now, but I needed to make sure you weren't harmed."