Rob and Carol

Greg paused to sip from his coffee cup, but Rob knew he wasn't done so he shut up.

"Look, Rob, you've been out in the real world in a job in which you had to compete every day, where your success was measured---publicly. If you didn't make your sales quota you didn't get paid. You've served in the military...in combat...And you just spent the last five months in, ah, hell, don't quote me, but a shit hole! You're not walking in here with pie in the sky expectations, you already know the truth---life is tough and teaching can be damned tough. Hell from what I gather from Becky..."

"Becky?"

"Not my receptionist, the other Becky, Mrs. Stewart. We've known each other for years. She not really the ice bitch she comes across as...she certainly has genuine affection for you...hell, she's a lot of fun when you get her away from work. Anyway she thinks you're the best natural classroom manager she's ever seen. You had no way of knowing; you didn't know the system. Normally the principal, the assistant administrators and/or the instructional lead live in your classroom for the first six months; did you happen to notice that after the second week they didn't bother? Did you notice that you never got called in to attend classroom management training----or any damned training for that matter? Did anyone ever bother to share any of the damned letters or personal comments they got from parents---parents whose kids were, often for the first time ever, interested in learning something? Hell Becky is heart broken to lose you but she knew it was inevitable. And Peg..."

"Peg?"

"Peg Marble, your assistant administrator, and no, contrary to popular opinion she's not gay, she's just adopted that bull dyke persona so no one screws with her. Anyway, Peg eats new teachers for lunch. After your first week, when she hadn't received a single disciplinary referral slip from you, she got worried...figured you must have completely lost control. She'd sneak by and peak in the window and everything was the epitome of 'couth and decorum'. She'd also sneak in from the adjoining classroom through the connecting storage room and just listen. And what did she hear? She heard learning...learning was occurring because a man who was born to teach was standing in that classroom. And then when you sent her that first referral slip, the first of many, in which you commended a student for their hard work and effort...well she damned near fell out of her chair. Damn Rob, they've been whispering about you over there for months...wishing they could clone you. Don't you see? You get it! You're damned good at it. It would be a crime to walk away from it...teaching I mean."

He was speechless. When he recovered, he started to speak.

"Mrs. Stewart gave me a letter...I haven't looked at it."

"She emailed it to me...you haven't read it? Take a couple of minutes. Read it."

A few minutes later, his eyes more than a little moist, he looked up. "I was so damned sure I wasn't getting it...I wasn't making a difference...I went home each day feeling crappy."

"And as long as you teach there will be days when you'll go home feeling like crap. Bluntly, there will be fewer days here than over there. You'll feel crappy when one of your star pupils screws up the SATs, which is a lot different than feeling crappy when that kid your were so close to making a breakthrough with, that kid who can barely read at eighteen, that kid that smiled in recognition for the first time---gets gunned down in a gang battle. Look, Rob, everyone with a teaching certificate wants to teach here. I have the luxury of only hiring people who have been, 'on the other side'...who have seen the putrid underbelly of public education. Hell, they're so damned glad to be out of that environment that they work their asses off over here. Look...you've got the job. We've already drawn up the paperwork, plus I need to talk to you about...

"Pardon me?"

"Do you have plans yet for the summer?"

"Not really."

"Good! We have a slightly different problem than you faced over there. We have more kids who want and are qualified to take AP classes than we have qualified teachers or classrooms. We're starting an all AP program in summer school---and it's almost completely filled. I desperately need an AP Math teacher, are you up for it? We're also moving into a real high school business course, but not the typical merchandizing crap, something that will prepare kids that think they want to major in business for college level work. But you'll also have to teach girl's interpretive dance."

"What?"

"No, I'm just screwing with you. We have a Northwestern grad who does that. Look the worst class you'll have is a science class for kids who are damned bright but probably aren't headed for college but could do college work if they had a little more confidence. Look, here's the teaching contract, with salary, benefits and such. You get a spiff for teaching AP level courses. Here's another separate one for the summer school program. Sign the damned things and get the hell out of my office."

He did so, without even reading them.

"What branch of service were you again?"

"USMC."

"US Navy...most of four years as a gunner's mate on a frigate that never went anywhere interesting, how about you?"

"I commanded a rifle company in Iraq...Al Anbar province...west of Iraq, my last assignment---what I was called back to active duty to do."

"Shit. From this old swabby, thank you for your service. I can't imagine what you experienced....Semper Fi."

"That means more than you know...thank you."

"Well, let's get you down the hall to meet your assistant administrator; she's looking forward to seeing you. Let me point you in the right direction."

"Gregg, this was an unusual and enlightening interview. Did you ever think about a career in sales? You're one hell of a salesman."

"And you're one hell of a teacher. Go down the hall, the first door on the right, just go on in...she's expecting you. I'd take you down and make the introduction but I've got 'em lined up in the outer office."

He was not prepared for who he saw sitting in that office. Actually he saw the legs first, turned to the side as she was finishing up a phone call and twisting her upper body to write something on her desk calendar. Those damned outrageously long legs, he'd know them anywhere. She hung up the phone and turned and smiled in recognition...my God Miss America would die for that smile...that full, almost pouting mouth, sparkling blue eyes, a few freckles, just, a glimpse of a lace bra under the silk blouse. No panty hose, no makeup, a delicate gold choker. Carol Linder.

"Hi Rob, it's really good to see you again." She said as she effortlessly came out of her chair and took his hand warmly in her own.

His smile was restrained; on the one hand he wanted to grin from ear to ear, on the other hand she had somewhat left him in the lurch. He was being too harsh and broke in to the grin that was in his heart.

She was perceptive. "I'm sorry, Rob, I sort of left you hanging over there...not that you needed much instruction. I was planning to leave at the end of the year; this job was already in the works. It's a promotion and a nice pay raise and a damned fine school. My predecessor had a stroke and had to retire early...so here we are. I told Gregg that I didn't really need to approve you, if he was okay with it, I certainly was. The fact that you're here with me says you must have said yes!"

They made small talk; they chatted. Was Carol Linder coming on to him, ever so slightly, or was she one of the very open, confident people who just comes across as very friendly, playful, even flirtatious? It had nothing to do with nervousness on her part, she was just, well, bubbly.

"Where are you living, Rob?"

"In a month to month dump, 'over there'. I plan to move as soon as school is out. How about you?"

"I'm renting an apartment not far from the school; I'd really like to buy a house, it's real doable with the new salary....anyway, my complex is really nice and they will sign six month leases...maybe you might want to look there?"

"Thanks for the tip. A house would be nice, someday; I've got some money saved from my overseas duty for a down payment and was close to buying a house before I deployed, but things didn't work out. With this new job I'll be getting back to a point where a house, on just one pay check is realistic."

"Things didn't work out?"

"Oh, Carol, that Carl Rogers reflective interview style really excites me!"

They both laughed at his little joke. Rob told her the saga.

"It's a long a sordid story hardly worth sharing. Let's just say my fiancée wasn't quite able to wait for eight months; in the immortal words of Toby Keith, 'she's gone', along with most of my furniture, the assets of one bank account and I just got through paying off the credit card she charged the airplane tickets on...notice I said tickets. Hey, no regrets, no bitterness...looking back, I saw all of the signs and should have known better. I guess since I was deploying to Iraq I wanted to have something...someone... to come back to and mistook passion and a physical attraction for love. And I've just told you far more than you wanted to know and far more than I've told anyone...even my parents. My apologies, Carol; you're very easy to talk to."

"No apology needed. Trust me...I've been there...very recently."

"I don't want to pry, but if you want to talk about it..."

"Not much of a story to tell. We were from different walks of life. He was a great fuck. I mistook physical attraction for love. Unfortunately I wasn't the only woman who thought he was a great fuck and he was decidedly not interested in having just one woman."

The way she had so casually said "great fuck" aroused him instantly but more, it intrigued him. Carol didn't mess around and she didn't play games. She let you know what was on her mind.

"I know it sounds trite, but I guess we live and learn. I admit it; I wanted to get married and just figured that the sex was so damned good that we could have a life together...pretty stupid of me, I guess. I was ready for one woman...I just picked the wrong one." He said.

It was Carol who brought both of them out of the dumps. "Hey! You're the only person I was supposed to see, do you want to get out of here and grab a drink and an early dinner? I can run you through the apartment complex after and you can take a look and see if you're interested. Why don't you follow me over to my place and you can leave your car there."

"Sounds good, boss."

Oh stop it! I'm not your boss...at least not yet. While I'd love to have you on my team, there are four assistant administrators and there's no firm assurance that you'll be under me. We've got a lot of new teachers coming in this year and Gregg likes to divide them up by skill level. You never know."

At that moment he could think of nothing more pleasant than being under Carol Linder.

"Carol, I don't mean to get personal, but, 'over there' when they said I was going to meet with the Instructional Lead teacher, I really expected someone that looked more like Mrs. Halstead my sixth grade teacher and..."

"I'm thirty, Rob, and since I've seen your personnel file, I already know you're thirty two. Some people think I look younger. I graduated from high school early...I skipped my senior year and got my bachelors in three years. I took my first teaching job at twenty, got my masters a couple of years later and became ILT by the time I was twenty-six. Any more questions?"

"None that won't wait, Carol."

"Good! Let's get the fuck out of here. Damn! I've got to stop throwing that word around; I'm turning into a gutter mouth."

He wanted to tell her that she had the prettiest mouth he had ever seen but didn't. In the parking lot, he opened her car door for her. Those damned legs; he tried not to look but as she swished into her car he got a fantastic glimpse of her soft, freckled thighs...an image that stayed with him as he followed Carol to her apartment complex.

Since Carol knew the area, Rob suggested leaving his car and riding with her; she asked if he wanted to drive. He demurred. They ended up at one of those of nice chain Italian places where they write on the paper table cloth and provide fresh bread with dipping oil. God she was a neat woman, he thought to himself. Soft, short blond hair...that smile...that take charge, no nonsense style. He wasn't really trying to put a move on her; he just desperately wanted to get to know about her.

"So, exactly who is Carol Linder and at the ripe old age of thirty, how did you end up here...not to mention, 'over there'?"

"I interviewed with Greg for my first teaching job; he turned me down and sent me to the next county over to learn what teaching was all about. I was the typical naïve and idealistic young teacher; I was out to save the world. I stayed longer than common sense says I should have. Becky Stewart and I clicked and if she hadn't been there for me, I probably would have left years ago---might have even left teaching. Even with her support and guidance, I burned out just like everyone else ultimately does. She knew it and knew I had to go; she called Greg and the rest is history."

"Where did you grow up, Carol?"

"Not that far from here; my parents still live in a small town about fifty miles north; it's another small, Midwestern, rust belt town that's lost its industry. My mom was a school teacher, well, still is. My dad saw the writing on the wall and took a job with the county before the mill closed. They're doing okay but many of their friends really have had a hard time; a lot of them just moved on. What about you, Rob?"

"I was born and raised one county over; it was a pretty neat place to grow up. It didn't become a shit hole until I was away in college. It was the same thing; manufacturing jobs drifted off shore, unemployment skyrocketed, crime increased dramatically and the infrastructure began to deteriorate. I signed up for the Marine Corps Platoon Leader Class---Officer Candidate School---and went through that program in Quantico, Virginia between my junior and senior year. I was commissioned a second lieutenant the day I graduated. I opted for a delayed entry so I could attend grad school. The military helped pay for that a little bit. I was still in high school during Desert Storm in 1991. I got my undergrad degree early and by the time I finished my masters in 1997 things were pretty quiet. I went to TBS---The Basic Course---back at Quantico and was assigned, "to the fleet" as a line officer, the 1st Marine Division out at Camp Pendleton in San Diego. With my reserve time while I was in grad school---and I guess I was a pretty good young Marine officer---I made Captain and was offered augmentation---that's like getting tenure for a Marine officer. When Iraqi Freedom came along in 2001, I didn't have enough active duty commitment left to deploy with the Division, so I stayed at Pendleton as part of the rear party. I still owed the Corps a reserve commitment; for an officer, you owe them a total of eight years from the day you start TBS."

Rob paused to take a sip of his wine.

"I came back to this area and was accepted by a Marine reserve unit made up of kids from all around here. I took a sales job with a nationally known company. The pay was excellent, you know, commissioned sales; I learned quickly and was pretty good at it. I ended up getting a command, commander of a reserve Marine rifle company. With just over a year to go in the reserves, they activated my company to go to Iraq as part of the 1st Marine Division. We deployed the unit to Twenty-nine Palms out in the California desert and went through three months of intensive training. I was sure there was no way they'd let me keep the company when they deployed; I was a reservist and there were lots of sharp young career type Captains just itching for a command. I figured I'd go to Iraq but in some sort of staff job."

"To my surprise, the old man---the battalion commander---took a shine to me. We'd done a pretty good job as a unit in the training run up. While my company had been augmented with new recruits, a handful of senior NCOs and a bunch of new first and second lieutenants, I knew most of my folks better than anyone else could have. The battalion commander decided that for the sake of unit integrity, I should lead them in combat."

"We deployed to a real hell hole in Al Anbar province---west of Bagdad, primarily Sunni and very nasty...lots of IEDs---Improvised Explosive Devices---and snipers. I was determined to bring my kids home in one piece. That didn't happen. I lost eighteen Marines and another twenty received career ending injuries. My kids fought well; we accomplished our mission; we killed a hell of a lot of insurgents and brought a modicum of stability to our AO---Area of Operation. When we got home eight months later, I had a chest full of ribbons and, well, you already know the rest. Look I'm proud to have served; combat is a mind altering experience, looking back, I wouldn't trade places with anyone but I never want to see that shit hole country as long as I live and barring World War III, I'm done with the military. I fulfilled my commitment and exited the reserves. And, I've just told you more about what I did in the war than I've told anyone other than my dad...he did the same damned job in Vietnam...he gets it."

Carol had tears in her eyes. "Rob, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your service. There are too many people who have no idea what you went through---and what they owe you as an American citizen. I guess it explains a lot about who you are and why you were up to the challenges in another shit hole one county away over the last five months."

Carol continued. "You know, in the teaching world, there are a lot of really sensitive, 'touchy-feely' guys and after the years I spent in a broken down school system I don't have much patience for them...as a woman or as an educator. I like strong men; unfortunately I've too often mistaken macho posturing for strength. I've dated...damned near married...one too many muscle bound ass holes with tats...because they turned me on. Like I told you, the sex was often great but afterwards, well, you know what I mean."

She was not done. "The trials and tribulations you faced when you got back...your job, your fiancée...it would have broken a lesser man. I mean, for Christ's sake, you've done something...a Marine in combat...it doesn't get much more macho than that, yet you aren't remotely a macho shit head. I guess that's the difference between, 'wannabes' and, 'been there, done that'. I've got to ask...do you ever have bad dreams...nightmares?"

"Do I see the faces of every kid that got shot or blown up? Sure. Do I second guess my decision making at the time? Absolutely. Look, I went and visited every wounded Marine under my command and their parents. I went to every parent of a fallen hero and apologized for letting their boy get killed. Not one of them blamed me; all of them thanked me for my efforts. It gave me a degree of closure. My dad was a rock; without him I wouldn't have fared as well. He'd been there too. I only have one recurring bad dream and, in retrospect it's so funny, in a very black sort of way..."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure we know each other that well, oh, hell, what the fuck. I still occasionally dream that I lost my left hand in Iraq...the hand that, I, ah, beat off with and could never, ah, jerk off again. Pretty weird, huh?"

Carol laughed, a deep, throaty woman's laugh, an unbelievably sexy laugh. "Well, Rob, this is a first. Everyone knows that all men masturbate, but you are absolutely the first one to admit it to me."

"I've never even told my dad that one; you have an uncanny ability to make me blab, Carol."