Folie à Deux (37 page)

Nobody asks but I tell them, “I could only attend Saturday night because I had the kids on Friday,” to relieve my nervous energy.

Neither man says anything in response, both nodding. I walk away feeling like they were speaking to someone about to be executed, trying to normalize the absurdity. I notice my breath shallow and my hand quivering as I put the key in the lock of my classroom door.

My only goal is to survive the day, which becomes trying to endure each individual class period. Momentarily I can become lost in a conversation or a lesson but always stinging in the back of my mind is fear. Fourth period, Natalia comes into my room and closes the door behind her.

I jump from my desk, “No, don’t close it. I’m sure they are watching even more closely now.”

She ignores me and it probably doesn’t matter anymore. She stands an uncomfortable distance away and says, “It’s all true. I spoke to Maggie this morning and she told me that everything is true. The Prosecutor’s office is coming to talk to her sometime after school and they’re going to talk to Meagan too.”

She covers her face and cries.

Because she positioned herself so far away I don’t know if I should hug her or allow her space.

“I don’t know what to say, Talia. We spoke yesterday about how we’re going to handle this, so as long as we remain true to that plan then we have to just hope for the best,” I say mostly to break the unbearable silence.

“You never told anyone anything so whatever they are going by is just hearsay right?” I ask knowing the irrelevance of my question.

She slowly shakes her head not remotely convincing me of the truth. I think she may have told more people than she’ll admit, but it’s immaterial now and only serves to numb my wits which I desperately need to function. She exits without another word leaving me petrified to face her class, which is next.

She walks in and puts her head down on the desk immediately making me feel further alienated. I should correct her for not sitting properly, but a scolding is likely to put her over the edge so I ignore her. She blends into the backdrop of my terror with every other student.

The last few periods carry out the same as the beginning of my day, mindlessly going through the motions. There is a strange shapeless peace I feel as my school day ends. Partly because nothing has happened yet, but also because the end must be looming. When the final bell rings I’m at a loss for actions. I can’t leave for another fifteen minutes but don’t know what to do until then. Will Talia dare come today?

I lock my door before anyone can bother me, sit at my desk and watch videos on YouTube to focus on something, anything other than the thrashing in my head. I sit for five minutes, watching the clock when there’s a knock at my door. I freeze, too terrified to move. There are a slew of people that I do not want to see. Do I open it or walk out the back door into the adjacent classroom and hide? After a tense walk across the room, I thankfully see a student named Katie through the window.

Katie plays on my soccer team, has been in my class the last two years, attended the infamous lunch that set my demise in motion and loves French. It’s not uncommon for her to often stop
in just to ask a question so she causes no concern. Something appears amiss when I first see her face and she does not greet me with her typical warmth. She is out of breath as she walks past me seeming nervous, almost agitated.

“What’s up Katie?” I say, happy to have a distraction.

“Hey, I missed my bus. Do you mind if I sit in here till my mom gets me?” she asks still not having caught her breath.

“No, I mean I’m not going to be here much longer but feel free to stay as long as I am.”

Before she knocked on my door I was looking at videos of soccer games so I turn the monitor to show her, thinking she’ll be interested. We watch for a moment interjecting our own commentary. She begins a relevant story that seems forced and as I watch her struggle it pains me. She speaks in an uncharacteristically soft, accelerated tone.

I don’t press her because the longer I watch her reconcile this the more fear consumes me. Out of the corner of my eye I see her take one final deep breath and without further preamble say, “Can I ask you a question Mr. Cunneely?”

Her nerves have drained all of the color from her normally olive complexion and sadness mixes with my alarm. I have no doubt what is coming because Katie is straightforward. I prepare myself by thinking this may be the last time I will have this sham of a conversation. I sit back from the computer, “You may ask me whatever you would like.”

She looks about to cry from her self-induced pressure, quivering lips and the ripple in her chin put me on the verge of tears myself. “I don’t know if you have heard but people are saying so many terrible things about you today.”

I’m unsure if she’s waiting for a response or unable to speak as she regains her composure. “What kinds of things?” I prompt.

“They are saying that something is going on between you and Natalia, but I just know you would never do something like that. It’s been so upsetting to hear and I had to ask you for myself,” she says chased with a deep breath and a hard sniffle. Weight visibly lifts from her petite shoulders just from releasing the poisonous question. The fact that she has not been a part of any of the month’s long gossip further speaks to Katie’s maturity.

I sit back in my chair as though thinking of the best way to respond, my stock answer already locked and loaded. I take a deep breath to begin, but stop, realizing the significance of this moment. Only one other person has asked me this question directly, Rick, the Affirmative Action Officer. His question was more along the lines of an interrogation, devoid of any vested emotion. But this time is about me.

This question is brought from the place of care and concern for my well-being. She heard something that contradicted every experience she has had with me. In her eyes I am not a person that would ever do such a thing. She bestowed her trust upon me with the understanding that I will uphold the ideals she knows a teacher must. And here in a time of so much apathy and ignorance when a piece did not fit correctly into her matrix she has the courage and respect for both me and herself to put it out the open to heal her heart. How can I lie?

I swallow hard and try to pretend that the speechlessness came from someplace other than the hiccupping of my conscience. “Katie,” I sigh, “I’ve heard the things that have been said too. And no, I did not do anything with Natalia.”

I rush through the latter part of the utter bullshit because it feels grubby on my lips like a mouthful of sand. I have not hated myself as much as I do right now in longer than I can remember. Of course other people have deserved the truth in the history of
this squalid chapter. Dana, Natalia, my parents, my employers and co-workers, but for some reason unknown to me, confronted with this duality of a compliment and criticism I feel more compelled than ever to shed my fraudulence.

Normally my duplicity emerges from a distortion between secrecy and privacy, but in this case being confronted with an innocence that I wish I could recapture, fear overcomes me and again, I resort to dishonesty. I have never felt filthier than at this moment wearing my chosen deceit.

Before my mind can travel too far down the path of regret she cuts my thoughts quickly and with a sigh of complete relief, “Oh thank you for talking to me, I knew it. I just knew that there was no way that you’d ever do anything like that. I stuck up for you all day. I even said something to Natalia because I think she might be contributing to the rumor.”

I lose my thoughts at the end of her gush wondering what has been said and what is still left unsaid. Somewhere deep down I hope that I will be able to keep this secret from Katie. I wish to keep her protected from all of my dirty actions. I feel the same way toward her I do about my own children. I want to shelter them from all of this but surrendered that ability long ago. Sadly, this will all soon be a very public mortification.

I pick my kids up from their bus stop, we do homework and watch television, trying to act normally. I assume nothing is going to transpire differently until told otherwise. I take a short nap because my body simply yields. Dana went to school to wrap up the play and is then going shopping. I make dinner, clean up and start making lunch for the next day.

What continues to stab at me as I complete so many routine tasks is that I have not heard from Natalia since she walked out of my classroom fifth period. Her silence scares me but given how depressed she was I conclude she may be sleeping or talking to her mom or any litany of things which I convince myself to remain calm.

At four o’clock, I text her something benign, “Hi, how are you?” but receive no response. At eight thirty I put the kids to bed. The girls in their room and my son on the couch because he is fighting a fever and I want to watch him. I feel in a fog. Everything I do seems like I’m drunk. I think to check my e-mail but remain standing still lost in thought as if there is now a permanent delay on every action to make sure the decision warrants the effort.

Dana calls me from the store to tell me she will be home in an hour. I put my phone down on the counter and as I’m loading the
dishwasher I hear the beep of a text message. The screen reads, “Message from: Kathy.”

I open it and find, “Ur so done. The police know everything.”

I instantly feel as though someone is screaming in both ears while the edges of my vision become framed in a black wavy border. I recall this feeling as the precursor to the one time in my life that I passed out, but I do not faint. I put the phone back down and try as diligently as I can to think. What does this mean? Why is it coming from Kathy? Is it a joke? Is this a setup?

After a deluge of emotions I’m unable to decipher and with nothing to lose I reply, “Who is this?” I send it and think I may sound terse but accept that my veneer of etiquette is fading fast.

Every ten seconds I look at my phone waiting for a response and every time there is none chips away a substantial piece of my threadbare sanity. The next sound my phone makes is that of a ring tone, not a text message. Kathy is now calling.

“Hello?” I say in an accusatory tone.

“Hi, it’s me,” Natalia says, I know immediately she has been crying. “If you’re going to run, now is the time,” serves only to confuse me terribly.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” I snap back.

Her voice deepens as she speaks pointedly, “After school my mother picked me up and brought me to the police station,” she snorts in the phone loudly. “They took me in a room and started asking me all these crazy questions about you and us. They asked me if you had any birth marks and if I had ever seen you with your shirt off and all this stuff that I just kept denying. They started making accusations that we’re a couple and that we had sex and you picked me up and brought me to school in the morning and I just kept denying it over and over again, some of it lies and
some of it truth. But then,” she stops and begins sniffling and sobbing uncontrollably.

“They said that if I didn’t tell them the truth they were going to come into school tomorrow and throw you on the floor and bring you out in handcuffs. They said that they had video of us somewhere that would prove that we were together outside of school. They said from the hotel or wherever. I just tried to protect you Jimi, I’m so sorry. I just tried to protect you. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” She takes a deep breath and sniffles hard in my ear.

“They wanted to know what we did in the hotel rooms and,” she pauses and I hear voices in the background. “I have to go. I’ll call you back,” she whispers an instant before she hangs up.

I remain motionless with the phone still up to my ear as my mind wanders to innumerable places. I am numb, lost. “So this is it,” is the phrase involuntarily repeating in my head. At one time or another everyone wonders how they are going to die. What is it going to feel like? How will it happen? Will it hurt? What will I see on the other side that curtain? And then when the realization takes hold that death is imminent the feeling sinks in, “Ok, so this is it.”

Within seconds my mind begins its hard-wired quest for self-preservation. She said something about running. Should I? I’m sure they’ll find me. I can go to my Grandmother’s in New York City. I can just jump in the car and drive. Should I kill myself? Should I drive somewhere and kill myself? If I run should I take my kids? Should I tell Dana? Should I tell my parents? Why won’t Talia call back? The only guiding principle that overtakes my ambivalence is confusion. The fact that I actually consider suicide in the same thought as fleeing speaks to just how disassociated I am from so much of me.

I walk into the living room, sit on the love seat and stare at my son. Knowing that his life is about to change in ways that are so unfair to him and his sisters, I mouth the words, “I’m sorry,” right before my phone rings. It’s Natalia again from Kathy’s phone.

She omits any greeting, “Listen, you said one time that you’d just run if you ever got caught. Now is the time. If you don’t run, here’s what happened: I told them that we never had sex. I told them about the chocolate cake thing because I thought that would be better. They kept asking and I kept denying that we ever had sex. They told me that if your story matched mine it wouldn’t be as bad for you. You might not even go to jail they said. I’m going home soon because I have to give them the clothes I was wearing yesterday and they’re taking other stuff too.”