Ruin (1) Ruin “Who can tell me the difference between Allegory and Elegy?” Looking around the classroom I counted three students who had raised their hands. Erin Halloway looked as if she would explode if I didn’t pick her-–her hand was waving in the air and she was bouncing in her seat. The other two students raising their hands were Mark North and Megan Dawes. Mark lowered his hand back down after looking around the classroom and seeing no one else was going to volunteer an answer, so I called on Megan to answer. “An Allegory is a story illustrating an idea or a moral principle in which objects take on symbolic meanings, while an Elegy is a lyric poem lamenting death.” She looked proud of herself, and she should have been. I saw that there were no books open on her desk, so that was a pretty good piece of memorization, but she didn’t fully answer my question. “Excellent definition. Now tell me, what makes them different from each other?” I asked, hoping I could draw some original thinking from her rather than just book memorization. “An allegory is a story, while an elegy is a poem,” she answered after a few moments of thought. Excellent, that was just what I was looking for. Megan Dawes was an excellent student--not the best in her class--but in the top five. She had transferred into my Advanced Placement English class three weeks after school started. Where other students would have had to struggle to work through three weeks of subject matter to catch up to the rest of the class, Megan had no problem catching up – and then surpassing most of the students. Being a transfer student from upstate, most of the kids ignored her for the first few days and then started talking with her, testing her, for lack of a better word, to see where she would fit as far as the high school cliques were concerned. Although it took her a while to make friends with the other senior girls, she was an instant hit with the boys, and I could see why: she was beautiful. At seventeen Megan had passed over the line dividing childhood and adulthood and had the body to show for it. That paired with her well above average intelligence and effervescent personality made her quite the catch among the boys in school. She had been in my class for the past three months and never missed a day. She listened attentively, consistently scored well in her tests and never missed an assignment. I think she had a crush on me, I always caught her looking my way and after eight years of teaching high school English I could recognize the looks she gave me: Admiration mixed with a starry-eyed type of dreamy attention. Either she had a crush on me, or, I had a large ego and she was just a very attentive student. I was pretty sure it was the former. Some of the girls (and in one odd case, one of the guys) having a crush on me wasn’t by any means an abnormal occurrence. It’s happened several times through the years, and in most cases it’s harmless. I found out later, as the year progressed, that it could also lead to ruin. The thermometer settled at thirty degrees that November morning and I turned up the heat in my car to just short of the maximum. I enjoyed driving the four miles from my house to school with the windows down and the radio playing music from the oldies station, the volume turned down to an acceptable volume of course, I couldn’t stand listening to music at high volume, but with the wind and the temperature it was just too cold. Pulling up to the stop sign a few blocks away from my house I saw someone walking down the street wrapped up in a parka with the hood pulled tight over their head. I thought whoever it was must be crazy to be out walking in this temperature, parka or not, then resumed my trip pulling across the intersection. From my rear view mirror I saw their face, it was one of my students and I couldn’t quite place her face. I slowed down a bit and she looked up at me – it was Megan. I slowed the car down to a stop, pulling to the side of the road and opened the passenger side window just as she was approaching the car. “It’s a little cold outside to be walking all the way to school,” I said. “Hi Mr. Reynor. I missed the bus.” She shrugged her shoulders then, as if to say: What can you do, huh? Well I’m not the type of guy to just leave her to walk the remaining four miles in this cold, so I offered her a ride. She accepted graciously. We discussed a few of her other classes and her ideas for her mid-term essay. Being a teacher, as well as cautious (you have to be these days where teachers can lose their job over looking at a kid sideways. All it takes is one accusation, true or not) I kept the line of conversation to school related topics. Megan turned beet red when I complimented her on the outstanding job she was doing in my class. I think she was delighted rather than embarrassed. After a few more minutes of conversation I pulled into my parking space at the school, bid her a good day and told her I would see her in fourth period. “Thanks again for the ride Mr. Reynor; it’s pretty cold out there.” Before I could respond, she moved in, quick as lightning and kissed me on the cheek. I was so surprised by it I didn’t have a chance to say anything to her before she giggled and left, shutting the door behind her. I decided that it was harmless. And to talk to her about it would only embarrass her, and me. After all maybe it was just a thank you for the ride. No harm, it was just a crush. I had forgotten the kissing incident by the time I had reached my fourth period class. The students from the previous class filed out while the fourth period students filed in and about a minute before the bell was supposed to ring signifying the beginning of class Megan walked in. The day had warmed up, and she had shed her parka in favor of a light sweater. Megan maintained a considerable amount of eye contact with me during those fifty minutes of class and when the bell rang, releasing the students to proceed onto the next period she remained seated. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor Mr. Reynor?” Megan no longer bothered to maintain eye contact as she talked to me, opting instead to look down at her desk. “My parents won’t be home until seven tonight and I need to stay after school for an hour. So, I won’t be able to make the bus. Do you think it would be possible for you to give me a ride on your way home this afternoon?” Knowing I was delving into dangerous territory here, but ignoring it, I asked her what she had planned for that hour after school. “I’m helping Mrs. Williams, the librarian, organize the reference section in the library. I figured if you were still here at three, maybe you could give me a lift when you leave?” I usually left the school exactly at three o’clock. “Sure, no problem. Meet me back here at three.” I finished out the rest of the day, not giving any more thought to Megan as the clock rolled around to two. The bell rang and the mass exodus of students began. I was engrossed in a story one of my students had turned in for the creative writing assignment, and didn’t hear the classroom door open two minutes before three o’clock. I jumped halfway out of my chair, spilling the papers on my desk to the floor as I felt a hand on my back. “I’m sorry Mr. Reynor. I didn’t mean to scare you.” It was Megan, I looked at my watch and it was two minutes to three. “It’s okay. Are you ready?” “Whenever you are.” I collected my things and locked the classroom door behind us. Megan--unlike most of the students who would, or had to walk with a teacher-–walked beside me, not behind me. I thought that was commendable. When we reached the car I unlocked my side and reached over to unlock her side. I saw her through the window, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, pink sweater on and parka slung over her arm. That was the last time I ever saw her that way – in that innocent, pleasant, friendly student way. The ride back took only ten minutes (you could be stuck in traffic for half an hour if you left when school let out, but it cleared up by three). “Turn right here on Magnolia,” Megan said, “I’m the white house just past the corner. Four-thirteen.” I pulled into a paved driveway, lined with cracks. Megan’s house was a small, white two story building in bad need of painting. There was a picture window in the front with curtains drawn closed behind it. The only other window was on the front of the house looking into the second story bedroom, presumably Megan’s bedroom. “Well, you’ve reached your destination, please wait until the vehicle comes to a full and complete stop before exiting. I hope you’ve enjoyed your trip on Reynor Transportation Lines,” I joked with her. “Thank you so much Mr. Reynor,” she said, and then leaned in to kiss me. I was able to pull back at the last second and she ended up kissing my chin instead of my lips. She looked at me, with an unreadable expression and asked what was wrong with her. “Excuse me?” I asked. “What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want to kiss me?” she said in a tone devoid of emotion. “Megan,” I began-–I had to be as gentle as possible-- “There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m your teacher. You’re my student. I’m married, happily married. Those are three good reasons why this can’t happen.” “It’s because I’m seventeen,” she stated, “I’ll be eighteen in three months.” “Megan, your age is a factor, but what’s more important, I’m your teacher. There are rules about this--laws. Believe me, I find you very attractive but I’m happily married, that’s the overriding fact. I’m sorry.” She seemed to take it very well and said something about at least having tried. She almost seemed to laugh it off; I thought it was very adult of her. Of course, there would be no more giving her rides, but she didn’t seem to be put off by the rejection. I respected her for it. I recieved the call over the intercom system, the next day, just after fourth period was over. The students had just left for lunch and I was sitting down to a cup of yogurt and grading papers as I started my lunch break. Crackle. Hiss. “Kevin? You there?” a voice asked over the intercom, “Kevin?” It was Marty Schuyler, the principal of the school, and one of my best friends. When I started at Elmwood High School four years ago Marty introduced himself and made it his personal mission to help me familiarize myself with all four corners of his school. Marty considered it his school and you could tell how much he loved his school whenever he spoke of it. He was a damn good principal and seemed to be an expert at management; Elmwood was one of the top schools in the state. After my first day, Marty invited me over to the local pub for a drink and that started a friendship that has been going strong for the past four years. My wife Caroline seemed to enjoy his company as much as I did, she would always ask him when he was going to settle down and get married, but he would hear nothing of it. Only the single life for him. “Kevin?” Marty asked again. I leaned over and pushed the send button on the intercom. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” “You need to come down to administration, right away.” The seriousness in Marty’s voice was such a contrast to his typical laid back way of speaking. “Is there a problem?” I asked. There was a long pause from Marty’s end of the intercom. “Just come down here okay? I’ll explain it when you get here.” There was a definite tone of regret in Marty’s voice. I left the classroom and began the four hundred yard walk to the administration building wondering what was up. Just come down here okay? I’ll explain when you get here. Marty wasn’t one to play practical jokes – not at school – and the tone of Marty’s voice worried me. I walked through the glass administration building’s door and turned left into Marty’s office. Marty was sitting on the edge of his desk, upset, and one of the school’s legal aides was sitting in a chair across from him. I sat down in the chair next to the legal aide and looked up at Marty. “What’s going on?” I asked. Marty then said four words that almost destroyed my life. Those four words drug me into a downward spiral over the next six weeks. There’s been an accusation. At first I had no clue what he was talking about, accusation? Accusation of what? The legal aide beside me, his name was Borner, or Dorner, or something like that, picked up a pink sheet of paper from his open briefcase and proceeded to read the complaint to me. “In your fourth period class, you have a student, a female student, named Megan Dawes.” “That’s right; she didn’t come to school today.” I was perplexed. “What does this have to do with Megan?” “I’ll get to that,” Borner or Dorner said, “On November 11th, yesterday; did you give her a ride home?” “Yes, she stayed late to help out at the library and her place is on my way home, so sure, I gave her a ride.” Borner/Dorner looked at me over the top of the pink sheet and then continued reading, “She says that when you arrived at her residence you wouldn’t let her out of the car, and then she claims that you sexually assaulted her.” I was floored. This came from so far out in left field I believed for a moment that maybe Marty was playing a joke on me. I looked from the legal aide to Marty. Clearly this was no joke. I couldn’t believe it. “You don’t believe this do you?” I asked Marty. He paused for a moment, looked me in the eye and sighed, “Of course I don’t Kevin.” I could see he was telling me the truth but his face became graver still. “But…whether or not I believe isn’t the issue. There are certain procedures that have to be followed …” Of course there were. “Marty, come on, this is all a complete fabrication! You know me, you’re my friend.” “I know. That’s what makes this so much harder. Kevin, I’m going to have to put you on suspension until this whole thing blows over. Which it will, like you said, I know you. You would never do anything like this. All the same, there are procedures I have to follow. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay Marty, I understand. This isn’t your fault. I just can’t imagine why she would say anything like this; she’s always been such a good student, kind, considerate.” “I can’t for the life of me figure it out,” Marty said, standing up and extending his hand to me. “But you can be sure we’re both gonna get to the bottom of this.” I took his hand and he pulled me toward him in an embrace. “This is just a bump in the road Kevin; we’ll clear your name and get you right back to teaching before you know it.” I wished I could believe that. Teachers don’t bounce back from an accusation of sexual assault. Founded or unfounded. A terrible thought occurred to me as I was driving home: Caroline. She was going to find out about this. I have to be the first one to tell her or who knows what she’ll hear? She has to hear the truth from me first. I pulled into the driveway and saw Caroline’s van parked in its usual spot. Good, she’s home, I thought, I’ll just go in there and get it all out, short and to the point. Like taking off a band-aid, besides, she’ll want to support me during this. I found Caroline in the study, watching TV. “Honey, we need to talk,” I said. She turned to me and punched the power button on the remote turning the television off. “Before you say anything,” she said, a cold tone to her voice, “Someone called for you a few minutes ago.” I then noticed she had been crying. “A girl named Megan Dawes.” I was dumbstruck and could only stare at her. “A seventeen year old girl Kevin. Seventeen!” She was angry and working herself into a rage. “You can’t possibly believe this!” I was pleading with her. She lowered the hand that was pointing at me as she punctuated each word with a jab of her finger and looked almost calm again. “Normally Kevin, I wouldn’t believe it no matter who said it. But I talked to the girl. I know she was telling the truth, she was hysterical! Nobody could fake that. Nobody…” she trailed off on the last word. “It’s a lie! I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m going to figure that out, I never touched that girl.” Caroline was too far gone at that point to discuss it. “Were you hoping she’d do something for you that I won’t? Or is it just that you like them at the age where everything stays put, and only jiggles in the right spots? I loved you, you Bastard! I would have done almost anything for you!” “It’s all lies.” I said, but at that point it sounded false and defeated even to my own ears. “I want you out. Get your stuff and go.” Caroline turned back to the television set, turning it on and continued her show. She wouldn’t talk about it any further. I was halfway through packing my suitcase when I saw a police car pull in the driveway. Two deputies stepped out of the car and I met them in the doorway. It was no use, trying to explain things to them. They had a warrant for my arrest, sexual assault of a minor, then handcuffed and mirandized me. They directed me to the car, and just like in those TV cop shows they held down my head as I stepped into the back seat. I thought a lot in the back seat on the way to the police station. I thought about how your life can go from good, to bad, to worse and then to terminal all within an hour’s time. I thought I was at my lowest at that point, but it turned out later I had even lower depths yet to sink. The humiliating ordeal of being processed--photographed for mug shots, fingerprinted, etc.--was over within the hour. Two detectives were very interested in talking to me about the situation, but I exercised my right to be silent. I didn’t want to dig myself in any deeper. My marriage was over, I’d lost my job, and I was sitting in a jail cell accused of an awful crime that I wouldn’t even think about committing. I was too low at that point to even start planning on how I was going to get out of this. That’s were Marty came in. I still thank God to this day for my friendship with Marty Schuyler. It had to have been after seven o’clock by this point and the sun had long since set outside the small barred window in my cell. A guard approached my cell, and said, “Reynor! Get up, you’re outta here.” Marty had posted my bail and was waiting outside in the reception area of the police station, I had never been so happy to see him. “Your case has been scheduled for the middle of next month, this gives us four weeks to untangle this whole mess,” Marty said to me, clasping my hand. You never really know who your true friends are until you need them, really need them. Marty was the truest friend I had ever had. A thin man with spectacles stood up from a chair in the waiting area and approached us. “Kevin, this is Stephen Lawson, he’s about the best damn attorney in the tri-state area.” Mr. Lawson shook my hand, he had a firm grip and said, “I don’t think I’m the best, but I don’t mind saying I’m damn good at what I do.” Marty walked me out of the station with Mr. Lawson in front. Mr. Lawson (he insisted I call him Stephen) explained what was going to happen over the course of the next four weeks. He laid down what seemed to be an effective (although pricey) plan of action. He stressed the phrase “your word against hers” quite often, but I wasn’t quite as optimistic about it as he was. Being a teacher accused of sexual assault was a lose-lose situation. Mr. Lawson (I called him Stephen to make him feel better but to me he’ll always be Mr. Lawson) said that if things go the way he planned that I would have no jail time, clear my name, get my job back and even have the opportunity to sue Megan’s family, but as far as a suit was concerned I wouldn’t even entertain the idea. The three of us went to a diner downtown and discussed the specifics of the upcoming case. Ninety minutes later, Marty and I waved goodbye to him and I climbed into Marty’s car. I had no idea where I was going to go, I guess for the time being I was homeless. “How’s Caroline taking all this?” Marty asked to break the silence. I hadn’t told him yet; he was going to take this almost as hard as I did. “Megan called her, talked to her about the whole fictional episode. Caroline ate up every word. She threw me out Marty.” Marty was shaken by this. “Oh man, I’m sorry, how bad is this girl gonna continue to make this for you?” “That Marty, I don’t know. At this point I don’t even care.” “Well, you’re coming home with me tonight, I’m not gonna leave someone I care about in such a bad state.” I could have cried right then. I just thanked him. The next morning before Marty left for school (he called it leaving for work, as if saying it like that wasn’t going to remind me of my sudden unemployment) he sat down with me at the table with two cups of coffee, after handing one to me he gave me a hard gaze. It seemed like there was something he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to begin. “Looks like you have something on your mind Marty,” I began, “Just say it, and sort it out later.”
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Copyright © 2006 Johan Keylay |