Final Protest Of The Fall Season

My office is littered with boxes, stacks of books, dust bunnies, pens, dry erase markers, shoes that I thought I had lost, and final exams. Jerry keeps shaking his head from side to side, grunting to himself about how it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong and how the Cockknocker shouldn’t get away with this. He moves books from pile to pile, creating the aura of helping me pack up my things. He’s so caught up in his denial that I’ve been “released from duty” (a quote from the official review board letter) that he’s completely unaware of what he’s trying to accomplish.

After Jerry adds a last heavy tome to a stack of paperbacks, causing the books to cascade across the room, Norma has had enough. “Jerry!” She flings a book at his feet. “Stop holding conversations with yourself and pay attention to what you’re doing!”

He hovers over the books on the floor through a wrinkled brow. “I did that?”

“Yes, you did that. Now help me pick it up.”

“Sorry,” Jerry crouches down to join Norma, “I can’t believe that we’re packing you up.”

From behind my last Shakespeare final exam essay, I click my tongue. “Don’t ruminate about it! Just do it!”

Jerry salutes me. “Yes’am. Use some big teachery words, why don’t ya.”

“Sorry. I’m trying to get through this last essay. Did you know that Othello was called a moor because he liked boats?”

Norma sits on the floor. “Really? I thought it was because he was part of the Moorish people who lived on the moors.”

I nod. “So did I. Apparently I missed the part where he becomes a boat and attaches himself to a dock.”

Jerry laughs. “I love relearning literature. Are all the essays that bad?”

I throw the paper on a stack. “No, thank God. This is the only one. Everyone else passed.”

He pauses with a book in hand. “Lowering your standards in your twilight days?” Jerry crosses his arms.

“Nah. They learned lots of stuff. I’m so happy.” I reach over, put an F on the bottom of the paper, and put the exams into their proper folder. “I’m going out with a bang!” I pick up the heavy folder and slam it back down on the desk. “I’ll put these books into boxes instead of helping the two of you make piles.”

The review committee deemed my relationship with Jeffery Rigger unethical. Even though we never had sex. Even though he earned an average grade in my class. Even though they couldn’t prove that I had even a mere acquaintanceship with him, I couldn’t disprove it, and therefore, was found guilty of fraternization in the Nth degree or something of that sort. I received the “released from duty” letter the next day. In my Comp I class, we call that a euphemism for “fired.”

I didn’t fight it. I don’t plan on fighting it. Legal battles could only lead to uncovering the truth, the very raw truth, that I was, indeed, in a relationship that was more than a friendship with a freshman, and even though we weren’t using each other, I was the more vulnerable of the two of us because I was so damn lonely because I hadn’t ever gotten over my manipulative ex-boyfriend, and I was trying to get over him by finding impossible replacements such as younger men and weird campus safety patrol officers. The already married part was an extra, added bonus for my measure of failure. What I did was wrong. I may love teaching; however, I let my emotions get the best of the rest of me. Even if it can’t be proven, I know what happened. I broke Jeffery’s heart, and no job or lack thereof can undo that.

Of course, I’m not being canned for breaking his heart-—I’m being asked to leave because I may have an overly friendly rapport with my students that could be construed as fraternization, even if it’s not, and NYLISC doesn’t need that kind of publicity. In any way, losing something is necessary penance.

As Jerry, Norma, and I push several large boxes outside the door, Leah comes flying out of the elevator. “You need to come outside,” she yells, sliding in her wet boots two feet past the doorway.

I grab her arm to stop her from toppling over. “It’s ten degrees out and snowy. No one needs to come outside.”

She stomps her feet on the floor. “No. You need to.” She tugs me towards the elevator, squeaking on the tile floor. Her nose is bright pink and her eyes are tearing.

Norma steps between us. “Leah, what’s going on?”

“You all have to come outside to see.” She’s flushed still. “You’re going to love it.”

We walk in a cloud of white vapor, our breath visible in the frigid air. I shiver in my wool coat. This has been one of the worst winters ever. Piles of snow everywhere, almost as tall as I am. Ice and salt that’s supposed to melt the ice covers all the pathways on campus. Sand strewn around as well. The concrete is slushy, and through this we trudge, following Leah. A din becomes louder as we approach the quad. Leah refuses to tell us what’s going on. All she says is that we’ll meet up with the rest of the English Department soon enough, as well as her department, and Jessica’s department, and everyone else we know, and a lot of people we don’t know. As if that explains things.

They have come in droves with big white placards and dark purple and green markers. A large portion of the student body, most of the staff, and much of the faculty has congregated on the front lawn of Sights and Sound Union with bullhorns, whistles, and bitterness. I recognize some of my students from this semester, and from semesters past. Friends of my students. Students I have never seen before. Hanging between the two pillars that mark the burial sight of the time capsule is a banner that reads: “Love Has No Boundaries!”

Students are chanting and sing-songing. They wave signs that say: Keep Our Good Teachers; Equal Treatment For Equal Love; Ethics My Ass

Even staff and faculty are carrying these signs and keeping up with the chanting. There’s so much noise that I can’t understand what they’re saying. My head spins, slowly at first, and then at warp speed. Under hats and coats and behind white vapors of breath, I recognize my Comp I class, my Women and Lit class, my Shakespeare class (even the student who confuses people with boats is here). Coming up to me are my partners in Convocation crime: Matt Farr, Roger Gregan, and Larry More surround me.

Matt tugs his scarf down so his mouth is visible. “It’s about time you showed up.”

“What is all this?!”

“We heard a little rumor that the review board wants to get rid of you.”

Larry steps up behind Matt. “And another rumor that Corporal was caught not once, not twice, but four times in several trysts with several students over the course of two semesters in the not so distance past.”

Matt continues, “And since she can exploit her concubines—all of whom received grade changes from F’s to A’s mind you. . .”

Larry finishes, “Then perhaps you haven’t had a fair shake at this teaching thing either.”

This? Is too much to comprehend. “What are you talking about? Cocknocker having affairs with students? Who the hell would want to do that?” With all the commotion emerging around me, the only thing that shocks me is the thought of Cocknocker getting down and dirty with no clothes on with the likes of the student population.

Roger fills in the fuzzy parts. “They were night students. Returning to college. All over forty. Which doesn’t mean that the offer is any more attractive, but it does explain it a little bit more.”

“But how do you know…” I start, but Roger interrupts again.

“When they were pulling security footage for that wacked out guard”—a knot forms in my stomach and my face flushes at the thought of, well, ick—“they saw some very interesting reels of rendezvous featuring our devout, by-the-book, sociopath of a academician, and apparently this is not the first time they found such footage.”

Now, it hits me. “So why the fuck am I being canned for the exact same thing? And by her no less!” I don’t know why I’m fuming. Being let go from this hell hole is probably the greatest thing that has happened to me in a very long time.
Jerry puts a hand on my shoulder. “I think that’s what this whole protest is about.”

As if on cue, some student climbs up on a piece of the time capsule and shouts into a bullhorn. “Who among us is in charge of love?”

“No one!” the crowd shouts.

“What kind of hypocritical society do we live in where a teacher gets fired for doing what’s human while the rat who fires her is doing the exact same thing?”

A chorus of boos erupts.

“Are we going to let these hypocrites set boundaries on love?”

The crowd starts chanting No, No, No, No and clapping at the same time, a staccato, a rhythm of protest. Impressive. I love them.

Out of nowhere, Jessica is behind me, pushing me through the crowd. “You should say something.”

I move out of her path and stop pushing forward. “Where did you come from?”

“You think I’d miss a pep rally about making it with a professor? Have you forgotten I’m the queen of professor love?”

“Guess not.”

I glance around. Chattering teeth with red cheeks. Gloves clapping. Bobby standing next to Leah, giving me a thumbs up. I weave my way forward. I try not to, but I search for Jeffery. Nowhere. I shake my head to forget him and focus on everyone else. So many cheering me on as I step onto the time capsule and take the bullhorn.

“Wow, I can’t believe this.” I feel like Crazy Joe Clark from Lean on Me. “Most of you should probably be studying for finals while the rest of you should be administering your finals, so.” I don’t attempt the rest of the sentence (you should all go back to class) because their boos drown me out.

Another chant erupts: “Love rules! Love rules! Love rules!” I don’t know if they’re saying that love should be in charge of controlling us or if love should have a set of rules. I’m thinking it’s the former. I’m also thinking I’m the only one here thinking about the irony of the latter.

My head spins. A strict, straight, purposeful strut comes down the path to my right. Even in a coat and through slush and ice, the Corporal continues her angry stride. Within a minute, she’s beside me, yanking at my hand.

“Marie Roma, this is unacceptable!” she screams at me with wild eyes behind fogged glasses. As she tilts her head up to me, her hat falls off and gets lost in the sea of boots and snow.

“Are you kidding me?” This is just as much about you and your secret however disgusting antics caught on video!” I scream back.

“You’re not supposed to be on campus. I’ll get security!” She tugs harder on my arm. I heave away harder.

“Go ahead! Maybe they’ll pull more footage of you with some goats or something!”

The crowd isn’t chanting anymore. They’re watching this stand-off.

Unfazed by the fact that I have accused her of beastiality, she repeats, “I’ll! Get! Securityyyyyyyyy!” waving her arms around her head like a madwoman. Really? Four students submitted to her romantic passes? I’d rather take an F, and I’m not one who ever failed anything.

I stand my ground, returning to a calmer voice to piss her off more. “The semester hasn’t ended yet. I’m allowed to be here.”

She grabs onto my arm and pulls herself up. She tries to grab the bullhorn. No one will let her have it. Seeing that all she has is lung power, Cockknocker inhales a gust of cold air and screams, “You can’t change it! Go home! Go home!” She pounds her feet.

The students, not appreciating this interruption, chant, “No! No! No!” and boo her. She screams at me, “Make them go home.”

“They don’t want to.”

“Make them want to, you insubordinate child-molester!”

She did not just say that, did she? She’s really cracking up. Jessica, Leah, and my department have made it up to the time capsule in time to hear this completely idiotic accusation. At once, they jump to my defense before I can get a word out. “What did you call her?” “You’re a maniacal cunt!” “Bitch!” Larry from my Comp I class is behind them, calling her a whore.

I grab the bullhorn and scream into it, “Stop!” Some people stop pushing. I see security moving in to break up the pockets of rowdiness. I see police lights.

In this mayhem, Cockknocker appears next to me. “You’ll never win this!” she screams.

I step back and steady myself against the pillar. “You’re crazy. And you wear ugly shoes.” I don’t scream it. I say it.

Then she does what I’ve been praying for her to do since I was hired. She cocks her arm back and lands a weak blow on my right shoulder. That’s good enough offense for me, seeing that I could fall and injure myself. So, in self-defense, I curl my fingers, inhale, and rip one square into her nose, my arm curving across my body, and my torso falling over at the waist with some excellent follow through. Cockknocker falls backwards, being caught by Jerry who has been standing below, waiting for me to literally push her over the edge.

He calls to me, “Saw the whole thing. She threw first. Nice control.”

Had she been on solid ground, the weak punch would not have caused any type of reaction. This is the saddest excuse for a fight in the history of fighting. In fact, if all violence were like this, we could all advocate for it.

With cruisers moving in and the NYLISC community dispersing, I heave a sigh of complete relief and feel my shoulders and neck finally relax in a way they haven’t for five years. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar walk heading in the opposite direction. In my head, I hear his voice say, “Nice job, professor.”