Shaw
“Thisisyourlast warning,” I said sternly to the two boys sitting before me in my office. “One more strike and you’re both out.”
“But I didn’t even do anything, man.” Jonas, the eighteen-year-old who hadn’t been a kid for a long time, scrunched up his face. “That fucker started it.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Your mom thinks I’m a good fucker.”
Just like that, the two boys, whom I’d separated, launched at each other again. That was how much regard they had for me as their principal. The man who could get them kicked out of this school faster than they could say they were sorry. Again. Without meaning it.
“Hey, hey, break it up,” I snapped, and when they didn’t do as I said, I stepped between them, which got me a fist to the chin. My head snapped back, and I bit down hard on my tongue, the coppery tang of blood filling my mouth.
“Fuck, it was you!” Jonas cried. “You’re the one who hit him.”
I walked over to the wastepaper bin and spat the blood out. Damn, it was a lot more than I’d expected. The two teens were still arguing. That was it.
“You’ve left me with no other choice,” I said calmly. “You’re both suspended for ten days. Ms. Shakes will call your parents in to talk about the next step. If you don’t comply with school rules, then I’ll recommend the district superintendent to expel you.”
“I can’t be expelled,” Jonas said.
“Too bad you don’t show it. Now go.”
When they were gone, I rocked back in my office chair and sighed. I used to find so much joy in my job, but now it was one mundane task after another. Apart from all the paperwork, I spent most of the day disciplining students. The issues were getting worse, from bullying to suicide attempts. I didn’t know how many years of this I had left in me. In a couple of years, I’d be hitting fifty, and I couldn’t see myself still sitting in this chair, but if not this, then what?
The bell to signal the end of school didn’t come a moment too soon. At least most of the students would go home, minimizing the risks of further incidents that required my attention.
I was stuck at the office for three more hours before I got to leave. A few teachers were still in the teacher’s lounge, but the last thing I wanted was company. My big, empty house was exactly what I was looking forward to. Add a bottle of Budweiser and some Sinatra while I cooked dinner, and I’d be in the right frame of mind again.
I hurried to my car, then stopped, cursing under my breath. Dammit, that wasn’t what I wanted to see right now. I turned in a slow circle, but the culprit was more than likely long gone. A tall, gangly teen with a gray hoodie over their head crossed the parking lot.
“Hey!” I called out to them. “You saw who did this to my car?”
They bolted, and I wasn’t crazy enough to think I could go after them and catch up. They were young and energetic, while my extra pounds would hold me back.
“Fuck!” I stared at the offensive words sprayed in white. Cunt. Dickhead. Cocksucker.
“Stupid kids,” I muttered, mentally calculating how much it was going to cost me to get a new paint job done. The district didn't pay me enough for all this craziness. I jerked the car door open, threw my briefcase onto the seat, got in, and slammed the door shut for good measure.
On my way home, I stopped at a gas station and picked up a six-pack of beer. I parked in the garage and unlocked the side door that led inside just off the washroom. I made a beeline for the kitchen, my phone to my ear as I waited for my mechanic to pick up.
What the hell? I dropped my hand and stared. I never thought I'd see him again, but here he was, prancing around my kitchen, wearing a dress with ruffles on the hem and an apron that reminded me of the women in I Love Lucy.
The boy did always love his dresses, and that hadn’t changed. I didn’t know why, but elation filled me.
"Ari." His name fell from my lips.
He turned from the pot he was stirring on the stove and bestowed the sweetest smile on me. That face. I’d missed him. He looked the same. His bottom lip was pierced twice at the left corner, but that was all. It was almost like the day I came home and discovered he was gone. Four years ago.
“Daddy.”
My ex-wife always found it weird he called me that, but I liked it. I didn’t know how to explain it, but the way he said it made the title sound important. Plus, it reminded me how much I enjoyed taking care of him, having him around me.
“Jesus, Ari, where have you been?”
“Did you miss me?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
Did I miss him? A lump filled my throat. I had been devastated when I came home and discovered he was gone. Forever. My ex-wife stubbornly never told me where he was. It’d been the end of our marriage. Nothing we did could bring us back from that place of betrayal. Of her kicking him out of our home without my consent.
What consent? According to her, I had no rights whatsoever when it came to Ari.