Just Passing

36. Dark Side of the Moon

Ms. Reid has her door closed.

Fuck.

"Sorry to bother you, but do you know when Ms. Reid might be available?" I ask Linda, our amazing administrative assistant.

Linda looks up from her computer screen and smiles. "She's just talking to a student. Shouldn't be but a minute."

"Ok, thanks Linda."

"Want me to let her know you were looking for her?" she asks, adjusting the half-rim reading glasses that perch on her nose.

"No, that's okay," I say, turning back towards the curriculum offices.

I stop a few seconds later when I get outside my door. Why did I tell Linda no? What am I going to do, just keep poking my head out of my door and listening for Ms. Reid's voice? I'm so stupid sometimes.

I turn back around and walk back down the passage to the main office waiting area. "Sorry, Linda, but yes, could you please let Ms. Reid know that I really need to speak with her?"

"Of course, Xander." Linda smiles at me again, but shakes her head at the same time.

I trudge back to my office and take a seat at my desk.

"Ms. Reid not there?" Jessica asks.

"Just talking to a student," I manage to say.

"Ok, then I'm sure she'll be free soon," she assures me, her voice positive and steadfast.

I nod in response, but inside I feel myself crumbling. My ribcage feels constricted. My collar feels tight against my carotid arteries. The tips of my fingers are numbing. It's like all the blood in my body is retreating to my core, and I somehow feel both bloated and drained at the same time.

Even though Ms. Reid knows about me, even though she warned me that by telling Blake this fact about my past would no longer remain a secret, even with all that, I've got a pit in my stomach. I feel like I could puke.

Tiffany was right. She's always right. It's like dominos falling. I've spent the last twenty years of my life setting up all these dominos, and on a whim I knocked one over and now it's all falling down and I can't stop it. I just have to pray that two of the dominoes are placed too far apart and the chain reaction stops early enough that I can get back to work and repair the damage.

"Mr. Graham?" Ms. Reid's voice breaks my spiralling thoughts. "I have a few minutes now. Linda said that you were looking for me?"

"Yes," I answer and stand. "Mind if we speak in your office?"

Jessica gives me a nod, and I wonder if I should have kept Ms. Reid in our office. Maybe it would be easier to retell the story in front of someone who I had already told it to. But before I can amend my statement, Ms. Reid has already obliged and is walking down the hall.

As I walk through Ms. Reid's office door, I again note the LGBT Safe Space sticker. It is an older design and faded from years under constant fluorescents. The sticker is a circle with a black background, and the image behind the text is an upside-down triangle colored in with a rainbow. For a second it reminds me of the Pink Floyd album cover for Dark Side of the Moon. That seems fitting. I feel like I've landed some place where the sun can't reach me.

Ms. Reid takes her place at the far end of the conference table that sits in the middle of her office. I close the door behind me and then sit in the chair closest to her. So, instead of staring at her from across the table, I'm just around the table's corner, on her left. Close enough to smell the fresh cup of coffee she has next to her pen and notepad.

She looks at me, eyebrows perched, expectant.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My jaw works, my lips move, but no sound. I must look like a goddamn goldfish. This should be easier than telling Jessica what happened, right? But it doesn't feel that way.

"Take your time," Ms. Reid says, her brows dropping, her face taking on a neutral expression. Open, ready for whatever I have to say.

"It's Steve."

"Hmm." Her lips purse.

I take a steadying breath. "He made an unprofessional remark about Blake. And in defending Blake, I..."

Shit. Why is this so fucking hard? Hot tears burn at the corner of my eyes and I have to blink them away while staring up at the tiled ceiling.

"What did he say?" Ms. Reid prompts, her voice even.

That I can answer. It's much easier than discussing the next part. So I tell her. "He said something about how Blake was probably asking Santa to be turned into a real boy for Christmas. It was just a very unnecessary comment."

"A real boy?" She shakes her head and jots something down on her notepad. I could probably decipher it if I tried, but instead I avert my eyes. I look over to the bookshelf that lines the wall and scan over the mix of titles. Teach Like a Champion. Lost at School. School Leadership that Works. I've read the first two, but not the last. I wonder if it has a chapter on how to discipline your bigot dinosaur of an employee.

Her pen stops and I turn my head back to face her. "After he made that comment I told him I didn't think his joke was funny, and then... Well, in telling him that I didn't appreciate his humor I..." I let out a deep exhale through tight lips, my cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. Then I finish my thought, the words just above a whisper. "I told him I am trans."

By the way she nods, I can tell she was expecting this. "And I assume his reaction was... not positive?"

A lump threatens to form in my throat. I swallow hard. "He basically laughed at me. It was certainly unprofessional."

Even as I say them, something about the words tastes false. Even though I desperately want Ms. Reid to send in the cavalry and discipline him to the full extent, the union contract allows–probably a strongly worded letter in his file and maybe a "poor" rating under the "professionalism" category of his next evaluation–there's a part of me that doesn't blame Steve at all.

After all, I was the one who was unprofessional by telling him a fact about my personal life that he didn't need to know.

"Xander, I'm so sorry this happened." She reaches out and pats my forearm.

After this many years, are we finally on a first-name basis? Should I call her "Melissa" in return? But for some reason, I can't. "Thank you, Ms. Reid. I really do appreciate that."

"Trust me, this will be taken care of." She jots one more thing in her notebook, and then she stands. Our eyes meet as I stand, too. Her usually stoic and unreadable expression has melted away. Instead, her face is screwed up with concern. "There's only a week and a half of school left in 2019. And we both know there won't be much teaching going on. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

I nod. A lump is forming in my throat again, and I don't trust myself to speak. So, I excuse myself and return to my desk.

I'm sure I can find plenty of work to do in my office with the door closed. I need to organize the mid year assessments that teachers are expected to give by the end of January. Plus, there are newly released fact sheets on updated testing protocols from the state about our required standardized assessments. My to-do list is endless. I can definitely do some self-care and make sure I get a head start on what I need to accomplish in 2020.

I only need to make it through eight more school days until winter break. Eight more days hiding on the darkside of the moon, away from the glare of the sun.