My Favourite Part

06: emily dickinson

ERIC

As his eyes snapped open, Eric jerked upright in the forceful way one does when they let their fantasies run wild in the middle of the afternoon. What was he doing, again?

Papers. He looked at the stack on his desk - a bundle was sprawled across his desk and covered in green ink; another stack was piled high and unmarked. He sighed. Ah, right.

Rubbing a tired hand over his face and through his hair, he pressed 'play' on his answering machine, and reached for his phone, lit up with the messages he missed in his interlude.

"You have one new message" —"Afternoon,  Eric, it's Doug - Madison. Apologies, I know you're off today but just wanted to call you in for a quick meeting..."

*New text message from Evie* ~ madison called me in for a meeting 🙄 it's all good but he might do the same w you :/

— "...Listen, it's a sensitive one, the sooner you come in and we get this resolved, the better, alright? Give me a call back when you can. Alright, take care."

~ p.s. emily dickinson xx

• • • •

It had been a while since Eric had last worn a tie. He'd become accustomed to the daily attire of loose dress shirts tucked into well-worn Levi's, with his sleeves rolled up and a satchel slung over his shoulder. The tie he'd picked out today had only made the cut because it was the only one he could find without turning his flat inside out.

This one was thin, navy with little red strips, and he didn't know how low these kinds were supposed to hang but he was almost certain that he'd done his a little too short.

He wasn't one for nerves; or at least when he was, he masked them well, and tugging at the skinny tie as he stood at the office door hardly seemed to do him any favours. He cleared his throat, with gruff intention, and stretched his lips into a small smile when a group of student passing by shouted a 'you alright, Mr. Macklin?' with inquisitive eyes.

Tell the truth, but tell it slant. An Emily Dickinson quote, supposedly. He'd racked his brains before he googled her after Evie's odd little P.S. More specifically, he'd googled 'emily dickinson code', suspecting Evie had sent him some sort of secret cipher to figure out. He hadn't found much along those lines beyond a few rude jokes, but he had stumbled across those words, wise and intriguing. Tell the truth, but tell it slant.

Eric wasn't one of those arseholes that didn't 'believe in truth' or hid behind some 'post-truth society' bullshit in order to get away with being a liar. He knew very well what truth was, and in spite of it had told his fair share of blue and black and barefaced lies, but to tell it slant would mean something rather different – something more challenging than mistruth. For what was at stake, for who he stood to lose, he was more than willing to give it a go.

"Come on in, Eric."

Mike Kelly's globular head stuck out from inside the room. With a civil smile, and a final adjustment of his tie, Eric walked in.

• • • •

With the headmaster, Doug Madison, sat behind the centre of the desk, and his deputy head, Mike Kelly, perched by his side, the two looked like a depleted row of bobbleheads, or incredibly dull action figures perhaps. They spoke like them, too; as though everything they said was pre-programmed, triggered by the yank of a string.

"Eric," Doug Madison began, unsurprisingly, with a leering smirk less subtle than he thought, "I'm sure you know why you're here, we know why you're here – we just need you to say something for the record, and we should be all done."