Tardy

He Had That "That Guy" Look

Much like the iconic television mom that shares her name, Mrs. Brady was a patient woman. Then again, she was a kindergarten teacher for ten years. I think the more appropriate thing to say is she had to learn patience.

If ever there were someone in need of extra help, she would make the proper adjustments to her schedule to accommodate them. If someone was causing trouble or running a little late for instance (not including me. She and I have already come to an understanding), she would merely send them to the back of the class, instead of the mandatory afterschool detention. She endured constant interruption after interruption (mostly me) during her many class activities, and she has shown the utmost courtesy and respect. She had mastered the art of self-restraint.

But honestly, there is only so much a woman can take. So, when she waved away the welcoming hand of the late boy who walked in her class this morning, I knew she was reaching her breaking point. She didn't even take his tardy slip.

Today she was off her game. It was strange, yet it sparked an interest in me to pay attention to her lecture today. To see how she would behave the rest of the period. I knew something was off today. The air was just a little more misty than usual and the garden did have a lackluster look to it; those darn limp-noodle flowers.

At least the attention had left me and crash-landed on someone else, and I was grateful for it. They were all hungry for the unsuspecting fool that decided to start his first day of school, late. He looked nervous, as if having the stares of twenty different strangers was off putting. In my opinion, he didn't look like the type that didn't like attention. He quickly composed himself, and started on his stroll to his seat.

He had said his name was Dylan Mathers. Really, Dylan Mathers? Your parents gave you "that" name? I could tell just by looking at him that he was probably "that guy". He had that "that guy" look to him. You know, the guy who makes an obnoxious entrance into the library, and shushes the people who were upset that he ruined their focus. The guy who puts the most amount of effort in his appearance just to give off the "I don't really care about how I look" facade. The guy that listens to the old rock bands that have regained popularity in contemporary time just to say he's a non-conformist hipster. The guy that looks at the artwork of Jackson Pollock and says something along the lines of "the abstractness of the piece shows our fragmented society and how pollution is killing the dolphins and soon, Sea World will hold the last of the great beings of the ocean" or something like that to show that he's the emotional and empathetic type. Yeah, "that guy".

He had the "that guy" persona down to a science. Strutting his stuff as he walked down the aisle. Giving a sixteen-year-old Justin Bieber inspired hair flip as he walked past Sally Wilkinson. And Sally, naïve and helpless romantic, took that as a sign he was interested, and started doodling his name on the top of her notes.

I watched him as he walked towards the back of the classroom, about to enter my sanctuary. As he finally approached the back, he hesitated and stared at the desk that he was now to claim his own. The desktop had several distinct markings on it. They were scratches of angry and irritated students who were forced in that spot. I remember when Angela Jacobs made the long diagonal zig-zag streak because she was sent back here for defending her right to work in politics to the misogynistic prick Jamie Butler who feels a woman's place is in the kitchen. I mean, where are we? The 1960's?

He took his jacket off and placed it behind his chair and I decide that maybe I shouldn't judge to quickly and offer the kid something other than the harsh stares he was still getting. I gave him my "best" weak smile, ready to welcome a new inductee into the delinquent society, and he just throws his bag to the left of him, sits down, plops his elbows on desktop, groans and looks in the other direction. I didn't expect him to attempt to hold a conversation with me, but he could have at least acknowledged my presence.