Mr. Woodstock's lesson

I never had any children of my own. No woman in her right mind will ever marry me after all the crimes I've committed. I have and always will be a nervous man. I don't understand my nature. I guess the world was too hard on my poor heart. I can never stand still. There is always a little twitch. I fidget with the hem of my shirt. All people ever see the first time they look at me for the first time is a pudgy, middle-aged man, with long dark grey hair, sad blue-gray eyes, an unshaven face and square glasses. They miss my informatics knowledge, my brilliant sense of science and my ways around a knowledge. Those things were what got me in trouble in the first place added up with the greed and cowardice I had.

And then I met Edgar Hills and everything changed for me.

XXXX

I was forty nine by the time my old friend, Frank, retired from his job at the Hills School of Arts. He sent me an email saying that he had recommended me to the Headmaster of the school with the hopes that I would get a decent job. He had written the Headmaster's phone number at the bottom. I didn't hesitate to call him. I did, and he scheduled an interview so I could see the school and how things worked and that he could speak to me. I wanted to leave behind my criminal-like life of hacking and start fresh. To be a different man than I was. And I had just gotten myself an opportunity to do just that! Not only that, but I would be able to teach computer science and a little science. The exact things I was good at!

So on the 6th of July, I drove to the school to have the interview. As soon as I got there, my nerves evaporated. The school's every wall seemed to be dripping with colors of all kinds. Of course, I wasn't seeing the finished picture. There were no students, so I had no actual idea of how it actually was on a weekday. Still, I was awed by the school's design. Edgar Hills waited for me at the entrance, sitting on a wooden bench next to the large crystal doors. As I got out of the car, he got up to greet me. He was tall and thin, visibly old. His hair was already turning paper white, but his eyes seemed to gleam with life. He had a shaved face and stood proud and straight.

"Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Woodstock." He said as I reached him. He was a head taller than me (or I was a head shorter than him. I mean, I am a lot shorter than the average man, so...). We shook hands.

"You can call me Wilson." I said. His eyes glinted.

"Would you like to step into my office so we can talk? Then I can show you the school and its grounds." My palms were already sweating as I shrugged.

"Sure. I don't mind." I replied. He smiled widely, then turned to pull one of the doors open, stepping inside. I cleaned my sweaty palms on my denim jeans quickly before following him in.

The entrance hall was just as bright as the outside. The walls were colored brightly and there were several artworks on the walls. Even the tiles covering the floor were decorated.

"The school is usually a lot livelier when the students are here, as you will notice if you join us." Edgar was saying.

"I think I can already imagine that." I muttered. He leaded the way up a staircase up to the second floor, turned right and pushed open a polished, wooden door. He went inside, standing aside and holding the door open for me to enter. His office walls were filled with hundreds of books and a painted mural. There was a desk on the far side of the room and a couch in front of a large TV. Under the desk there was a small, Iranian carpet.

"You can have a seat." Edgar said, walking to the desk and sitting on his office, wheeled chair. I slipped onto the seat opposite his, combing the room with my eyes.

"This is basically my home." He said.

"So you live here?" I asked.

"Yes. My actual house is basically two hours away, so the solution was having a part time room. That's where I sleep." He gestured to another door.