My union President is still waiting as I exit Paul’s office, which surprises me.
I had forgotten all about her.
But it makes sense to have forgotten her. It feels like three years have passed since I passed through that door and discovered that my life has changed forever.
And in a way, it has.
In the span of an hour, I learned that at least one and perhaps a handful of my fellow teachers have spent an enormous amount of time scouring almost one thousand posts on my blog to gather evidence to use against me.
They took those words, and in at least some cases, deliberately manipulated them to mischaracterize me. They were calculating, deceitful, and filled with animosity.
They wrote letters comparing me to a mass murderer and implying that I am dangerous to children on multiple levels.
They also threatened my wife — a fellow teacher — for doing nothing more, as far as I can tell, than marrying me.
They’ve also threatened the career and livelihood of my principal.
They outlined a plan of attack that includes public dissemination of the material, sending the packet to the press, and threatening legal action. Then they mailed all of this material to the Board of Education, the Town Council, and Human Resources.
This is, in every way, a plot to hurt me. A plan to strip me of my career, my livelihood, and my reputation in the community., A deliberate, purposeful, and disingenuous attack on me, my wife, and my boss and friend.
It’s hateful, libelous, and maybe even evil.
People with whom I have worked side by side are trying to remove me from my school. I have honest-to-goodness enemies in my midst who are attempting to run my life. It’s no joke.
It probably took the person or persons months to pull it all together. Even with the terrible writing, this took a long, long time.
Also, as far as I can tell, it looks like they did a poor job of it by including things that aren’t problematic in any way and taking other things deliberately out of context, even though they knew the blog was online and anyone reading these out-of-context comments could verify the context.
From what I have seen so far, they don’t seem very smart.
Still, they managed to get me suspended by sending their libelous content to the most powerful people in town. They have placed my career in jeopardy. Put my livelihood in jeopardy. And they have likely undermined my principal’s and Elysha’s careers in the process.
The same people I greet in the hallways, sit beside in the lunchroom, and gripe about together at staff meetings have been plotting against me for months. Smiling at me as we cross paths in the cafeteria while systematically planning my destruction.
Lady Macbeth tells her husband, while plotting the murder of King Duncan, to “Look like th’ innocent flower, but be the serpent under’t.”
This is exactly what one or more of my colleagues have been doing.
They have been smiling serpents.
It’s terrifying. And though I may have identified a possible suspect, I can’t be certain. I have no way of knowing. The cowardice and power of anonymity are shielding the culprits from identification. You can’t defend yourself against an enemy you can’t see.
I have to find out who is responsible.
But that is for later. Right now, I have more important things to do.
“What happened?” my union president asks as I step back into the outer office.
“I’m on administrative leave pending investigation,” I say.
“We can talk,” Paul says from his doorway, addressing the union president. “I can catch you up.”
It occurs to me that my union president or even an attorney should have been in the room with me. The fact that she remained outside Paul’s office makes no sense. I’m not sure what she could’ve done, but it would’ve been good to have a second pair of eyes and ears in there.
What was she thinking?
What was I thinking?
“I need to go,” I say. “Paul’s letting me direct a performance that some students are doing tonight, and I need to get ready. Can you call me later tonight?”
She agrees, and I head out.
The drive from Town Hall to our apartment is less than ten minutes, but in that time, my panic grows. Anger and outrage have retreated, and in their place, fear has taken position on the front lines.
I have to tell Elysha. I need to show her the letters written about me.
Written about her.
I wonder if I should call my principal. Will he call me? Are we even allowed to speak? He’s been my boss and my friend for the past seven years, but now I worry that we are standing on opposite sides of a bottomless chasm.
I find Elysha on the couch with Jack, one of our two cats, when I arrive home. She’s speaking on the phone. I start to gesture for her to end the conversation, but she does so before I can finish.
“I’ll talk to you later, Mom,” she says. “Bye.”
I look at the clock. I have a little less than half an hour to explain everything that has happened before heading back to the school for the performance.
Less than an hour to turn her world upside down and fill here with the same fear, anger, and uncertainty that has consumed me.
I have less than an hour to break her heart.
I also have something very important for her to do while I’m gone.
