Bedtime Stories for Grownups
The Schoolgirl and the Teacher
THE MORNING DRAGGED ON for Crystal. Calculus, English Lit, French, and finally American History. She stopped in the restroom and refreshed her lipstick. A bright red gash on her lips, like Taylor Swift. Mr. Stedman was kind of built like Travis Kelce. Maybe they could have their own little romance. It made Crystal’s heart beat a little faster.
She got to her seat in the first row, at the end by the windows. She could watch Mr. Stedman without him really seeing how intent she was on him. She could even daydream a little without him noticing. Maybe he’d walk over toward the windows and she’d catch a scent of his aftershave. He was such a hunk.
Mr. Stedman walked around a lot while he lectured. He kept his shirtsleeves rolled up a couple of turns and just a hint of his ink showed from under them. He was just the kind of bad boy who would have some significant tats. Crystal imagined herself taking off his shirt and tracing the ink on his arm. Was he a Marine? A college athlete? In a motorcycle gang? She imagined all kinds of scenarios in which he would have a tattoo across his broad forearm. Maybe an American flag.
He was really getting into the lecture on the beginning of the civil rights movement in 1954. It all started with the Supreme Court ruling striking down segregation in schools. He was so passionate about the cause. She was sure he wasn’t old enough to have been around for the civil rights movement, but couldn’t help but think he’d bring that passion into the bedroom with him.
He walked around his desk toward the windows and then back across the front of the classroom. She caught a faint whiff of his aftershave and let her eyes drift closed so her senses could just absorb the sensation.
“And to what event do we trace much of the roots of desegregation activism? Crystal?” Mr. Stedman asked, turning to her, and jolting her from her reverie.
“Um… Uh… That little girl who went to school in Louisiana?” Crystal stuttered. Oh, great. She did not need to be embarrassed to death in front of her idol.
“An important event, certainly,” Mr. Stedman said. “But Ruby Bridges was only a year old when this event occurred in 1955. Yes, Jeanine?”
“Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus,” Jeanine answered.
Great! Just great. That tramp Jeanine was probably trying to impress Mr. Stedman so he’d look at her. She wasn’t nearly as pretty as Crystal was, so she needed a little extra edge.
“Yes. Now we all have heard about Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat in the white section of the bus, right?” There were nods all around the room. “Wrong! This is an example of how popular mythology supplants history. You see, Rosa Parks was not sitting in the white section of the bus. The white section was full and Rosa refused to give up her seat in the first row of the ‘colored section’ of the bus so a white passenger could have the row. Nor was Parks simply a tired old woman who was going to sit wherever she wanted to. She was forty-two years old and was already a civil rights activist who had recently attended an activist training institute.”
Crystal had to admit that the way Mr. Stedman stated the case was exciting and she could almost become a civil rights activist herself if there was still an issue.
“Rosa Parks said in her autobiography, ‘People always say that I didn’t give up my seat because I was tired, but that isn’t true. I was not tired physically, or no more tired than I usually was at the end of a working day. I was not old, although some people have an image of me as being old then. I was forty-two. No, the only tired I was, was tired of giving in.’ And that is the kind of person who creates change.”
Crystal’s heart was beating a little faster and she wasn’t sure if it was because the story excited her or because she’d embarrassed herself in front of Mr. Stedman. She needed to find a way to make up lost ground and when the bell rang to begin her lunch hour, she remained seated. Mr. Stedman sat behind his desk to arrange some papers.
“Crystal, is something on your mind?”
“Yes, Mr. Stedman. I feel like I should be an activist, but… I mean, the civil rights movement is over, right? There’s nothing really to get all excited about anymore,” Crystal said, crossing her legs.
“Oh, that’s not really true,” Stedman said. “It’s always more difficult to identify problem areas that are contemporary with our lives than problems that are historic. Voting rights are being challenged in nearly every state, even today. Equality of the sexes continues to be swept under the rug with laws created specifically to interfere in a woman’s bodily autonomy. Immigration laws are wielded to enhance political careers without a word of truth being included in the justification. We have many societal injustices rampant in today’s world that could use the voice of a bright young woman.”
“Wow! I really like this class and I knew the right answer to the question was Rosa Parks when you called on me, but I got a little flustered because… Well, you noticed me.”
“I notice you every day, Crystal.”
Her heart fluttered.
“Can you help me develop the right social consciousness so that I could maybe become an activist?” she panted.
“Well, I’ll do what I can. You know, simply teaching history today is a risky business. Giving you the facts about Rosa Parks could be seen by a large segment of our population in South Texas as trying to indoctrinate you and turn you against your own history. But, yes, if you are truly interested, I’ll try to give you some pointers.”
“That’s so cool,” Crystal breathed. She gathered her books and approached his desk, where she perched with one hip on the edge and her long bare leg dangling. “I’d love to, you know, work more closely with you. I like the way you smell. I mean, not that it is any criteria, but don’t you think trustworthy people always smell better? Like I’d just like to hang around. You know?”
“I… uh… am not sure what direction this conversation is taking, but we might need to take some time to think about it a little before we get ourselves in trouble,” Stedman said.
“Oh, yeah. You know, I’m eighteen and graduation is only fifteen weeks away. We’d have a lot of time to, you know, get to know each other better. You’d like to know me a little better, wouldn’t you?”
“Crystal…”
“Oh! I almost forgot. I brought you a Valentine. Happy Valentine’s Day.” She reached in her bag and pulled out the envelope she’d prepared for her teacher. When she reached over to hand it to him, she kissed him on the cheek.
“This is very inappropriate, Crystal. I thought you wanted help with becoming an activist and learning more about American history. I’m not about to have a more personal relationship with a student. Please, take the Valentine with you and leave.”
“Oh, God! I thought… I just wanted… You’re so… I’m so embarrassed. Why would you be interested in a stupid ugly high school student? I’m going to quit school!”
Crystal snatched back the Valentine and shoved it in her bag as she hopped off Stedman’s desk.
“You are neither ugly nor stupid, Crystal. You just got the wrong impression of me. Stick with boys your age. I’ll still help you.”
“You think I’m pretty?” she grasped at straws.
“Of course. But that’s irrelevant. Now go on and get your lunch. My day is over for today.”
“Okay. I’ll… um… think about what you said. I really like you, Mr. Stedman.”
Crystal rushed from the room. At least she still had a date with Luke tonight. Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be a complete waste.
Comments
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