Sighs and Dreams in Mid-February

She tossed herself into bed and pulled the covers up. She twisted and tugged and furrowed, so the coolness of the sheet combined with the eternal warmth of the comforter to evoke that beautiful discontent in the chest that is only quelled by deep, deep sleep.

She shivered and sighed and decided against crying. And almost immediately, she slept...

A car ride, unbuckled in the back seat, as a little girl - maybe nine years old.
Buying a red-white-and-blue popsicle from the ice-cream truck, but never getting to eat it - just watching it melt over her fingers.
A car alarm going off and interrupting some important, yet somber, outside event (maybe a funeral) - knowing she can stop the embarrassing squawking, but not being able to find that set of keys in what seems like a purse full of sets of keys.
A dark corridor with doorways outlined in blue light. Each doorknob turns when tried. The doors each open but the lights go off. She is to scared to enter an unfamiliar room with no lights...

...This is the dream from which she awakened - the only one she could pick from the litter of her subconscious. She threw off her blankets, as she was sweating. The alarm was blinking 12:00. A power outage, perhaps? She thought she heard her baby cry. She lay still, quieting her movements, and listened intently for a moment. That moment convinced her that her baby wasn’t crying, but she swung out of bed and traversed the hallway to check anyways.

Her baby had unbundled herself. Her arms were spread in exaggerated relaxation. She wore mittens so she wouldn’t scratch her face, and now she sprawled like a down-for-the-count prize fighter. When her mommy’s approaching footsteps had caused a slight creak, her bottom lip quivered. But she didn’t wake up - just sighed a heavy, peaceful sigh. And resumed that beautiful dream...

Looking up into daddy’s face as he holds me close to his beating heart. He sings and he resonates his love for me in his song. He kisses my cheek and his whiskers tickle my nose, and I smile, and smile, and smile.

In frozen streets, his footsteps crunched, crunched, and crunched. The cold February wind stung his hand through his mittens. He rubbed those gloved hands together like a prize fighter who had thrown more punches than he’d received, but wished he could just end the fight, curl up in a fetal position, and sleep in the middle of the ring. Throngs of fight-goers urging him to stand up before he was counted out would be soon disappointed. Their protestations would fade seamlessly into his dream...

Walking bare-foot through the hallway of his home. Carrying his smiling baby girl to her crib. Choirs of angels line the halls, singing a sweet lullaby both to him and his little girl...

...He caught his balance after hitting a patch of ice. How was it possible that he’d fallen asleep while walking? Coffee’s service was wearing off. He felt something cold and wet land on his forehead. Snow. A single snow flake crushed his hopes of early spring. He looked up at thick sky.

It sifts from leaden sieves.

It was so beautiful in December. Well, it was beautiful now, too. He just didn’t want to see it again until December. It fell thicker and faster.

It falls and falls and falls, piling on top of him until he cannot move or breathe. He tries to cry out and the white blanket muffles his cries...

...He blinked. Then he pressed his eyes tightly shut and rubbed them with his mittens, which were now flecked with snowflakes. His coat was also covered with snow. He’d been standing, gazing up, for several minutes. A skiff of fresh snow covered the cars that lined the street.

He sighed, dull and low, and his breath clouded around him. One more hour until his shift ended. Then sleep.

*******************

3 am.

The apartment was quiet and he did his utmost not to let the door latching shut disturb that quiet. He deposited his bag by the door and left his snowy boots on the mat. He peeled off layers of clothing and put on warm pajama pants and a t-shirt.

If his daughter’s bedroom door was open, he’d check in on her...it was. He rubbed his arms and blew in his hands before entering the nursery (He didn’t want to bring that cold, outside presence into her warm peaceful room).  There she slept, still and dreaming. Absolutely lovely. He resisted the urge to pick her up, hold her close as she happily awoke in his arms. Instead he graced her forehead with a single, gentle kiss. She smiled in her sleep.

He then went into his own bedroom.  He saw the alarm clock blinking 12:00. He thought about resetting the time. He thought about setting the alarm on his mobile phone, since he had to be awake for school in three and a half hours.

Instead he tossed his phone onto a pile of folded towels on the dresser, and climbed into bed.  He stared down into his pillow for a minute before sleep besieged him. And with it dreams...

Green grass.
Blooming trees.
High, white clouds and streaming beams of sunlight.
Springtime.
Baby in my arms. Baby at my side.
Smiling, smiling, smiling.
Music playing close by.
Hands held.
Kiss on the cheek.
Springtime.
Heartfelt sighs.

Short Story (12/25/2009): Christmas Nerves

Christmas was standing menacingly over my raw nerves with a meat tenderizer. It drew back its bejingled arm and struck.

I watched the mall Santa sneeze twice right into his gloved hand before he welcomed an anxious (and unsuspecting) toddler onto his disease-riddled lap. My own toddler and I left the Santa line...after waiting for nearly two hours. He cried through three department stores. I explained the danger of germs and disease - and I emphasized the importance of sanitation and hand-washing. He explained (through a series of sobs and screams and enraged arm-twitches) the danger of crossing the will of a 2-year old.

Seeing my nerves not quite tender enough, Christmas prepared another wallop.

My step-mother put way too many onions in the broccoli salad. The recipe calls for "some diced onions" - not as many full onions as there are broccoli florets. If someone wanted onion salad, they would move to a small eastern European village where no one cared about taste or bad breath.

This one really hurt:

I had bought these really cute Converse sneakers for my twin nephews. They had been admiring a similar pair that I had been wearing. I was so excited to see them open my gift. But...on a whim, a whimsical family member of mine, whimsically decided to let the kids open a gift at the very whimsical moment that I whimsically needed to make an emergency trip to bathroom. I can't control when Nature calls - nor can I screen her calls. I missed one of the Christmas moments that I'd planned and hoped for. Thank you, Christmas whimsy.

Christmas Wallop #4

I was listening to some amazing choral Christmas carols while I was washing dishes. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir was singing "Angels We Have Heard on High," and the fortissimo on the "gloria" part was coming threateningly close to making me merry. My sister-in-law waltzed into the kitchen and said, "Ugh...let's listen to something a little more Christmasy." And - right before the final fortissimo refrain, she managed to save the day by finding a slinky saxophone version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I really thought I'd had enough tenderizing. I guess Christmas disagreed: it pulled out the Meat Tenderizer 2.0, or as experts on such things refer to it, "The Meat Obliterator."

I settled in the TV room with my kids, my brother's kids, my cousin, and my wife. We decided to watch Miracle on 34th Street together. Most of the kids hadn't seen it, so we adults were excited about sharing this tradition with them. After the hot chocolate was served and the popcorn was popped, right as the movie was beginning, the rest of the clan, who had been doing some late Christmas shopping, burst into the room. Despite their chatter, they insisted that we didn't have to pause our DVD; but they chattered and chattered and talked and talked and stood right in front of the TV screen for interminable periods of time. Every time I attempted to pause the tradition (to be resumed at a more convenient Yuletide moment), someone would issue a hollow apology, say they were getting out of the way, and continue to chatter, talk, and impede the viewing. THEN, someone asked what we were watching. And when my wife informed him it was Miracle on 34th Street, he told us that they had a modern remake of the film on DVD upstairs. And upon retrieving the new DVD and ejecting the old, worthless, original film from the player, he eagerly reassured us that this was much better than the original - because it was in color!

Christmas then added insult to Meat Obliterator-induced injury, by letting it rain all day Christmas Eve - with temperatures at 39-degrees. So close to beautiful snow; but so amazingly far away.

Then it added a few more jolly wallops:

I aggravated a back injury while trying to help my dad get presents out of the closet to wrap.

No one enjoyed my favorite board-game (Balderdash), so we played a no-holds-barred game of Jenga instead.

My sister's new boyfriend Tyler was the most annoying person with the most annoying voice ever. He sounded like what the offspring of Gilbert Gottfried and Marge Simpson's sister might sound like - if you force-fed him helium-inflated balloons, popped them seconds later by jamming a darning needle into his esophagus, and enrolled him in an online horse-training degree program.

Instead of receiving the Flight of the Conchords box set that I had requested, my wife bought me an old Disney film called The Flight of the Navigator. Then she labeled it "From your loving kids," so I couldn't blame her.

Spaghetti? For Christmas dinner?

My uncle Jeff is a self-indulgent, self-important, know-it-all. He can't be wrong or sorry about anything he's ever done - including the $106,000 of debt he has incurred making sure he appears cutting-edge, or interesting, or smart, or whatever he's striving for...

Who cut my brother's hair before his vacation? His twin three-year-olds? One operating a paper-cutter while the other one trimmed with a sharpened tortilla chip?

It was almost sickening how much horrifying junk food some people in my family eat! They mechanically graze on fudge, peanut brittle, peppermint bark, or anything remotely sweet within grasping distance. I think my sister once ate a soggy half-brownie that had fallen from my toddler's high-chair tray!

It would have been an ideal time to have a run-in with a homeless veteran, a single parent, a starving child in a third-world country, or even an insightful stranger in an elevator. Someone was supposed to remind me of the true, selfless meaning of Christmas to infuse mirth to my holiday and remedy my mangled nerves.

In fact, my situation might have even warranted a word from the Almighty!

But my reminder came, in fact, from an unexpected and unwanted source: my sister's new boyfriend, Tyler. He called me something terrible and unrepeatable.

My sister volunteered him to drive with me to the airport to pick up my youngest brother Alex. I guess we needed some alone time to form an everlasting, brother-in-law-to-be bond. The first few moments of the trip (from the garage to the end of the driveway) went very well: Tyler didn't open his mouth once. Then he opened it for a matter of moments...and we drove all the way to the airport in the complete silent wake that followed the words he spoke. He said:

"Dave, in the short time that I've known you, I can't help but realize that you are a complete [something terrible and unrepeatable]. I can't believe you treat your wife and family like you do. You're always rolling your eyes and making that self-righteous "hmmph" noise when things don't go like you want them to. You think people don't notice that? What's great is: they do...and they put up with your [something terrible and unrepeatable with the rhetorical suffix "-ness"] anyways. Because miraculously, they love you for who you are. And you condescendingly sneer at their inferior taste or their lack of dignified respect for traditions.

"I only relate my observation because I'm going to break up with your sister in a few weeks and I don't care what you think of me - as a person or a potential in-law. You aren't self-aware. You think you are; and that makes you think you're better than people. You're a fool. And you need to change."

Then Tyler paused and seemed to stare at me for entire minutes. I never had once taken my eyes off the road.

"It's good advice," he said. "Take it or leave it."

Then he turned the radio on. Christmas music. Saxophone. "Silver Bells." Very jazzy and inappropriate.

I didn't talk to anyone about my "conversation" with Tyler. But it played in my mind for days. Naturally, he's right about everything.

I've set about mending my wayward ways:

I've made my "hmmph" noises almost inaudible. I refrain from rolling my eyes, and, if the eye-rolling is a must, I just pretending I'm checking ceiling fans for dust on a whim.

I've let my guard down against what I classify as "non-traditional" holiday activities, like horse-related conversations around the fire or Mediterranean cuisine at Anglo-Saxon feast settings.

I've almost learned to tamp down that gag reflex when I run across a cache of unwelcome onions in a salad (still working on the involuntary swearing).

I now carry hand-sanitizer in a miniature bottle on my key chain.

I watched that Navigator movie and really enjoyed it. I graciously thanked my kids...but not my wife.

I posted a very official looking edict on the wall of the TV room that outlines my feelings on Christmas movie remakes. People can still watch them: but they will be doing it in willful violation of my edict. The edict states that there is no official punishment, but I will be entitled to "hmmph" loudly and make tasteless jokes about the actors.

My doctor diagnosed me with IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). I don't know how this directly relates to my Christmas Bowel Syndrome (...or Irritable Christmas Syndrome, whichever makes more sense), except for the part where I missed seeing my nephews open my gift, but I will eternally blame it for everything. Ever. Including my upcoming mid-life crisis.

And...I downloaded some Kenny G and Josh Groban onto my iPod. I still hate it, but listening to it helps me understand the minds of less advanced holiday celebrators.

Come on, Christmas 2010! Hit me with your best shot!

Short story: "The PTA Surplus"

The only thing that Karen Franklin hated more than sleeping was waking up. She was aware of the obvious paradox; and only one thing helped her mind cope with that paradox: coffee. Coffee could prolong the waking hours. Coffee could ease the pain of the hour of waking. Karen drank and drank and drank coffee. She brewed a pot at home before starting the cross-town drive to Charles Ellis Junior High School each weekday morning. And she downed at least three cups of her home brew before walking out the door. Somedays, she took a to-go cup with a fourth serving. And if that cup was done before she reached the intersection of Vine and Cove (and it usually was), she would stop at Dunkin Donuts for a fifth cup.

Five cups of coffee on the average weekday before 8am.

"Mom, you drink too much coffee," her kids would remind her.

"What number is that?" her teacher co-workers would ask, referring to which cup she was on throughout the day.

"Thirteen!" was the most impressive number Karen remembered answering that question with. And she knew that wasn't her personal record though. She'd finished thirteen cups of coffee before school got out at 3:45pm, but then she'd brewed another pot at home after dinner. She'd been trying to cut back on the p.m. coffee...but she hated sleeping. And coffee battled sleep.

After dinner, she'd drink coffee and read. Or drink coffee and grade papers. Or drink coffee and chat with dinner guests. Or drink coffee and watch a movie with the family. Or drink coffee while her husband Ron told about his day.

When all coffee-related activities had wound down, it was late in the evening and Karen always had more preparations to do before English IV started the next morning. So she put off sleep with another cup of coffee way too late at night.

John Kreiss taught history at Charles Ellis Junior High School. Mr. Kreiss was voted "Teacher of the Year", narrowly edging out the Language Arts teacher Mrs. Franklin (maybe because of her pervasive coffee breath - maybe because Mr. Kreiss never assigned any projects). School was a haven for Mr. Kreiss. He loved teaching at the junior high level and he made history classes fun. He showed war movies and lectured in an animated fashion: one lesson he taught entirely from a foxhole formed from outdated geography textbooks and dot-matrix printer paper reams. He even had his own history podcast.

School was a haven because Mr. Kreiss hated being at home. Home for him was a boring, lonely apartment two blocks from school. His only companion was his bird Edsel who perched in a cage in the back of the history classroom at Charles Ellis. Edsel was a big hit with the students: he could recite the entire Gettysburg Address!

Mr. Kreiss, despite his popularity with the kids, was not the a favorite among the faculty.

Science teacher Mr. Crawford put it this way: "The man has no other obligations. All he is is a teacher - not a father, a husband, a provider. He can spend the entire morning and the entire evening perfecting his lesson plans and presentations. Where does one even get all that GI kit and gear?"

The answer to that question: Mr. Kreiss inherited most of it from his grandfather. The rest, he had made himself with his sewing machine.

Choir director Miss Witt said this: "It makes us look like bad teachers. I had kids say to me, 'Miss Witt, how come you never dress up like Beethoven or Bach for choir class?' It sets unrealistic expectations of what a lesson should be like. That man needs to get a wife or play fantasy football!"

And it didn't help that Principal Wilcox said this in faculty meeting one afternoon: "Let's keep submitting those lesson plans on time. Some of you haven't really been putting too much time into them. I want to see clear objectives and procedures. If you want a few suggestions for making those lessons come to life, Mr. Kreiss would be happy to oblige. Right, John?"

Mr. Kreiss attempted to mend fences last Christmas. He made a cookies for each of his colleagues and wrote a beautiful (and personalized) Christmas poem for each. This delightful gesture was not well-received. It made all of the other teachers feel that their store-bought Christmas cards were inadequate.

********

The fourteen teachers on faculty at Charles Ellis convened in the cramped conference room adjacent to the reception area. Principal Wilcox discussed several administrative issues and reminded everyone that their weekly lesson plans were inferior to Mr. Kreiss's plans. Then he punctuated the faculty meeting with an exciting announcement.

"The PTA has raised money for renovation of the teacher's lounge. They're moving the janitorial closets to the back of the facility, so the lounge is expanding. Work begins in two days. By next Monday, they'll have more space, a new table and chairs, a full-size refrigerator, a new counter, over-head cupboards, a new microwave, and a flat-screen television!"

Cheers for the flat-screen.

Wilcox continued. "We need a few ideas of what to do with a $400 surplus."

"Bunn coffee maker!" shouted Mrs. Franklin, not caring that both Mr. Calderon and Mr. Fritz winced at the sudden deafening outburst.

"I'm not taking suggestions now. Submit your suggestion in writing to reception by tomorrow morning. We'll take a few minutes after school tomorrow to vote. Maybe you can chat amongst yourselves and come up with the best possible use for that $400."

As Mr. Wilcox exited, the volley of ideas and arguments had already started.

Mrs. Franklin's campaign was the first heard in entirety.

"We have to have a Bunn. It makes coffee so fast! I mean, lightning fast! That coffee maker we have now - God bless it - is awful. I don't have time to make a pot of coffee during my free period. It takes the entire hour to brew! I might be exaggerating a little, but I'm sure I'm not alone when I say teachers can't afford the luxury of patience with trivial things like waiting for coffee."

"How much does a Bunn cost?" asked fellow coffee junkie Ms. Witt.

"Less than $400, I think," answered Mrs. Franklin. "I'll look it up. I think we can all agree on the Bunn, right?"

"Well, I like coffee as much as the next person," piped up Mr. Kreiss.

"Here we go," murmured someone.

"Of course," murmured someone else.

"I'm just saying...maybe we can table a few more ideas. Doesn't anyone have another suggestion?" Mr. Kreiss looked from face to face.

"A toaster?" said Tom Chung, who was only an assistant teacher. No one valued his input and no one acknowledged that he had spoken at all.

"How 'bout a popcorn machine?" said Coach Jameson.

"We're getting a new microwave, Tim. Why would we ever need a popcorn machine?" said Mrs. Franklin.

"What about a sofa?" asked Mr. Kreiss.

There was a pause. The idea seemed, at least, to stick more than Tim Jameson's popcorn machine idea.

Mr. Kreiss continued. "There are going to be more than one or two people in the lounge at a time. And we can't always sit around the table. Maybe we'd like to kick back with a magazine. Watch some TV. No matter how comfy the new chairs are, they're not going to beat a new sofa."

"Can we get a new sofa for $400?" asked Eric Chomsky, the math teacher.

Several people assured him that they could find a decent sofa for $400 if they knew where to look (and apparently they did know).

It was during this round of assurances that Mr. Kreiss and Mrs. Franklin made eye contact - Mrs. Franklin aware that her Bunn idea was failing in popularity, Mr. Kreiss drifting into full-combat mode.

His campaign was in full-swing now. "Can you even imagine a teacher's lounge without a sofa? We've gone far too long without it. I'd like to feel at home between classes."

"He's really got a good point. I think it should be a sofa," said Mr. Crawford.

A chorus seconded his motion. "Sofa." "Yeah, I like sofa." "Sofa...mmm-hmm." "I think we need a sofa more than a new coffee machine." "Coffee machine is fine. Sofa." "Sofa all the way."

"Let me make one more appeal for the Bunn." Mrs. Franklin stood up and walked around the table. She had a hand on the door knob before continuing. It was very dramatic. "I do think we could use a sofa. I commend Mr. Kreiss for coming up with such a great idea." She emphasized his name and gestured at the estranged history teacher with both hands. "Let me see a show of hands - how many of you actually make coffee with our teacher's lounge coffee maker? One...two...three of you. Ms. Witt: is it easy to make coffee using that old machine?"

"Not at all," answered Ms. Witt. "It's worn out and slow. Plus the buttons don't work all the time. One time, I pushed the brew button and went to do some copying. I came back and it hadn't started. I didn't get to drink any of the coffee I'd made. I got a really bad headache that day."

"What about you, Mr. Chomsky?" asked Mrs. Franklin.

"It's pretty tough, actually. Bunns are high quality and easy to use. We had one at my previous school in Des Moines..."

"Thank you, Mr. Chomsky," interrupted Mrs. Franklin. "My point is this: many of you enjoy the coffee but don't make it. You don't fully understand the foibles of the current coffee maker. Take my word and Ms. Witt's word and Eric's word: we need a new coffee maker. We need a Bunn. And we can get a new sofa when the PTA raises more money. This school's had a sofa-free faculty lounge for seventy-one years. The coffee crisis is a current crisis."

And she left the room. Tom Chung started an impassioned speech about a new toaster, but ten teachers left while he was speaking. The meeting was over.

********
Candace Phillips, the receptionist, turned in three proposals for the surplus spending the next morning. Tom Chung, toaster. Karen Franklin, Bunn coffee maker. And John Kreiss, sofa. Principal Wilcox immediately crumpled Tom Chung's proposal and threw it away.

"I like the sofa idea, Candace. What do you think," said the principal.

"It's tough. But I think we should get a coffee-maker. I tried to make coffee this morning...the machine is officially done."

"Done?"

"Broken. It doesn't work. No lights, no noises, no coffee."

"No coffee?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I guess we'll have to get that coffee maker then," said the principal.

John Kreiss appeared at the doorway. "What? We're getting the coffee maker? What about he couch?"

Candace said, "The old coffee maker is broken."

"We'll still vote on it, right?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Wilcox. "But I think your proposition will get voted down give the new situation."

"We can get a coffee maker for $39.99. We don't need a Bunn. We need a sofa. I've got the perfect sofa right here." He handed his boss a printout of a product summary from a furniture store's website.

"Is that leather?"

"Yup. Real leather."

Mr. Wilcox was astounded. "And is that the real price?"

"Yessir. It's marked down. They're having a blow-out sale. The time is right. But we have to act fast. The sale ends tomorrow."

"We'll vote at 3:50pm on the dot. I'll send out an email. What a deal! That sofa looks real comfortable. You'll let a principal sit on the teachers' sofa every now and then, right?"

The two shared a laugh and Mr. Kreiss hurried off to his second period class.

********

Mrs. Franklin clicked 'Send' on an email to all faculty (except Mr. Kreiss). She worried a bit that her tone would be read as cranky or angry. But she was. She had a coffee-withdrawal headache. She had skipped her Dunkin Donuts stop to get to school earlier than everyone else. And she had sabotaged the old coffee maker - a risky move that rendered her coffee-less for the entire workday, but that would almost guarantee the Bunn purchase.

This email would certainly rally any fence-sitters to her way of thinking:

Good morning, everyone! Sorry that there's no coffee this morning. I even brought some amazing French-Somalian blend to share - but the machine has brewed its last cup. May it rest in peace! :)

I don't want to play dirty here (I hope none of you will interpret this email that way), but I wanted to make a final statement to Mr. Kreiss's "sofa proposal." Many of you are aware that Mr. Kreiss virtually lives at school. He's here early; he stays late. He eats breakfast, lunch, and sometimes supper here. My husband told me that Mr. Kreiss's apartment has very few items of furniture in it. And why would he need apartment furniture? He lives at school! And we all know that Mr. Kreiss spends more time in the lounge than the rest of us. So in reality we're not getting a sofa: he's getting a sofa! If he wants a sofa so bad for his abode, he should pay for it out of his own pocket. On the other hand, almost all of us drink coffee. And we have no coffee maker in the lounge! Let's use this golden opportunity to upgrade to a Bunn. Vote Bunn this afternoon!

I promise you won't regret it. The French-Somalian blend is amazing!

Thanks! See you all at 3:50!
Karen

P.S. Maybe if we vote down Kreiss's "sofa proposal," he'll take us off his Christmas guilt-card list. ;) Win-win situation for everyone, right?

It was but five minutes later that Mr. Kreiss clicked 'Send' on an email to all faculty (including Mrs. Franklin) and cc'd to the principal.

Good morning, Charles Ellis Junior High Faculty!

Confession time! I just wanted to come clean over a few things. I'm going to go ahead and endorse Mrs. Franklin's proposal to purchase a Bunn coffee maker. Those things are amazing. This school's faculty is amazing - and they deserve a Bunn! :) I admit that my reasons for wanting that new sofa are pretty selfish. I use the lounge almost twice as much as any other teacher. I use that old toaster to heat my Pop-Tarts for breakfast. I warm up noodles for lunch in that old microwave. And sometimes, I even use that microwave for a TV dinner. Sounds pathetic...but I just like being at this school. It's kind of home to me. And you all have kind of become my family. My desire for a new sofa was almost like a desire for a sofa of my own. I had one picked out for my apartment (the one I showed you, Mr. Wilcox), and I jumped at the opportunity to get that couch for the lounge (I'd use it here more than at home!) with the PTA's money.

So here's a proposal I came up with this morning while I was making copies in the office early this morning (btw, Karen, sorry I didn't come out and say "Hi..." ;) saw you were pretty busy trying to get that old coffee machine to work...wasn't even sure you saw me in there!).

We all agree to get the Bunn. It's become the obvious choice. I'll go ahead and spring for the new sofa as a gift back to this wonderful school's faculty.

Re: to this email if you forgive me! Thanks, folks! :)

John

P.S. Edsel has passed on. The kids are pretty shaken up about it. We're having a little memorial service in my classroom right after school. Stop by and pay your respects. It would mean so much to the kids if you did. (My American History class will be reciting The Gettysburg Address in unison to honor Edsel's memory!)

********

By the end of the school day, Mr. Kreiss's inbox was full of replies to his apologetic email. The general consensus was that Mr. Kreiss was a pretty big-hearted guy and that Edsel was a "good bird" who had "lived a full life." Mr. Crawford had chummily suggested that Kreiss might as well buy the couch since he "might spend a few nights a week sleeping on it."

Mr. Crawford, Ms. Witt, Mrs. Franklin, Mr. Chomsky, and Coach Jameson all arrived at the history classroom for the memorial service together about five minutes after dismissal bell. Candace Phillips was already there. Otherwise, the room was completly vacated.

"Is the memorial for Edsel over?" asked Coach Jameson.

"I don't think it's started," answered Candace. "Mr. Kreiss was gone when I got here and that was practically seconds after the bell. Are you sure it's in here? I didn't get the email myself."

"Maybe the kids are supposed to go to their lockers or tell their rides that they're going to be a few minutes," suggested Ms. Witt. "Where's Edsel?"

"He's on the desk. Mr. Kreiss made him a little coffin out of popsicle sticks," said Candace.

"He looks so peaceful," noted Mr. Chomsky. "Like he's flying with the angels."

"By the way, they're not still voting about the PTA surplus, are they?" asked Karen.

Chomsky shook his head. "I shouldn't think so. I think we settled that with John's email. We're getting the Bunn and he's buying the couch."

The group of teachers and Candace stood in silence around Edsel's coffin for several moments. Moments stretched to minutes. Finally, Karen spoke.

"I have to get going. I've got to get dinner on the table by five. The kids have soccer. Tell John I'm sorry I couldn't stay."

"Yeah, maybe I should go, too," said Ms. Witt. "He'll understand."

As the two turned into the hallway, they ran into Principal Wilcox.

"Where were you two? I said 3:50," he said.

"3:50 for what?" asked Karen.

"The PTA vote! Bunn? New sofa?"

Karen blinked. Her shoulders slumped. "You....voted? What about John's email?"

"We were at the memorial for Edsel," said Ms. Witt. "No one showed up so we waited. We thought the vote was cancelled."

"Did I say the vote was cancelled? Last I checked, I'm still principal here. If I say we vote at 3:50, we vote at 3:50. Sofa wins - two votes to one. Only three people showed up to vote, counting yours truly."

Karen and Ms. Witt said nothing.

"Don't you want to know who showed up to vote?" asked Mr. Wilcox and then continued before waiting for a response. "Myself, John Kreiss, and Tom Chung. I voted Bunn. Tom and John voted sofa. Tom was still campaigning for a new toaster, but John said he'd buy a really nice toaster for him with the money he'd save by not having to spring for the sofa himself. I wonder if Chung really thinks there's going to be a toaster worth anywhere near $400."

Karen and Ms. Witt continued to say nothing.

"I think I'm okay with the sofa. It looks really comfy. Real leather."

"But what about the memorial service for Edsel?" Ms. Witt finally asked.

"They decided to postpone it until tomorrow afternoon. The American History class needed more time to practice The Gettysburg Address. Don't forget: clean out all food and personal items from the lounge. They're starting work on the weekend."

The Charles Ellis Junior High School hallway echoed with Mr. Wilcox's parting footsteps. The English teacher and the choir director stood dumbfounded, both with their heads in their hands.

"My head hurts," said Ms. Witt.

"I need coffee," said Mrs. Franklin.