Fat School Confidential (34 page)

    “
And then what? The money is only going to cover rent for next month, utilities, and food. And maybe a car payment.”

   
I shrugged, thinking of my present employability. I answered her with a resigned, “I know.” But she wanted a solution, and a shrug wasn’t going to cut it. I had to think of something, and I had to think fast.

    “
I could go to L.A. and look for work down there.”

    “
You’re not taking the Element.”

    “
I’ll take the Amtrak.”

    “
Fine,” she replied, and marched back to her room. I honestly thought my proposal was a good one, but timing—like everything else—worked against me. It was no use to backtrack at this point. Maybe some distance away would work to our mutual benefit.

   
Going home meant going home to Mom. I wasn’t about to give her the details of my firing, but I had to come up with

something believable. Fortunately, I had all day on the train/bus to figure it out.

   
Just as the early morning light crept through the curtains, Bobby staggered into the living room. Surprised to see me lying there, he sat on the couch near my head. I brushed the hair from his face. He took my hand and led me to his room, where he directed me to grab his paper and crayons. We ambled back to the living room, where we sat and began to draw.

   
After not seeing him for a day and a half, I was faced with a longer separation. How long would it be before I could see him again? Before I could draw with him again? Before I could hold his hand again?

   
We had breakfast together. As a family. Ellie did an admirable job hiding her pain from Bobby. On the surface, everything was as it was Thursday morning, with no simmering drama. Underneath it all, I could see the sadness in her eyes.

   
Like clockwork, Fed Ex soon arrived with my check, of which I deposited the bulk into my account (to cover rent, car payment, utilities), and the rest into Ellie’s for food, gas and miscellaneous expenses. Back home, I reserved a train trip online, packed my bags, and drove the family to Fresno.

   
Bobby didn’t know what was going on. His three-year-old mind could only comprehend that I was going on another trip and that I would be back soon. But “soon” to a child and “soon” to an adult meant entirely different things. I figured, no matter what transpired in L.A., I’d be back in a week or two.

   
Arriving at the train station, we waited the few short minutes before the Amtrak lumbered in. I stooped down to pick Bobby up. Giving him a kiss, I whispered, “I love you.” Ellie and I managed a quick, barely-there hug.

    “
I’ll call you when I get there.”

   
Nodding, Ellie pressed her lips together in a sad frown. I was afraid to say anything else—words of affection would only ring hollow with her.

   
Grabbing my belongings, I hopped aboard the L.A.-bound train.

   
Was I being too hasty? Should I have waited a few days, at least until Ellie and I could talk things through? Was Bobby going to remember all of this and be scarred for life?

   
Sitting by the window, I saw Ellie and Bobby getting smaller and smaller as they waved at me. I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. I didn’t want to go to L.A. Not like this. Just a day ago, I was having second thoughts of another trip to L.A.—with Wendy. I circled the wagons with that girl. I knew what I was in for had I continued that trip. But here, now, was something else. I was the scared kid I judged Wendy to be so many hours before. Scared and running back to Mama.

   
God, I felt like the biggest loser on Earth.

   
What was I going to tell my mom? “Hi, Mom. Sorry, but I had to quit my teaching job. You see, the boss and I had a slight difference of opinion.” I’d let her figure the rest out, or better, I’d give just enough info to shut her up.

   
The educator in me—what was left of him anyway—wanted to see this as a “teachable moment.” I realized I shouldn’t have been friends with Wendy in the first place. Granted, I shouldn’t have been friends with any of my students. Ever. But that was just surface, superficial stuff. I was so unhappy as a teacher for such a long time. Ellie knew that. And for an even longer time, I was more than a little depressed I never made it as a writer. Ellie knew that as well. But what Ellie never realized and I, in turn, denied, was that I was unhappy as a husband. Did it mean we should have divorced? Who knows. But I never addressed the matter, nor did I do one damned thing to fix things. Instead, I did what I did.

   
The train was nearing Bakersfield when Phyllis from Fox News phoned again. This time, I took the call.

    “
So, are you ready for that follow-up interview?” she asked, all canned enthusiasm.

    “
I’m sorry, Phyllis, but I’m heading back to L.A. as we speak.”

    “
Oh? If it’s better for you, we could meet somewhere halfway—”

   
I cut her off with, “Like Bakersfield?”

    “
Sure!” she piped in.

   
Bakersfield was where I had to detrain and switch over to an Amtrak “thru-way” bus.

   
I could reschedule a later bus, and go ahead to meet with Phyllis, I thought to myself.

   
I could say what I needed to say to clear my name.

   
Or, I could just go on and mend what I could without anybody else’s meddling.

   
Meddling. Now that was an understatement.

    “
You know, I think I’m just going to pass on it,” I replied. With an exasperated sigh, Phyllis thanked me for my time, while offering to interview me should I change my mind.

   
I didn’t.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is said that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I could not have begun this particular journey without the support of key family members. You know who you are. Thank you. To all of my friends from my old writing group, Writers Asylum, thank you for your criticism, insight, and most of all, camaraderie. You’ve made writing this book all the more bearable. To all my former students—in particular, my former students from A.O.S. —thank you for supporting me, but more importantly, thank you for staying in touch. Lastly, thank you to all my Kickstarter backers. You have made publishing this book a reality.

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