Mr. Baxter’s Post-Probation Resolutions
Ellipsis Zine, #13
1. I will not drink on Sunday night.
I pile the empty cans in the recycling bin. Melissa hated cans beside the door. Melissa’s gone. Tomorrow’s my first day back. I need the booze to sleep, take the edge off.
2. I’ll quit smoking.
John from custodial services is smoking on the loading dock when I arrive.
“Hey, Baxter, where you been?” he says.
I fist bump him.
“A conference,” I say, shivering in February air.
“Wow, some long ass conference.”
I apply my boot to the butt in dirty snow, head in.
3. I will learn my students’ names.
“Yo! Baxter’s back!” A tall, vaguely familiar kid suggests a high five in the crowded hallway. My weak hand meets his. A vomitorious wave rises, recedes.
4. I will not overshare with students.
“The sub made us memorize poetry,” Susie says.
Susie, what’s her last name? Chapsworth? Chapstick?
“When I was in seventh grade,” I say, “I memorized Poe’s ‘Raven.’ It still haunts me. I’ve been to therapy about it. “Nevermore! Nevermore!” I squawk.
Susie flaps her wings, takes flight.
5. I will control my emotions.
During the introduction to Hamlet, Fifth period Gabe has an elongated bit of tissue hanging from his nose. I pace to tamp down the rising storm. The walls close in.
6. I will get off double secret probation.
In eighth and final period, paper airplanes fly above a sea of necks bent in texting pose. I’m an actor on the stage, awaiting an unwilling audience.
“To die, to sleep, No more,” I say.
The room grows quiet, really quiet. I realize I am shouting.
7. I will achieve tenure.
I am told to clean out my desk. I sit alone in my classroom and free that unstoppable giggle, the one that got me here in the first place.
8. I will show them I am competent, intelligent, well-versed in my subject area.
“The rest is silence,” I quote Hamlet one last time to Steve the guidance counselor as he returns me to my car.
“Okay, man. Sounds good,” he says, slamming the door, leaving me shivering again, alone, laughing.
