A Soul Ensnared

Eleven

July 20, 2013

"I don't know that you should be touching students, Brent, particularly your female students," Sonya announced. They were in the car, on the way to view another apartment. This would be the third place they'd seen that day. Whether it was lingering anger from the night before, or the residual tension from the messages to Bernice, the day had turning into an arduous ordeal. She wanted to be home, in her own apartment, sitting on her own couch, not having to think about forty-two inch cabinetry, garden tubs, or recessed lighting.

Brent's hands tightened on the wheel, turning white at the knuckles. "Now you're jealous of my students?" he asked, shooting Sonya an incredulous glare. "I've given you nothing to be jealous of, Sonya. I haven't been on Facebook since the moment you asked me to remove people from it. I know I crossed a line with Bernice, and I wrote things that made you question our relationship. But, seriously, Sonya. You're jealous that I am nice to my students?"

"No," Sonya huffed. If she was being honest with herself, though, he had verbalized one of her issues. She'd seen the way Brent hugged those girls, and her stomach had lurched. It was almost as if she'd been threatened by their exuberance and their adulation of him. Jealousy had sprung forth last night. She'd felt it as a palpable entity, threatening her idea of their relationship. These girls were closer to her age than his, and she knew the mindset of girls in High School. Brent was hers; she didn't like sharing him, especially with a younger woman.

"Look," she said, trying to explain herself in a way that didn't seem possessive, "there should never be a question in a parent's mind about the way you treat a daughter. The rest of the teachers in that school should never have your name on their lips in reference to a hug or touch they saw between you and a young girl. You don't want to open yourself up to lawsuits, or taint your record with mistruths and rumors, right? Think of it another way. Do you hug the boys, lift them off the ground, or play with their hair when you talk to them?"

He scoffed. "That would be ridiculous. You don't do that with guys. They'd think I was gay or something. I can't be known as the gay teacher in the school."

"Exactly. You should be treating both sexes equally. If you don't touch the guys, don't touch the girls. There's a protocol you should be following, something along the lines of 'never be in a closed room with a student.' Also, I believe you should wonder about that remark you just made. There are gay teachers at Madison, and I'm willing to bet that no one gossips about them."

"I'm not a homophobe, Sonya. I just don't want to be thought of that way. You are deflecting from your jealousy issues by being completely ridiculous. Don't be in a room with a student when the door is closed? You remember I teach band, right? I teach private lessons. Where do you think the 'private' part comes in? Of course I'm going to have to close myself in a room with a student. I'm also going to have to trust that, when I hand back their oboe, they don't run out of the room screaming about being molested. I've given a few of the girls hugs, Sonya. I'm not ripping their clothes off. It's not like I'm a first year teacher. I know which end of the pencil goes up."

"Which end goes up?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow in humor.

"What?" His face pinched, confused by her question.

"You said you know which end of the pencil goes up. I want to know which side that is. I mean, are you writing something down, or are you stabbing someone?"

He laughed, the tension broken.

"Brent," she asked, opening the door for a deeper conversation, "you keep saying something that I need to ask you about. If you're not a first year teacher, shouldn't I know that? We've been dating for a year. This isn't the first time you've made a remark like that. I usually blow it off because it seems like your path getting to this point has been rocky. Why has it been difficult? Why do you hate that term so much? Is there something you're not telling me?"