To Ease Their Passage

FICTION To Ease Their Passage Joyce A. Richardson As I walked from Superintendent Smith's office, my one thought was: "At least maybe now I can retire with some dignity." Dr. Sandra had been dignified herself as she murmured my name and shook my hand. She wore a bright red suit with matching lipstick and nail polish. I had gone to her office just to talk and maybe laugh a little about the new state directive. "Does this mean what it says it means?" I pointed to the memo that I had found in my mailbox. She nodded. "Starting next year, the state will deem each school system either excellent or deficient." "And that's it?" "That's it!" "Nothing in between?" "Nothing in between!" "Using what criteria?" I laughed. "Test scores," she answered. Sandra was not laughing. "Both achievement and proficiency. Also attendance and dropout statistics." "But my students ..." if I'd said it once, I'd said it a dozen times. . . "our students," I corrected, "don't give a damn about their test scores." This wasn't true, ofcourse. Some ofour students were test conscious, test motivated, particularly after we had pounded it into their heads, just how important the state and now the school deemed them. "As I've told you before, Karen, we had all better give a damn, as you say. Whether you like it or not, the state has given us these directives, and they are now the law." "The law," I repeated. A year ago I had been angry. I had seen bright red spots whenever I closed my eyes. Now I was almost reverent. "The law," I said quietly. I remembered my early years at Coaltrain Hills, when our isolated school, resting in the foothills ofOhio, had been a magnet for arts grants, for music, for plays. When our band, a hundred strong, had marched proudly down fields, down main streets. Then, the state had Joyce Richardson is aformer high school teacher living in Athens, Ohio. Herpoetry and prose have been widelypublished. 36 cared about our souls. Now they cared about our test scores. "But shouldn't it be the law that all schools should be funded equally?" "Ofcourse," Sandra sighed. "But we can't even afford to hire tutors." She smiled, a wry smile, and I studied her face. Was it time to bail out? I had always said I would retire when I could be assured that someone even wilder than myselfwould take my place. But that was when I prided myselfon my off-the-wall teaching methods, when I would wake up in the morning with fantastic ideas that would either succeed amazingly or bomb spectacularly. "Would you," I asked, "or rather would the district consider early retirement?" I paused, for Sandra frowned. "For me," I added. I could feel my underarms perspiring through my polyester blouse. "In two years I will have taught twenty-five years, and if the district could buy those years, I would save you a lot ofmoney." "You mean now, as ofnext year? I don't know what to say." I was becoming excited at the prospect. "I know I should give more notice, but if you hired someone new to replace me, someone with a bachelor's degree, the district would save at least sixteen thousand in the first year." Sandra stuttered. "Why, K-Karen!" Then she smiled. And I believed, at that moment, it was a smile of relief. "I'll ask the board," she said cheerfully, "and let you know." And then I walked out: a little lightheaded, for my blood sugar had hit an all-time low. I checked my watch. Why didn't I feel more elated? I opened the door to the faculty lounge, groped for change with damp palms, put two quarters into the candy machine, and shakily withdrew an Almond Joy from the metal receptacle. I filled my coffee mug, the one with "Karen" scripted in gold, the one I had used in all my years ofteaching Language Arts in Coaltrain Hills, the one I carried from the lounge to the classroom in the morning, gulping the coffee as quickly as I could, the one I...