New Story: "The Chair"
featuring Lydia Frontosa and Amy Marten
“Or not 2B” Lydia snarled, scowling at the numbers on her apartment door as the turned the key. Upon entering, she slammed the door so hard that roommate Amy, working on her homework at the kitchen table, snapped her pencil.
“Lids?” Amy looked up briefly, but then went back to her college assignment.
Lydia hung up her coat violently enough to break a peg of the rack. This time, she had Amy's full attention.
“Lydia? Hey, what happened to your skirt?”
Lydia was dusting off her backside for the second time.
“Nothing.”
“If you say so.”
Amy reached for a new pencil as Lydia marched to the couch and let herself drop. The smart tv was soon engaged and Lydia was squeezing the remote like an electronic stress ball. Soon, the sounds of a military firefight were erupting from its speakers. Amy was done working.
“Under Siege? I take it you had a bad day.”
“You don't say.”
Amy moved cautiously over to the armchair and sat down facing her friend, quietly noting the tear stains but saying nothing.
“I don't suppose you...”
“No, I don't want to talk about it.”
Steven Seagal proceeded to take down two more terrorists as he shoved Erika Eleniak under a turret. A helicopter exploded violently and the fantail of the Missouri burst into flames.
“Stupid little brats...”
Allowing Lydia her space, Amy let her friend continue to snarl at the movie while she went to the kitchen, put on some hot cocoa, and retrieved Lydia's pajamas and pink bunny slippers from the bedroom. Returning, she gently coaxed the remote from Lydia and handed her the clothes.
“Go change.”
Grudgingly, Lydia complied. She returned with hot tears on her face, accepted the hot chocolate, and lowered herself on the couch.
“Stupid brats...” she attempted to snarl again, but this time her voice caught.
“What happened, Lids?”
“It was FINE! The day was FINE!”
“Until?”
“I hate middle schoolers.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that. So?”
“So they freaking humiliated me!”
Amy sipped her cocoa quietly and listened as Lydia recounted what had transpired.
The day had started much like any other. Around 5:45 that morning, Lydia's phone buzzed an alert indicated a potential substitute teaching assignment. Lydia generally preferred high school jobs, but on this particular day, there were only two options: elementary school, or middle school English. Lydia let out a heavy sigh. She could decline, but she and Amy needed the rent money.
“Here we go,” Lydia sighed heavily as she accepted the middle school job.
Lydia pondered her choice as she selected her wardrobe: black cashmere sweater, mustard skirt, black tights, and those cute Puritan-style shoes with the big gold buckles. Thanksgiving was coming up, after all. Topping it off with a chunky necklace, she headed to the kitchen.
“Middle school,” she mumbled to herself at she spread Lox on a bagel. “What were you thinking? But hey, you're gonna be a social worker right? You need the experience Lids.
Lydia could hear Amy stirring in the other room. She pulled out her phone and started checking TikTok and Pinterest for ways to keep middle schoolers engaged, back-up lesson plans in case there were none, and games in case they got done early and she needed to fill time.
“It could be fun,” responded Amy a half-hour later as Lydia filled her in on the details.
“Amy-blossom, sweetie,” countered Lids, “water parks are fun. Middle schoolers are...”
“Energetic,” Amy finished her thought. “Lids, you can't go in this fired up. Kids pick up on that. Breathe.”
“You're right,” Lydia responded. “Okay. Deep breath. Happy face!”
Lydia picked up her bag and started reading the many buttons pinned to it, everything from jokes to positivity slogans to inspirational quotes.
“Be alert. The world needs more lerts!”
Lydia smiled. That one always got to her. Soon, her yellow, 2010 beetle was cruising toward Ashhaven's East Grove Middle School.
“You are responsible for the energy you bring into this place,” she read off another button after parking the car. “Yes! Got it! You can do this! Happy face!”
And by the time Lydia strolled jauntily into the main office, the positive energy was genuine.
“Room 19,” instructed the secretary, handing Lydia her attendance list and sub folder. “Lesson plans will be on the desk. Ms. McGrath knew she was going to be out. Do you know your way?”
“I'll find it,” Lydia beamed as she headed out the door.
“You're new,” observed the vice-principal, meeting her in the hall.
Lydia suddenly found herself on the involuntary defensive.
“To this building, yes, sir, but I've subbed before,”
“Don't try to be nice,” observed Mr. Webster. “Kids this age, they mistake kindness for weakness.”
“Got it,” Lydia replied, swallowing hard and walked toward room 19.
“Kindness for weakness,” she scoffed to herself. “What a load of crap. Think positive, Lids, you will not be 'the mean one.'”
“One kind word can change someone's whole day,” she read from another one of her buttons as she let her bag drop onto the desk. “Yes!”
She walked to the whiteboard and wrote, “Miss Frontosa” in flawless, looping cursive handwriting.
Soon, hallway chatter indicated that students were about to arrive. As the first few meandered in, Lydia was at her desk perusing the lesson plan one last time and sipping strawberry infused water from a custom tumbler.
“Oh, are you our sub?” asked one energetic boy.
Lydia smiled brightly and responded to the affirmative.
“Cool,” he replied, and walked back out into the noisy hallway. Lydia's heart sank a little as she heard him yell. “Hey, guys! SUB!”
She returned to her buttons: “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. -Abraham Lincoln.” She decided to write that one on the board.
The task was simple. Read “The Black Cat” by Poe, watch the short video adaptation, and conclude with some comprehension questions, due at the end of the hour. No phones, no passes.
“Simple enough,” Lydia had smiled to herself, earlier that morning.
And for the most part, it was. First period had been predictably sleepy, the next two were generally cooperative. The day was going smoothly. Not knowing any of the teachers in that building, Lydia enjoyed a light lunch at her desk and texted Amy.
LIDS: Day going fine so far.
AMY-BLOSSOM: See?
LIDS: Hows your homework going.
AMY-BLOSSOM: Ugh.
LIDS: What's the prompt this time?
AMY-BLOSSOM: It's impossible!
LIDS: Try me.
AMY-BLOSSOM: Assuming a tree falls in the forest, calculate the statistical probability of the oak hearing it before the maple. Conclude with a 1000 word essay from the perspective of the birch.
LIDS: 42
AMY-BLOSSOM: WHAT?
LIDS: It's obvious.
AMY-BLOSSOM: I am not using Adams' magic-number as my thesis!
LIDS: Suit yourself. Bell ringing. Toodles.
Fourth hour was energetic but manageable. Free period found Lids engrossed in a novel off the teacher's classroom shelf. A Sweet Start Over by J.S. Reynolds.
“Oh, honey, NO! Stranger-danger! Don't accept the drink!”
The bell soon interrupted her literary reverie and signaled the start of sixth period.
“It's been a good day,” Lydia told herself. “One more hour! You got this, girl! Positivity!”
Sixth hour was a more unruly than Lydia had bargained for, but she'd set herself up for it. As the day had gone well so far, she'd neglected the seating chart, failed to note the arrows and highlights, and allowed them to choose their own seats.
“Rookie mistake, Amy-blossom, and never again,” mused Lydia, sipping her cocoa and contemplating her pink-bunny slippers. From her armchair, Amy could see Lydia's face darken.
“So we read the story, or rather I did because they wouldn't,” and then they're on their phones all through the video, but that's not the bad part. They're supposed to be working on their questions, but it's chaos, and so I'm just sitting there on this tall chair at the front of the room, trying to figure out what to do.”
Amy's could almost hear the scary music in her head. She sat on the edge of her seat, leaning closer to her roommate.
“Yeah! Exactly like that!” Lydia's tone was sudden. “I was sitting just like that, edge of the chair, and I was distracted by these boys in the back corner, so I didn't see her come up behind me.”
“Uh-oh.” Amy was uneasy.
“Two seconds later, she yanks the chair out from under me. I go absolutely flying!”
Amy gasped. “Oh, sweetie!”
“I was wearing a skirt, 'blossom! A short one! And there I am on the freaking floor!”
By now Lydia was crying again, and Amy was next to her in an instant, arm around her friend's shivering shoulders.
“Shh...”
At length Lydia managed a sniffle. Voice a little shaky yet, she continued.
“But... but the only good part, there was this one kid, right? This boy.”
Another sniffle. Another small squeeze from Amy.
“He comes over, asks if I'm okay, helps me up, and...”
“And?”
Lydia's face broke into a small smile.
“Blossom, he offered me his freaking juice box! Is that sweet or what?”
Amy didn't respond. For a while, they just sat. Eventually they turned the movie back on, and eventually Amy had to return to her homework. A pencil snapped, and it was a recovered Lydia's turn to intervene.
“Need some help?”
“What time's Thumper getting here?”
“No. Soon. And I've asked you not to call him that.”
“I know. Sorry. What was that prompt again?”
“Don't you dare say 42!”
“Okay, I know. I'm being serious, now, though. Let me help.”