Parents' Night

((contains moderate language and mature themes))

Molly was bummed I had to go to parents’ night in her place. Said it was a real hoot and holler, which I found hard to believe. She looked like I must have in the third grade when I had to miss the school’s Halloween party because I got the chicken pox. I mean, not the pox look, but the falling-down-an-endless-pit-heartbroken look. I told her I’m sure it would knock my socks off and walked out the door.

“Be safe!”

“Always am!” I replied and was on my way.

The auditorium was packed. It wasn’t a small school, and this night was for all three parallel 9th grade classes. Still, it seemed like there were twice as many parents as there would be students—which, I suppose, would technically be about possible. I found a seat somewhere around the middle. The man next to me had a smart casual wool sweater and a light scarf. And cuffs. The woman on the other side wore a business button-up and canvas pants­—and the lipstick, goodness gracious. Everyone was gleaming. There was a murmur in the air as if we were all waiting for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s latest premiere. But of course, it was just a cast of high school teachers who took the stage. And principle Glenn, who gave a welcome speech that was kind of bla bla but fine, school’s accolades and yada yada and then the agenda for the evening.

I waited for the crowd to thin, grabbed my overcoat from the rack and made my way to homeroom A. I did a double take: all the seats were taken. I had to stand in the back. The teacher began talking, and parents continued to file in. We were shoulder to shoulder now; I put my hands in my coat pockets, not to touch anyone.

Except this wasn’t my overcoat. It looked like mine, it fit like mine, but the contents were all wrong. I looked on the inside breast pocket for the nametag, but it was blank, so I rummaged through the few receipts in the hip pockets hoping to find something telling­ and did: a note.

hey tyler, last friday was such a thrill! When’s the next one? – sam.

Tyler was a local celebrity; he ran the biggest small venue around, for indie bands before they were hits. I think our son Matt might have a crush on his daughter.

I missed everything the homeroom teacher had said, and now everyone was filing out. There were three exhibit rooms where you could walk through, see some of the students work and talk to the teachers: art (still-lives, watercolor), English (haikus) and physics (toothpick things). All the while, teachers would call parents in for 10-minute one-on-ones. That was the agenda. I saw Tyler heading towards English and caught up.

“Hey, Tyler! I grabbed your jacket by mistake.”

“Oh great, thanks! Here, this must be yours—sorry bout that” he said with gratitude­, I think, in his eyes.

We smiled at each other and exchanged a few niceties about the families and the school’s Halloween decorations.

I continued towards English with my jacket in hand. It felt particularly heavy to me, which was strange, because usually your jacket just feels like your jacket, but I guess with all the keys and the phone and the tissues in the pockets it was just enough for me to notice. But actually that was not the reason. The reason was that this was not my jacket. It was Tim’s jacket. And I knew that because when I took the phone out, it wasn’t my phone and a note dropped:

hey tim,

I knew Tim. Jill’s dad, a carpenter. Had helped us install shelves in the garage.

shaky legs over here that could really use an underlay­. Got any wood for me? – clara

Okay, odd way to contract a job, but hey, who am I to judge.

I didn’t know where Tim was so I just walked to English. Which is where Tim was, reading a poem on the wall:

Parental pleasures;

do they really die at birth?

I am a killer.

-Lucas, Class B

He thanked me for his jacket with…fondness? in his eyes and handed me mine. I put it on right away so as not to lose it and sat down. Much more like it! Keys, phone and tissues, my MO. The bell rang once, letting us know the cafeteria was officially open with snacks and drinks.

But hm. Usually I could tuck the tail of my coat under the length of my thighs on the chair to stay warm, but this barely reached my sit bones. Okay, this was not my jacket. Slightly irritated, I looked in the breast pocket: no name, but a note. With an ever so audible exhale, I took it out:

hey jim,

Jim was an orthopedic and plastic surgeon. Really nice guy. Molly had been to his practice several times after a fall I had thought was pretty minor, but better safe than sorry, I suppose.

thanks again for the hand job! can you help me lift a couple globes in the great hall? – denise.

I was quickly losing my patience with all these notes in jackets that weren’t mine and stood urgently to find Jim. “Anyone know where Jim is?” I asked, but no one did. I walked with a purpose towards physics and in that moment, someone came on the PA and called for none other than Jim so I changed course and walked towards the office and ran right into him.

“Hey” I said tersely and kind of shoved the jacket into his chest. He looked at me with gratefulness and…admiration? in his eyes and gave me an overcoat the size of a tarp.

Christ what do I look like a wrecking ball? I said. Thought! Said? He looked at me like “I know, sorry, but it’s all I’ve got for you! And I’ve got to run! You know, just had my number called. Ha ha!” and then he was fumbling with his coat pocket and scuttling down the hallway and around the corner and gone. Though I swear he should have gone right and definitely turned left, kind of in a rush. Okay whatever where’s the damn wrecking ball? That would be Jack, who looked like an outside linebacker. He worked construction. There was no need to look for any names or any notes.

Then again, just to be sure, to avoid anything embarrassing like giving the coat to the wrong person and insinuating I thought he was the size of the liberty bell, I did look and there was a note and it did read:

hey jacky boy, the back door is still waiting to be demolished in the gym. when are you coming? – fred.

Fred the history teacher or Kyle’s dad? Didn’t matter. Off to find Jack real fast.

He was in front of the restrooms. Holding a chic red blazer. I didn’t say anything and just gave him his jacket. He grinned at me with intense…appreciation? and began checking his pockets, probably to make sure everything was there. “Here” he said, handing me the blazer. “It’s Tina’s. She’s in the restroom and I have to go now too” and then he rumbled off. I threw my hands up in the air like seriously?! and shook Tina’s blazer such that the coins jingled and the zipper jangled and the note fell out. I grunted discernibly and picked it up and didn’t need to look at it because I already knew this was Tina’s jacket but I was looking at it anyway:

hey jodie, twigs and berries really need some hydration in the greenhouse – got a watering can for me? – norbert.

Oh god it wasn’t even Tina’s jacket. It was Jodie’s. I didn’t know Jodie. She must be a horticulturist. Oh Judith! I knew Judith. Lived on the other side of town but spent a lot of time at our neighbors. Said his beanstalks wouldn’t grow half as tall if it weren’t for her.

I had a hunch she might be in arts so I hurried that way. Someone came barreling down the staircase, an impressive tempo while still trying to put on a high heel. It was Judith. I handed her the blazer and she took it and ran like 4th and goal at the 5-yard line. Somehow I ended up with a sequin handbag in its place and heard her shout as she sped away “can you give this to Jenny for me please thanks!” and then the door shut and the stairwell was silent again Christ. I needed water. I turned around and beelined to the cafeteria. I was definitely not about to open up Jenny’s handbag. It was a handbag, and it was Jenny’s, and I was definitely not about to open it up.

And then I opened it up and read:

hey irini, I’ve got a package in need of inspection in chemistry – up for some quality control? – rodney.

I honestly didn’t know who Irini was. Some logistics manager or whatever but not from Matt’s class. I hated Rodney though. What a dick. The PA came on: “Todd to the office please.” It was my turn. Finally. I saw Rodney at the exit, threw the handbag in his face and went to the office.

Mr. Smith was waiting at the door and greeted me cordially with a warm handshake. Bit sweaty, but welcoming. He sat at his desk and I across from him. “So, Mr. Sullivan” he began. “Actually it’s Mr. Hollins. Molly and I aren’t married.” His eyes lit up like garden orbs as dusk. “Oh that’s right—your Matt’s stepfather” he said with rapt wonderment. “As I was saying, Mr. Hollins,”—leaning back in his chair as he began again, he reached down into the pockets of his woolen vest and pulled out a note. He stopped to look at it, folded it again and put it on his desk. “Excuse me, Mr. Hollins, I have to, use the restroom” he said, then got up and left.

Not a second after he was out the door and I had dove over the desk and seized the note:

hey teacher, I’ve been a bad, bad girl. need punishment in detention. – liz.

What the flying fuck was going on here?! I thrust myself up from the desk, crumpled the note and threw it as hard as I could and it went puh when it hit the wall and puh again when it landed on the floor. This disappointed me so to the bone that I strut and stomped to and fro in the room trying to make imposing sounds with my streaking shoes and grating clothes so as to whirl up an air of indignation. But actually, it all just chafed. I fell back into my chair, defeated. I was missing everything about Matt! And couldn’t shag the feeling I was missing something else too.

Mr. Smith came back just as the bell rang twice: ten more minutes before farewell. He fell into his chair, victorious. “Mr. Hollins, do you have any more questions?” I found no words. He was no longer wearing his vest. “Well, our time is up. Have you seen the physics room? I recommend it – the erections are exquisite.”

I glared at him, twitched, and began to rise.

“Mr. Hollins, one more thing; would you please give this top to Veronica? I’m afraid she left it in here just before you.”

I cursed under my breath, grabbed the top and was gone.

The hallways were eerily empty. I walked this way and that, always away from physics, listening to the echo of my steps. Hadn’t all the doors been open earlier? All the skeletons and mummies plastered on the classroom doors seemed to moan at me as I passed.

I ended up in the art room and was alone, other than the teacher, who did not notice me. She was reclined back in her swivel chair as far as possible, head resting in her interlocked hands, smiling up at the ceiling in some kind of celestial daydream. I walked around and looked at the still lifes, mostly grapefruits and root vegetables. Someone had painted avocadoes and they disturbed me. I turned as the teacher launched into a never-ending spin. The jacket fell off the back of her chair. I did not pick it up. The bell rang three times and I left the room for the auditorium.

On the way, stiff and vexed, a thought flickered: what if there was a note in Veronica’s top, and what if it was for me? I found a folded piece of paper in the top’s breast pocket and held it in my hands, turning it this way and that.

Argh, what a cockamamy thought. I put it back, hung the top on the coat rack and went back to my row. There it was: my jacket, in a heap under my seat. I sat down, spent, and looked at the disheveled mass of parents sinking into the auditorium. The man next to me had lost a cuff. And the woman? A button? I didn’t want to find out and looked straight ahead like a racehorse with blinders trying to think about anything but buttons. No teachers on the stage, just empty chairs. One had fallen over. Something was squeaking rhythmically.

Finally, Ms. Riley, the school’s guidance counsellor, twirled onto the stage. Said the principle had wanted to say goodbye but was otherwise occupied. Said she was touched by everyone that came and said tata, until next time.

I pushed out through this lot of incandescent parents, shining like fucking stars, put my jacket on and walked home. Good God their kids must be getting good grades. I couldn’t believe how worked up I was! Over what? A few mistaken jackets and a one-on-one cut short because nature called?

My hands were cold. I was holding them stiffly at my sides, outside my pockets. I fervently shook my head and laughed at myself, which definitely totally smashed away all my hesitations. I rammed my silly hands into the silly pockets of my own ridiculous overcoat with the conviction of Yael driving the peg through Sisera’s skull, angry I hadn’t taken a single note for myself­—I mean for Molly.

And in my pocket I found…