I Know Why Korey Sang

I Know Why Korey Sang

The air is pumping through the old hallways of Umbridge High School like it does every July. The lockers are cold to the touch, and the floors are shiny from a new coating of wax. Everything looks the same as last July and the one before; there are even a few people here roaming the halls. The only differences are that all the people there are dressed in black, and Linn is next to her old locker, sobbing against the cold metal. The air looks and feels the same, but not for Linn. The air seems too thick with nostalgia, pain, and remembrance for her to breathe properly. The hallway is too cold for Linn; it lacks Ms. Drake's warmth and kindness. She tries to get up, in a prime example of irony, the lack of warmth weighs her down, making her feet move like they are in quicksand. Every effort to move—to go into the gym and see her—makes her body move slowly but surely back to her former position, huddled over in a heaving sob.

Ms. Drake was her second mother; she was the person Linn went to in a crisis. Linn is facing toward the gym now, but before this, she went to Ms. Drake's old classroom, where she spent most of her junior year three years ago. She brushed her hand over the desk where Ms. Drake would let Linn sit and help her grade papers, or read during lunch and study periods. Finally being able to make her way over, she starts towards the gym, only stopping when she sees the sign in front:

The Wake of Meredith Drake, Beloved Teacher and Literature Lover

Linn remembers how they bonded over their love for books. Ms. Drake had even gone as far as to give Linn an annotated copy of her favorite book, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. She used to talk to Linn about her love for Angelou and how that was the peak of her work. As she remembers, she gets jolted when a woman pushes past her and scoffs at the sign.

Korey wasn’t supposed to be here. Her therapist said it, and she said it to herself multiple times, but she couldn’t help it. She was impulsive when she was angry. The woman was dead, and yet the anger looked like a genuine hit to Korey as she stepped up to see her—the woman who took her innocence as a young teen wanting to learn from her teacher. The woman who forced her to lose her warmth, who took it for herself. A few years back, when she finally told her mom, she was met with disbelief and accusation. The only one that really believed her was her therapist, and she was paid to do so. The only other person that might believe her is the person she knows she saw that day, walking past the room as she screamed. He was here now too. She stared at him for a long time.

Palmer looked sick after their eyes met. He brushed past some people and started to take measured breaths. He looked at the picture wall and focused on memories of Ms. Drake so he didn’t have to focus on Korey, his old classmate. He remembered being in high school when Ms. Drake asked him how he felt about a student-to-teacher program that would match him with the top universities in education. He was so happy that she offered to write him a recommendation. He kept walking and saw a photo from a past picture day, where she had helped rally his students for their photos when he was struggling. Then, he saw an old picture from when they were in high school: Korey looking sullen and dulled, and Ms. Drake with a hand on her shoulder. He didn't see what happened that day, but he heard her—Korey. Almost too quickly, Palmer turns away, and whether it was a sick joke or just bad timing, he meets her gaze once again.

Korey spots the sliver of what looks like guilt or sadness wash over Palmer’s face when their eyes meet again. It happens quickly; one second Palmer is within range, and the next second he is practically running towards the door to the supply closet. Korey needs to understand why this reaction is happening. Why is he looking at her like that, like he knows? That sinking feeling is what drags her toward the door at the same pace he left at.

Busting through the door, she is welcomed with the sight of Palmer calming himself. “Breathe, she doesn’t know. Breathe, Palm. She do—”

“Doesn’t know what?” The delusion is slipping from Korey as she grasps his words. “Why are you avoiding me, and who doesn’t know what?”

“Nothing!” Palmer musters up the loudest whisper-yell he can manage. Korey being in here is enough; if someone else came in, he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. It's too claustrophobic in every way, slamming into him all at once. The air, still stiff from disuse, is now stifling with guilt, anger, and an unspoken layer of knowledge choking him more each second. He immediately looks down, not meeting her eyes or the questions Korey has written there.

“Why did you follow me? Leave me alone, Korey. We haven’t spoken since high school. Why would we change that?” He moves toward the door, but Korey blocks him. Of course, she does; the only answer she is leaving with is the one she now knows he holds.

“What don’t I know?! Why won’t you look me in my eye, Palmer?!” Korey didn’t realize how loud she was until she was bumped from behind as Linn barged into the room, red-eyed and angry. Korey didn’t care, though; she knew she wasn’t crazy all those years ago. She knew what she saw, who she saw. She needed this. Drake was dead, remembered as a loving teacher, when in reality she had ripped Korey’s innocence and warmth away in that classroom. She needed to know that she wasn’t crazy.

"Where is your respect!" Linn yelled. "You are at a WAKE for someone who helped her students whenever they needed them, who cared about what she did! She ev—"

“Your rose-colored glasses are glued to your head," Korey interrupted. "She was an evil person who deserved whatever happened.” She closed back in on Palmer, dipping down to meet him eye-to-eye after he cowered back down onto the floor mats he had been sitting on prior to Linn bursting in. “Palmer, what do I not know? Answer me, you coward!”

“You are cruel. If you can freely speak about the deceased, you need hel—”

“I was there that day! There, I said it!" Palmer burst out. "I didn’t know I witnessed a crime. I was just trying to get water from the fountain and I heard a scream... I was sixteen, Korey. Sixteen. I was scared of what that meant, what I would have to do if I said something, or talked to you. It just felt like too much.” The relief washing over him was visible to everyone in the room, an almost disgustingly freeing release.

“Too much for you? What exactly was too much?” Now the room filled with Korey's voice. The anger was palpable, rolling off of her, floating to the ground, slipping under the door, and drifting toward the catalyst of her rage in the middle of the gym in a box.

“Was it too much when she grabbed you? Was it too much when she told you that you didn’t know what you wanted when you said no? Was it living in a world where you felt like a shell of yourself, passing her class every day during first period because you knew she was there?! What was too much for you, Palmer?! Tell. Me.”

Silence. That was the only answer. Each of them just sat there, trapped inside their own heads. Denial was the force starting to push Linn to speak, but the raw sincerity she heard from Korey made her stop and absorb what was being said about her beloved Ms. Drake.

“I am sorry, Korey. I—I didn’t kn—”

“You were sixteen!" Korey snapped at Palmer. "You knew right from wrong. You may not have known what she did to me exactly, but you knew she did something to me, and you did nothing. No, not nothing—you befriended her and became her prized pupil. You are an enabler.”

“An accomplice…” Linn whispered, staring at Palmer. “You told me she was the best person in this school and that you were saddened by the loss. Your exact words, Mr. Ringlet. I can’t believe she would do this—but I believe you, Korey,” she added at the last second. Korey started to stand to defend herself, but stopped, simply staring at the only person to ever say I believe you.

“Mr. Ringlet, you taught me in my senior year, and I admired your friendship with Ms. Drake. I wanted that kind of mentorship. Now I know it was rotted on both sides. I—I need to go.” Linn practically leaped out of the closet. When she stepped into the gym, she was startled to find that no one was looking at her. No one else felt the shift, or the void that had just been created inside her—the warmth she thought she possessed turning into ash as she ran toward the hallway.

She had tunnel vision as she left the gym, her eyes locked on the door marking the exit of this chapter, of this house of lies she had wandered into willingly. The only thing that made her falter was a sound that rang through the hallway. Something dropped, slipping through her grasp and slamming onto the floor with a dull, soft thud. It was the book, opening to the pages she had annotated and analyzed. Linn stopped for a split second, knowing that this would be it—the last bit of the warmth she might have truly felt. The book stayed behind on that floor page as she left, running through the doors and out into the warmth of a July sunset.

Back in the closet, Korey watched the relief turn into guilt and cowardice in Palmer. She looked as though she might strike him or yell until her vocal cords were raw. Palmer just looked at his hands and the ground, constantly switching his gaze between the two.

“You are a coward," Korey said, her tone small and raw, but still firm and dominating. "A coward that is just as guilty as she is. You are pitiful.”

Korey realized she would get nothing more from Palmer—nothing but more anger and pathetic excuses. She busted the door open, letting it slam behind her as she went to get what she really wanted. The guests in the gym were immediately stunned when they saw the picture of Ms. Drake next to her casket get tossed to the floor and stomped on before Korey walked out. This didn’t heal her trauma or erase her pain, but she walked out knowing that she wasn’t crazy, that someone finally believed her, and that another pitiful person finally knew the truth. She would have a long time in therapy after this one, but she walked out of the gym with a confidence that was noticed by everyone who attended. They were angry at the act of vulgarity she displayed, but they still took notice; they also noticed when a distinct, almost hauntingly happy melody faded down the halls. She walked out standing tall. Korey cried when she got to her car, and then she laughed.

Leaving the closet in a daze, the brief flash of emotion vanished from Palmer's face as fast as it had come. Pathetic would be the word people would use later on when talking about him at the wake; they simply thought he was ill or too sad to stay. He slowly made his way through the cold hallways that now seemed entirely colorless. He walked past his classroom, not looking back through the glass at the whiteboard she had helped him set up back in September, where he had almost hinted that he knew the truth.

He went toward the exit. He looked at the doorknob he hadn't touched on that fateful day, and a strange sense of relief seemed to wash over him as he sighed so loudly that others turned to look in the hallway. He knew he was a coward — we know he is a coward — but he hadn't wanted to damage his chances of her writing that recommendation letter. That was the whole reason he was here now. Korey was mad, and rightfully so, but Palmer had his future to worry about as well. It seemed like his success was worth his integrity.

Korey won’t say anything. Linn is gone now. I am free.

The old hallways of Umbridge High School are cold. To most, that is because the HVAC system runs too much, requiring jackets even in the summertime. But to a select few, the coldness comes from remembrance, deprivation, and cowardice. To those few, they know why Korey did what she did to the picture of her assaulter. They heard the sound that broke the heavy silence of the school—not a song of joy, but a raw, haunting melody that echoed off the cold metal lockers. They knew why Korey sang as she went down the hallway and exited those doors for the final time.