Face Off

So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda filed for temporary custody of the boy, Waylon. Now, Dougie has returned and Miranda is afraid that he is back for the boy.

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I wander down the halls of the school and study the posters and artwork that adorn the walls. Things sure have changed since I was in school. Posters were of teenagers sitting at picnic tables, one or two smoking a cigarette, with the caption that reads, "Please don't leave your butts around" or something equally silly. These posters are of rainbows and odd cartoons, captions saying "Celebrate all the colors of the rainbow" or "We all bloom at our own pace." I shake my head and walk a little farther down the hallway. Artwork is taped up. Collages of dolphins and marlin scattered as far as the eye can see.

I probably should have left, I doubt Elaine would have approved of my little unguided and unsanctioned tour, but I'm a sucker for nostalgia. And being here gets me to thinking about what my life was like when I was in high school. I wonder if eighteen year old Miranda would have ever imagined herself raising a teen aged boy? No sir, the only teen aged boys she ever thought about were the kind she chased. Worrying about their education or the fact that a pedophile might be stalking the art covered walls of the school wouldn't have ever crossed her mind. That younger version of me, well, she didn't really understand that people like that even existed.

I hear voices coming towards me. I duck into an alcove and turn away.

"Look, Mr. Tomlin, I told you it wasn't my choice," an unmistakably young sounding voice says.

"Who told the principal to move you out of my class then?" Mr. Tomlin hisses. "If you didn't ask her, who did?"

"I, I don't know. I need to get back to class."

The sound of footsteps gets closer, and I press myself back against the wall.

"Terrence, I'm gonna find out who caused this. If it was you, just tell me the truth. I thought we were friends. You're a special boy." Tomlin's voice is soft and filled with emotion.

"Mr. Tomlin, I need to get back to class," the boy says.

I hear them both walk away, one set of footsteps fading off to the left and one set echoing off to the right. I creep closer to the edge of the alcove and peep out. I see the back of the boy, hurrying down the hall. He's on the smaller side. Looks like someone in the eighth or ninth grade.

"Excuse me," I call out.

He slows down and looks over his shoulder. "I'm heading back to class now. A teacher stopped me." He says the words, and they sound practiced, like he's said this many times before. He thinks I'm a teacher or work at the school.

"Are you Terrence?"

He stops and frowns, suspicious of me. "Do you work here?"

"No, I'm Waylon Wilcox's, uh, step mom."

He tilts his head. "I don't know what class he's in right now. You could go to the office and they can check his schedule."

"Oh, I'm not looking for him. I couldn't help but overhear you talking to that teacher. Is everything okay? You seemed a little rattled when you were talking to him."

He rubs his hands together and his eyes sweep the hallway for anyone. "I'm fine. He used to be my marine biology teacher. My mom had me transferred. He won't let it go."

"You could tell Ela-, I mean the principal."

He smiles weakly. "I can handle it. I gotta get back to class," he says hooking his thumb in the direction of the stairs leading to the second floor.

"I understand. Nice to meet you, Terrence."

He starts to smile then stops. "How'd you know my name, anyway?"

"Heard him say it. Have a good day." I turn and walk back down the hall to the front door.

I have my hand on the door when I hear Elaine. "Miranda, where did you come from? I thought you left already."

I don't miss a beat. I dazzle her with my best ex-daughter-in-law smile. "Ladies room, Elaine. Coffee does that to me."

"Alright. Goodbye, Miranda." She moves over to the door and holds it open for me. "Next time make an appointment. I never liked you just dropping by when you were married to my son, so, as you can imagine, I like it even less now."

"Have a good day, Elaine."

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I swing by my mom's afterward. She is in the hall closet, pulling out clothes and jackets that haven't seen the light of day in a good two decades.

"Is this yours?" she asks, holding up a fake fur jacket that looks like something Wilma Flintstone would have worn for a night on the town.

"Uh, no." I shake my head and run my hand across the cheap fur.

"Why the hell is it in my closet then? It wasn't mine."

"Toss it."

"But, suppose someone comes looking for it?"

I shake my head. "Momma, It's been in the hall closet for, at least, twenty or thirty years. No one is going to come asking for it now."

She holds it up to give it a once over, then looks over at me. "Are these things coming back in style?"

"Well, I sure hope not. It's ugly as sin. Here, let me go get a trash bag and I'll drop it off at the thrift store for you. How much longer are you gonna be? I'd like to take you out to lunch."

"I haven't touched this closet in over ten years. I'm gonna be a while. But if you're in a giving mood, order a pizza and roll up your sleeves. I could use the help."

By the time the pizza arrives, we have seven umbrellas, countless coats and jackets, two tennis rackets, and a vacuum cleaner that has been broken since1989.

"Well, Miranda, there are six more closets in this house. Help me tackle another one?"

"I really should get going," I say, stretching to loosen up the muscles in my back.

She smiles and pats my arm. "Well, this will all be yours when I pass away. You can just wait to go through everything then." She starts up the stairs and glances over her shoulder. "Have a great afternoon."

"Damn, you are good." I race up the stairs after her.