He had been the Speech and Debate coach for ten of the fifteen years he had been in the building. He enjoyed the weird celebrity that came with being a POC in a white, suburban school, and S&D gave him more visibility. He also loved being the only Shakespeare teacher in the district. He had proudly built the class to withstand any cuts or disinterest, and had started a small "Shakes Day" in the district, which was not unlike a Renaissance Fair, but with staged beheadings to compete with the plays He liked the kids, he had no real issues with the current administration, and had met his wife in the building. To be clear, she was fellow teacher, not a student. The only issue seemed to be the stress level of the students, which infected the entire student body as well as teachers.
He checked his email as he did every morning, to see that the lockdown drill was scheduled for fifth period. He shook his head, they had just emerged from a year of remote and hybrid and partial classes, last year had been a mess. The kids seemed grateful to return, he had trouble believing the lockdown drills were necessary. More security around the restrooms would be great. He had taken to shaking his fist at students and declaring "Curse you, Tik Tok!!!" Other than that glitch, everyone seemed happy to be back.
He turned You Tube on his laptop and listened to the Wednesday morning fall jazz coming through the tiny speakers. He sipped his coffee and continued to check emails. Once complete, he flipped to his google classroom to check plans for the day. As he did so, another email popped up, this one from the principal.
He clicked on it.
The first words were those he had read too many times before. Too. Many. Times.
"Sad news...."
He caught his breath, knowing what would follow.
"...died unexpectedly...send students as needed to counseling for support...."
He sat quietly. He had stopped counting the number of times he had received this exact email. Nobody ever said "suicide" in an email, the code words were "Died unexpectedly."
He heard his classroom door open and close quietly. He did not have to look up to know it was his wife, she had also received the email. They both knew the student.
She waited. It was if they had rehearsed. She was standing with her backpack, as if she'd just arrived.
He stood. He retrieved his own bag, his coat and car keys. He removed his badge and left it on his lap top. His wife laid hers beside his. Wordlessly, they walked out of the room, and out of the building. The security guard, someone who had been there as long as they had, quietly nodded as they exited.
He believed he had stopped counting, but as they got into their car, he said "That's fifteen. One each year I have been here. That does not include alumni or car accidents."
She nodded. She turned on the radio and let the jazz fill the car as they drove away.
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