Chapter 32
I’m Not Friends With a General
I rode my bike to school every day for weeks.
My legs were regaining muscles.
I liked the way I look.
The ride gave me time to think and that wasn’t always a good thing.
I made it to the teacher’s car parking lot.
I was chaining my bike to the post close to the gate guard.
The school principal approached me.
He was dressed in a suit.
That wasn’t a surprise.
Today, there was a tie.
“Mrs. Jackson.
You are going to have to take your bike in with you from now on.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“It’s not safe for your bike to be out here.
You’ll have to take it into the building with you.”
“But there’s a fence.
An extra lock?
My goodness, there’s a guard!
How is it not safe.”
“Not, not safe for your bike.
Not safe for the guard.”
“There are $20,000 cars in this parking lot.
I paid $80 for this bike.
How is this bike causing that guard a problem?
Heck, I only half care if someone steals it.”
“It’s not about how you feel about it.
If he has someone who sees the bike and wants it.
They try to bribe him to give it to them.”
“He can’t take the bribe.”
“Now, the guard has a thief that is mad at him and threatening him.
He’s not comfortable watching the bike.
He was hired to watch cars.
Just bring it in with you.”
“Sir, I’m on the second floor now.”
I got a blank stare from him.
“There’s no elevator.”
“If you ride that bike, it goes to your classroom with you.
It’s up to you how you get it there.”
“It’s an $80 bike.”
“Just do it.”
“Of course.”
I climbed back on the bike and rode down the sidewalk.
I carried it up the nine stairs.
The back door was closer to my classroom.
At least the padlocks have already been undone.
Picking the bike up and mounting the flight of stairs was easy.
I carried it into my room.
I didn’t want the tires scaring up the tile floors.
I had a good thirty minutes to get ready for my first class.
All my papers had been copied already.
I considered decluttering my desk.
I talked myself out of it.
Then something changed my mind.
It was the principal again.
I swear, I haven’t seen that man but once since my interview.
Twice today before 8:00?
“I see you made it up here just fine.”
“It was no problem, sir.
I figure the ride back down the stairs will be worth the trip up.”
He eyed me as if he was trying to decipher my Southern accent.
“I was joking.”
“Don’t ride that downstairs.”
“Of course not, sir. I would never ride the bike down those stairs.”
I made a hand motion that they were way too steep.
“Don’t ride that downstairs.”
“We’ve got brass coming today.
I don’t know where they’ll all be.
Be prepared.”
“I’ve got it covered, sir.
Thanks for the heads-up.”
I looked at my paper covered desk.
I turned to my closet and took out a bright blue book.
Its title, Organize Your Life!
I chunked it on top of the pile so it would look like I was at least trying.
It landed right next to another favorite of mine, Voodoo Witchcraft and Mind Control, How to Think Your Enemies to Death.
No cleaning this morning.
The last thing I wanted to do was impress military.
I respect military personnel.
I followed one around the planet for ten years.
But talking to them?
That was always my least favorite part.
It really didn’t matter.
They were here to inspect the facilities, chat up administration and check budgets.
Still, I slid my desk two more feet away from the wall and placed my bike out of the walking path.
It was last period before I knew it.
I really loved teaching.
I wasn’t great at it yet.
I was older so they didn’t know how new I was.
Class had started.
They were working on a paste project.
I didn’t trust my students with “big girl scissors.”
I spent the prior evening separating equations from graphs from tables from sentences.
Each group had their envelope, paper and glue.
Their job, reassembly.
They were hard at work when the general walked in.
He was behind me before I even knew he was there.
I jumped at the sight of him.
He didn’t look like any general I had ever seen before.
The ones I had seen were heavy set and older.
He was about my age maybe ten years older, and athletic.
Oh, he had the uniform.
The smile.
He also had a clip board.
I’ve seen generals that had clipboards.
It was almost always attached to an officer that was taking notes.
I am the least curious person I know.
I don’t get into business that isn’t mine.
But this general just started talking to me like he knew me.
“Let’s see if I’m right.
Are you Lee Ann Jackson, from Huntsville, AL?”
Most people who don’t know me call me Lee.
It only took the sound of my hometown’s name for my Southern accent to hit its peak performance.
Hearing a similar accent coming out of him made me unconsciously go into my full Southern twang.
“Why, yes, I am, sir.
You are right on the money.
Do you need directions?”
He must be lost.
Please be leaving.
“I can’t even pretend that I know where I am.
But I have a list of about a half-dozen new teachers that I’m welcoming to the country.
You, are my third.”
He leaned the clipboard in my direction so I couldn’t help but see it.
I lifted my eyes without reading a word of it.
OMG. He’s here on purpose.
“Well, if you are looking for me to show you where the others are, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.
I’ve learned my classroom, the copy machine and the empanada stand. Past that, I’m a true newbie.”
“You do have the sound of home in your voice.
I must confess, I was excited to get to come in here.
I’m from Athens, Alabama and I don’t get to hear home very often.”
“Well, Sir! You’ve come to the right place if that’s what you are looking for.
Mine seems to be stuck in place my whole life.
My husband graduated from Athens college.
I took a couple of math classes there.”
“That’s where I graduated too!
That was a ways back.”
“Did you travel the road through Madison? Not many people make that trip with UAH right there.”
He paused. He considered my question.
My left eye twitches a little.
“No, I came from the other direction.
My records say your husband works for JAG and y’all have two kids?”
“Your records are right. We live on Ft. Clayton.”
“That’s usually Colonel’s Row.
Your husband is a Warrant Officer.
How’d you land there?”
I short-laughed, nervous.
“That would be me sir.
I’m no respecter of rank, so when Ft. Benning’s orders said that housing wasn’t available, in a base that was drawing down, I called Panama housing directly.”
His eyebrow lifted, so I further explained.
“I got the number from a pamphlet in North Carolina at the welcome center.
They keep pamphlets from all over the world.
I’m sure you know that.”
His eyebrow was still up.
“So, I got the phone number, used their courtesy phone and called.
They said they had a place that would be open in two weeks.
That no one had ever taken it at first sight.
They said we could have concurrent travel if I agreed to take that house.”
He still had that funny look.
“What?” I questioned with a little too much frustration.
“No respecter of rank?”
“Dang sir, I didn’t mean you.
I mean,
I get my husband in tight places sometimes.
I just speak the truth and do what I need to do.
His bosses’ bosses like me.
But his bosses get mad at him.
What I do or don’t do shouldn’t be his fault anyway.
It’s hard to explain.
It’s called jumping rank.
I’m a civilian, so I don’t pay attention to rank.
I just keep asking questions until I figure out how to get what I need.”
He laughed at that.
He paced around the room a bit.
He pointed to the bike.
“That seems a little out of place.”
“Really? I kind of like it there.”
He smiled a half-smile. “I think I like you.”
“Sir?”
“There’s a cruise, the USS Moosbrugger, it’s a destroyer ship.
It’ll be going down the canal zone on Saturday.”
He walked toward my desk, and finger pushed the blue book.
I couldn’t tell from his expression if he saw the title on the other one.
“I’ve got room to invite a few extras to join the sailors.
I’m inviting some of the new teachers.”
No. No. No. I hate military functions.
“I’m putting you and your family down to come.”
My kids hate military functions.
“The ship will begin its voyage at 7 AM sharp.
It’s a long cruise, so dress is comfortable.
There will be a BBQ, beer and music.”
My husband loves military functions, especially if there’s beer.
“The sailors there would love to entertain your children.”
I must stop this.
“They are away from their families and having your kids around will be a real treat for them.”
“Sir, I’m sure Robert has duty this weekend.
I can’t promise that we’ll be there.
You should go ahead and give those four places to someone else.”
“You talk to your husband, little lady.
I’ve got you down.
Don’t forget it leaves right at 7.
There is no being late.”
“Sir, I can’t promise you we will be there.
I’m sure that it won’t happen.”
“Nonsense, the boys aboard will be looking forward to playing with those two kids of yours.”
“Sir, I’m not going to lie to you.”
“You know what?
Just mention it to your husband.”
“Not likely sir, I stopped talking to him in 1989.”
He stopped, pivoted, checked his clip board like he knew how to use one and continued.
“As a matter of fact,
JAG?
Out at Ft. Clayton?”
“Yes?”
“I’m scheduled to inspect them tomorrow.
I bet I’ll be seeing him too.
I’ll see you Saturday.
I’m looking forward to meeting those kids.”
“Sir, I didn’t promise!” I nearly shouted at his back.
I turned around to face the class…
The class!
Oh, my.
I had forgotten all about them.
They were so good while he was here.
But now, now they are all staring at me.
“What?” The frustration was even thicker than before.
“How do you know a general?”
“I don’t know a general!”
Comments.
“You both sounded stupid.”
“You guys talk funny.”
“You two sounded like a scene off of Smokey and the Bandit!”
I haven’t fought this battle my whole life, just since I left Alabama.
“I call it Twanglanguage,” I said.
“Dialect isn’t a measure of intelligence.
“Never has been.”
Daniel's Den 