WEE WOO

I don't know what I'm feeling this Tuesday morning in the conference room. Our Head of School, Larry Doyle-fresh off a high-five with Regional Supervisor Michael-is struggling to speak over the poorly-timed test fire alarm. We've gathered in a circle (staff-meeting-style) to discuss how Larry's on the way out. Our new Director of Education, John, who everyone adores, sits next to Larry and Michael, passing along the staffs questions because nobody can hear a damn thing over the fire alarm. Larry waves his hands about, saying, " ... smooth transition ... WOOP ... getting married ... WOOP .. .I'm leaving ... WOOP ... been waiting for this moment ... WOOP ... my whole life ... "

Stuff like that. He gets so sweaty and emphatic that a vein pops on his forehead. I see John gesture to his own forehead while mouthing to Larry, "Geez, man! Are you okay?"

But Larry doesn't slow down-he's on a roll.

Everyone glances at the exit.

Right then, Regional Supervisor Michael steps in, realizing it's a point when the audience (us) might need a little reassurance that our fearless Head of School, Larry Doyle, is, in fact, okay despite the blood trickling down his forehead, but Larry just waves him away-no sir.

All of us hear him say aloud, "Mike, I got this."

And what appears across Regional Supervisor Michael's face is both a look of confusion and concern, indicating to me (and maybe everyone) that Larry's never called him that before-at least not publicly. It's here that John, being the superb guy he is, notices this very public faux pas while Head of School Larry just keeps going.

John, trying to settle what he perceives as the larger dilemma, winces just enough for Regional Supervisor Michael to notice that at least someone at the managerial level "has it together." To our luck, Regional Supervisor Michael closes his eyes and nods at him, expressing mutual recognition: what the fuck is happening-yes-my thoughts exactly.

That's the kind of guy John is.

Larry, wide-eyed, dead silent, turning a dangerous shade of white, scans the lot of us.

Apparently he's just asked a question.

In a frantic effort to find someone with an answer, everyone in our staff circle looks over their shoulders. Larry says, "It's okay, take your time."

Emma Demborsky, an A+ co-teacher of mine, raises her hand and asks Larry in the most sincere and genuine tone, "Could you say that again? We didn't hear you."

We all nod in agreement.

Larry smiles like he's in deep existential pain.

However, this is his moment. I can see it on his face.

He takes maybe the deepest breath I've seen anyone ever take in public.

With the siren still blaring, Larry cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, saying, "I'm leaving, but do not be alarmed!"

And everyone almost laughs.

I'm having a really hard time pretending I'm okay.

As always.

You know, I think John's already a beat ahead because, at that moment, he stands up and gently places his hand on Larry's shoulder, who instantly goes stiff looking at him-John is a very tall guy.

John doesn't say to him, "Larry, I got this."

Instead, he speaks something into Larry's ear, turning so that we can't read his lips. I imagine it's something comforting, simple, because Larry softens and relaxes his shoulders.John hands him a napkin to wipe the blood trailing down his face.

"Holy moly that's a gusher," Larry says looking as pale as a whiteboard, "I should probably go to the hospital."

We all nod yes, please.

John pats him on the back. I see at least two people visibly sigh. He says to Larry, "I'll take you there." We nod to John, please take him there.

Then, with his hand on Larry's back, John gives us a thumbs up as they both head out the door, which, for whatever reason, makes us all feel pretty dang okay.

Hank LaRose is an English and History teacher on the Colorado Front Range. His prose and poetry have been published in Bending Genres and Bare Back Magazine. In his spare time, he loves playing soccer and staring out windows.