The Terrible Placeholder
What was that smell? It was a sort of urine mixed with body oder kind of smell.
Mr. Maxon sat at the head of the classroom behind a worn particle-board desk that, had the school been in a town that gave a shit, would have been thrown out long ago. But Lost Gap was not one of those towns. Mr. Maxon was lucky to get the crappy old thing.
But that smell. Where the hell was that coming from? It attacked his senses like ammonia or freshly cut onions. A boy shambled across the front of Mr. Maxon’s desk and the stink followed him. “Simon.” A series of quiet chuckles bloomed from some of the other kids in the class. Social stigma breeds the most ferocious animals.
The boy stopped. He had been been on the way to the supplies box. “Yes, Mr. Maxon?” His wavering voice, more of a plead than a question, told the man that this kid, apathetic and lethargic to the world ,was a tempest of irreconcilable emotion inside.
The aging teacher waved him over and under his breath, “Do you need to go see someone?” The kid hesitated and then nodded. Emphatically. “Ok, go.”
Later, after the buzzing chatter of teens had been silenced by the final bell, Mr. Maxon graded the ridiculous papers of the next generation.
“Excuse me.” He looked toward the doorway. A blond woman leaned into the room. Her hair was combed straight down to her shoulders and somehow kept the grooves from the comb teeth. “Are you Mr. Maxon?” He nodded and she leaned, nonchalantly against the door frame. “I’m Simon’s mom.”
“Oh. How is he?”
“Leave your goddamned opinions at home.” Mr. Maxon recoiled in shock. He was about to speak, but she got to it first. “You sending my boy to that crackpot counselor only makes him weaker. I work hard to get his head on straight and you and that fucking Freud wannabe go and make him soft again.”
“I’m not sure what you think happened, but Simon needs some help.”
At this, the woman stiffened and lowered her head so she looked like a lioness about to charge. “You nosey piece of trash. I’ll get you fired if you don’t stop meddling. Or worse.”
Mr. Maxon took his phone out of his pocket. Holding his index finger up to Simon’s mom in that universal please hold pose, he unlocked it with his thumb and then dialed. “There is a parent here threatening me. Yes. Thank you.” While listening, Simon’s mom didn’t move an inch, but a wicked smile creeped across her face.
“I know you’re not from here, but let me give you a little help. That was dumb. Really dumb. I’ll see you later.” With a lingering middle-finger, she slipped into the hallway and beyond his sight. Sneaker sounds echoed from the cavernous hallway for a bit, but were gone quickly enough.
“No, she clearly threatened me. I need you to back me on this.” The principal was having none of it.
“Paul,” she began. But his look gave her a chance to revise her start. “Mr. Maxon, I’ve know Simon’s mom for, well since we played in diapers together. Believe me when I say, she would not hurt a fly.”
“Then why does her son show clear signs of abuse. Neglect. She as much as told me herself. She was getting his head on straight because he’s too soft. Or some shit like that.”
“Ok, I can see we’re getting nowhere here. Look, you are a good teacher, but sometimes you can read too much into things. You know?”
“A parent has threatened me and she is abusing her child. My student. If you won’t do something about this…”
There was a long pause for a moment. Mr. Maxon didn’t know what he’d do. Or what he could do. This little town he’d wandered into was a close-nit group. Everybody knew everybody in Lost Gap but nobody knew anything when an outsider asked.
“Ok. Tell you what. I’ll talk to her. Ok? If I get even a sniff of malfeasance, I’ll snip it in the bud. That work?”
“Nip. Ok, fine. I don’t think it’ll do any good, but it’s the best I’m going to get, it seems.”
Later that evening, as Mr. Maxon, just having finished brushing his teeth before going to bed, noticed his phone flashing on the night stand. Looking at the name of the caller, he pick it up and answered it. “Ms. Jacobson?”
“She’s going to the school board. Simon’s mom. She’s and old friend of the superintendent and she said he said he’s going to fire you. That’s all I know. I tried to talk her out of it, saying you’re a caring and honest man and all, but she would budge. I’m sorry.”
He pushed the end call button and put the phone down. It flashed again, but he didn’t answer it. Maybe this was for the best. This town made him uncomfortable anyway. It alway had. The way people looked at you because you weren’t born here. Because you didn’t graduate from their high school and never sat a night in their jail after an evening of hell raising. Because you never got drunk or high with them at a party in a field somewhere in the middle of nowhere. They had a built-in history and he was not included. There was another outsider in town, though. He was from here, too, but he took his job seriously and that pissed a lot of people off.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“Of course, Mr. Maxon. How can I help you?” The Sheriff’s office was just like every sheriff’s office in every small town ever. A small blocky building with a cheap glass door. The carpet was that tight loop crap they put in work sheds and had been worn down in high traffic areas. The entire place smelled like burnt coffee and and had a reminiscent cigarette stink despite the fact that those had been banned for over a decade. There was a break area out back for that, now.
“I believe one of my students is being abused. I think his life may be in danger, by his parent’s hand, their neglect, or by his own hand.”
Mr. Maxon was sitting at his desk in front of the class. It had been three days and the school board had not called the principal, yet, to require his termination. Two days since he’d spoken to the sheriff. And one day since he’d packed all the shit in his apartment, just in case. He wanted to be out of this town as quickly as possible if he got the axe.
He scanned the room. No Simon today. When the principal knocked on his door, Mr. Maxon’s class started chattering like a wild flock of seagulls having spotted prey. Or maybe predator. Someone was going to the office. “Mr. Maxon, can I see you our here for a minute?” The class broke out in jeers, but Mr. Maxon quieted them as he walked to the hallway.
“Mr. Maxon, Simon committed suicide last night.” It hit him like a heavyweight boxer. He couldn’t speak. “I know you were worried about him. The county sent child protective services to his house yesterday. They didn’t take him from the house because he refused to go and his age and all. But I guess she let Simon have it after that. And he couldn’t take it. The sheriff took her in this morning.”
Mr. Maxon leaned onto the hard cinderblock wall with a thud and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked into the classroom, his classroom, and 29 faces looked back, unnaturally quiet.
Wrap-up
I struggled a bit with this one. I wrote it, re-outlined it, re-wrote it, and then tried at least 3 endings that didn’t work. Including the final one. Mr. Maxon was going to SWAT the parent at one point. He also went to Atlanta to a bank HQ to get their house foreclosed. Originally, I planned to have some sort of bank impropriety play into it. But that was clumsy and I dropped that element completely.
Character Motivation Seed
Seed from Story Engine
— Character —
An Academic
- Truth-Telling
— Motivation —
Wants to bring despair to/with
- Irritating
— Object of desire —
A Parent
- Hated
— Obstacle —
But they will have to break a personal rule
— Possession —
A Bank
- Humble
