so be easy and free when you're drinking with me

In third period a twelfth grade student showed up outside the door to my classroom.  She asked if she could speak to me privately in the hallway.  I left my grade eights unsupervised, a leap of faith, and stepped out into the hall.  She was out there with two other twelfth grade boys, and all three of them were giggling; the boys were holding the zebra.  R.W.'s zebra.  Again. 

R.W. is a history teacher.  He's a little bit crazy.  He has tattoos from his wrists to I-do-not-know-him-well-enough-to-know-where-they-end.  Somewhere below his neckline.  And R.W. owns a giant, almost life-sized paper-mâché zebra that lives in his classroom.  No one knows quite why.

Last school year when the zebra first appeared it kept me awake at night.  I kept thinking about it, thinking about how badly I wanted to take it away from R.W. and hide it somewhere and torture him.  Eventually I roped some innocent mentally handicapped children into helping me steal it and installed it in the lighting booth of the theatre.  Felt really pleased with myself while R.W. went around the building accusing everyone and whining about the cruelty of the world.  (I marveled at the ability of the students to keep my secret until I realized they didn't actually remember my secret.  It was the perfect crime.)

Eventually I gave Zippy back to R.W., though.  I think he was on my trail anyway, and since he had complied with the demands of my ransom notes -- mostly Fruit Loop related --, I reinstalled Zippy in his classroom when he was out of the building.  And I denied knowing anything about it.  I still do.

So it was with a mix of horror and delight that I took in the fact that Zippy had been kidnapped and was once again within my clutches.  The seniors wanted me to hide the zebra somewhere while they figured out what to do with him.  I considered... and agreed.  The problem, of course, was that Zippy would have to be smuggled into the theatre past thirty eighth graders who were bound to tell on us.

We swore them all to secrecy and proceeded.

By the end of the day R.W. had received reports from not less than six of them.  Tattletales.  They did not know the names of the villains who had brought the zebra into the theatre and so R.W. went to admin and viewed the security camera tape for the afternoon.  Not very sportsmanlike behaviour if you ask me.  We were busted.

R.W. appeared in the theatre at the end of the day looking hostile.  He told me the jig was up and demanded Zippy's safe return.  I meekly handed him over.  I know how to lose gracefully.  R.W. told me that unless I would agree to go to Ireland and perform with his band on St. Patrick's Day he would vow revenge.  I pondered the options and decided to go to Ireland.  I have been thinking about saying no for a long time which made it strangely easy to say yes.

I am defending my thesis the week before this trip.  I will celebrate or drown my sorrows in the land of Saints and Scholars.


*