Kindling "Maria"

In the summer of 2009, a series of blog posts known as "The Maria Chronicles" began running on American History Now. (You can sample them via the complete list further down on the right side of this page). Each of these discrete but interrelated pieces told a year in the life of Maria Bradstreet, a middle-aged divorcee and veteran teacher who began her life over by taking a job a a new school. The ensuing chronicles attempt to capture life in the classroom as it is rarely experienced in the vast professional literature on education. I've collected these pieces into a Kindle e-book that's now available for 99 cents at Amazon.com.  My hope is that it will be of value for teachers, students, and all with an interest in life as it is often experienced in high school. Thanks to all who have had a look at them, and this blog, in the last three years.

--Jim Cullen

Maria: Postscript -- and Prologue

The Maria Chroncicles, #59

This post marks the completion of a phase in an ongoing project. Eighteen months ago, I launched this blog as one means of trying to make a systematic exploration of new media and what it might mean for a person who considers himself a life-long writer. This was a foray in terms of form, but it was also a foray in terms of content. I wanted to write about the life of a teacher, and do so in a way that I haven't typically seen in my admittedly limited encounters with the literature of professional education. I began with "the Felix Chronicles," still available on this blog, in which I wrote about myself in the first person, changing details about students and colleagues in order to protect their identities. I perhaps should have realized that this would prove to be problematic. So I instead wandered into the realm of fiction, imagining a character who no one would mistake for me: a divorced 49-year old Chicana woman looking to start her life over at an institution somewhere in metropolitan New York that I named Hudson High School.

Fairly early on in the process, Maria began to take on a life of her own. I created a cast of characters who appear throughout, but found myself conjuring up new people, notably Jack Casey, the substitute teacher with whom Maria develops a relationship. Many of the events that transpire emerged organically; I didn't really know what was going to happen until I found myself imagining it. The posts that went up, once or twice a week, were typically written in batches.

This sense of the story taking a life of its own also applied to my sense that it was going to end of its own accord. At some point, I realized that I had said pretty much what I wanted to, and that the narrative was reaching a cadence. That I had, in effect, written a novel -- admittedly not much of one, and one in which professional issues tended to be foregrounded more than issues of narrative energy or character development. But that I'd nevertheless produced something that has a real shape, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. My guess is that there's no one who has actually read the Maria Chronicles in exactly this way, nor is there likely to be. But it's there for anyone who wants it, and the individual pieces have their own shape and integrity for those who have, or wish, to graze. This, it seems to me, is one of the really nice things about our contemporary media order: that an individual can make something and present it for anyone who wants to see without the economic, technological, and social barriers that might have prevented it in the past. To be sure, the potential reach of such a document is limited. But it remains part of my democratic faith that modest efforts by ordinary people can nevertheless produce results that someone, somewhere, at some point, might find of value. My sincere thanks to anyone who has taken the time to have a look. And I invite any and all to circle back again to the fifty-nine moments of what constitute a metaphorical hour in the life of a woman that I, at least, am very glad that I got to know.

Jim Cullen

New York, NY

June, 2010

Bon voyage, Ms. Bradstreet

In which we say goodbye to a new friend

The Maria Chronicles, #58

Maria is standing in the alcove of the church, wearing a beautiful cream-colored dress. She peers out into the congregation, surveying a crowd of friends and family. She's amazed when she suddenly realizes who's sitting in the third row: her beloved grandmother, Mamacita. Although she's not sure she should be wading into the crowd before the ceremony, she can't help rushing over.

"Mamacita! What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what I am I doing here? Por supuesto, estoy aqui."

"But how can that be? This doesn't make any sense -- "

"I'm always with you, mi cara bonita. Siempre."

Dumbfounded, Maria looks for her mother. Surely she can explain. But then Maria realizes that her mother is dead, too. This isn't right, she thinks, shaking her head. This shouldn't be happening this week. She needs to --

Maria realizes that it's Jack who's shaking her. "Maria? Are you OK?"

Maria opens her eyes and stares at him for a moment. He's fully dressed in black khakis and a gray dress shirt, sleeves partially rolled up. His is slicked back and his aftershave smells divine. "Bad dream?" he asks.

"Not exactly," she says, still feeling a little disoriented. "I was at my wedding with my grandmother."

"Having a flashback?"

"No, no. This was the future."

Jack chuckles. "Was this a dream or a nightmare?"

"Hard to say. I was so glad to see her. But it was so creepy, too. She's been dead for 25 years."

Jack stares at Maria for a moment, then takes a lock of her hair and wraps it behind her ear. "I guess this is kind of an intense time for you. But don't worry. I have no intention of proposing until I know you've got a good enough job to support us."

Maria reaches behind her, grabs a pillow, and whacks him with it. "Forget it, pal. I'm a ramblin' kinda gal. Can't be held down."

Jack smiles affectionately. "Well, you're not going to ramblin' anywhere if you don't get dressed soon. We have to be at the airport by 8:30. I was just coming in here to wake you up."

"How long have you been up?"

"Since about five. Needed to make a few trades on the Asian markets before they called it a day."

Maria suddenly smells coffee. She could get used to this. She struggles to sit up. Her iPad, a birthday gift from Jack, is beside her. She should check it. But Jack is fondling her.

"I thought you said I had to get up."

"You do," he says, smiling. "Just a little something to help you get going." He stands up. "The weather there today will be perfect. Sunny in the 80s here; a little cooler there. Dress light."

This is the rest of her birthday gift. Or is it her celebrate her sort-of-promotion gift? Or end of the school year gift? "They're non-refundable tickets," Jack said when he presented them to her. "I'm not going to do this often, Maria, because I know it will get your back up. But please, just this once." A tour of Spanish missions and some wine-tasting in Napa. They'll be flying in and out of San Francisco.

Maria finally puts her feet down on the floor of her apartment. I'm standing on my own two feet, she thinks as she heads to the bathroom to pee. "I won't be long," she tells Jack.

"Take your time," he says.

Heading down to the airport via Interstate 87 in her Prius, the sun almost up and Jack noodling away on his Blackberry, Maria sees the Radisson she stayed at almost a year ago after she decided to accept the job at Hudson. It's been a good year, she thinks. And now I'm ready to begin again.

Lasting day

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet finish her year by settling in

The Maria Chronicles, #57

Maria enters the faculty lounge on the last day of school juggling three dozen-sized boxes of Dunkin' Donuts and her briefcase. Her class has been nagging her for weeks to have a party for their final session of the year, and she finally broke down and conceded -- if they made it to the election of 2000 before the final exam. They did. Other kids will be bringing juice, cups, and the rest. Maria expects to spend her time signing yearbooks and asking about summer plans, which is fine. She's as itchy as the kids are for the summer to start, especially since the school has been an oven the last few days.

Still, she wants her morning coffee, hence her detour into the faculty lounge. Surprisingly, there's no one there but French teacher Edie Wilson, who is using a paper towel to dry off a recently rinsed mug that simply says "NO!" Edie, as always, has a look of perpetual irritation on her face. "I wish to hell they would just put syringes in here," she says. "It would be so much more efficient if I could simply inject the caffeine into my veins."

Maria smiles, genuinely amused, but lacking a witty riposte. Truth is, even after some relatively pleasant interactions, she remains a little afraid of Edie. Maria can't quite tell if her misanthropy is a protective shell or exactly what it seems to be.

"So," Edie says, pouring non-dairy creamer into her now-full mug, "I understand you're going to be with us a little longer. But it will be as a hybrid History-English teacher and as one of Ellie Bernstein's minions."

"News travels fast," Maria replies evenly, pouring coffee into her cup. "I didn't realize my minion status" -- Maria's first instinct was to avoid this, but decides it's best to both acknowledge and deflect it with an ironic overlay -- "was public knowledge."

"Just heard about it from Carl Kurtz," Edie explains. "Dani told him this morning, and he told me. Frankly, Maria, if anyone is going to be a tool of the administration, it might as well be you. They could use a good kick in the ass over there."

"Well, I'm glad you approve, Edie."

"You should be. But I wouldn't hitch my wagon too tightly to Bernstein's, if I were you. I figure she'll be here two more years, tops."

"Yeah, well, we'll have to see if I stick around in any case. How long have you been here, Edie?"

"Me? Twenty -seven years."

"Twenty-seven years? Wow."

"But that's not the relevant number."

"Oh no? What is?"

"Two-hundred and fifty K. That's what I'll have in TIAA-CREF a year from now. And then I'm outta here."

"Fair enough."

"You better believe it." Edie has finished stirring  in what looked to Maria like a half-pound of sugar and is now walking away. "If I don't see you, have a good summer."

"Thanks, Edie. Likewise."

"Naturally," she says without looking back. "I won't be here."

Maria is trying to figure out how she'll be able to carry the doughnuts, the coffee, and the briefcase, when an unfamiliar man wearing jeans and a plaid cotton shirt and sandals stands at the edge of the lounge without crossing the threshold. Probably a parent. "Can you tell me how to find room 527?" he asks.

"Sure. Go down the hall, make a right, up the stairs and keep going until you hit the 500s building. The room will be on the second floor."

"Great. Thanks."

He's going to get lost, Maria thinks. But at least she sent him in the right general direction. She then realizes that this is the first time she's ever been asked for directions since she started working in the school. It seems significant somehow. She's part of the place. After all.

Maria realizes, as she watches the man make the right turn, that the figure she sees to her left is her favorite student. "Willie!" she shouts. "Can you give me a hand?"

"Sure, Ms. Bradstreet! What do you need?"

"Can you help me carry these doughnuts?"

"Absolutely." But like the man before him, Willie pauses before the threshold. "It's all right, Willie. You can enter the inner sanctum."

She enters gingerly. "I've never been in here before."

"Yeah, well, the air is a little thinner, but you'll survive."

Willie grins and picks up the doughnuts. Maria picks up her briefcase.

"So, Willie, tell me what you're looking forward to this summer."

And the two of them walk, burdened and at ease with each other's company. For years to come, they will remember this moment with fondness.

Digesting

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet choose a course


The Maria Chronicles, #56

"So," Jack Casey says, reaching for one of the few remaining Nachos on the table. "Not long ago, you feared you were going to be out of a job. Now you have two. I dunno, Maria, maybe you should break your foot more often."

"I was told my job was in jeopardy after I fell down the stairs," Maria reminds him. "Would have been happier with one good job and two good feet rather than the other way around."

They're at Tomatillo, a Mexican restaurant in Dobbs Ferry they first visited almost five months ago on what Maria considers their first date. At the time, she was convinced it would be their last; one of Jack's old Bear Stearns cronies came and reminded her of Jack's buccaneering background. The associations were unpleasant enough for her to reject his suggestion they come here tonight and lead her to make a counteroffer of a good Greek place in Irvington. But Jack had insisted -- "we're going to defeat the bad karma from last time" -- and she relented. The memory of the margaritas had tipped the scales. She signals to the waiter that she'll have another.

"Tony says he there were lots of good candidates for the job at Covello. But that he and the committee agreed you were their first choice."

"Well, I was impressed with them. I think it's very exciting what they're doing."

The waiter returns with Maria's second margarita. She knows she has to answer his unasked question.

"I'm really very conflicted at this point. The job at Hudson is very appealing to me. In a way, it's almost too appealing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's something that I feel like I understand. It's teaching. I mean yeah, sure, I'll be developing a new interdisciplinary curriculum, but it's doing stuff that's familiar and which I think I'm good at."

"So then why would you even think about Covello?"

"Because maybe I need a challenge. I've never done much administration because I never imagined I'd much like administration. But maybe I need to give it a chance. And there's such a sense of mission over there. This sense that they're at the start of something big."

"Yeah, well, charter schools always start that way," Jack says. "But they get pretty conventional pretty quickly -- and that's when they actually survive, nothing you can take for granted." He's in devil's advocacy mode. He doesn't really believe this, Maria thinks.

The waiter is back again with their dinner. Chicken fajitas for Maria. Jack is having some fancy salmon dish.

"What about the money angle?" he asks, reaching for the Tobasco.

Maria bristles. Is he asking her to divulge salaries? She supposes it doesn't really matter. Still, she isn't going to say. "Covello will pay more. Significantly more. It's more responsibility. But also more aggravation. Supervising people -- not something I find appealing."

"You'd be great at it."

"How would you know?" She asks this playfully, but doesn't mind the perceptible edge.

"I know these things," he says, swirling around the Chardonnay in his glass. "It's why they paid me the big bucks."

"Oh, that's why they paid you the big bucks." she says.

"Well no, not really. I'm just bullshitting. That, in fact, is why they paid me the big bucks. I was very good at it. But I still think you'd be a good manager. But what about the Hudson job? What are they willing to do for you?"

"What they're offering amounts to a raise of a few hundred dollars a month. Which is good, except that most of it comes in the form of a two-year grant. So it might be temporary."

"Well, you certainly don't want to end up with a pay cut. That's something you need to fix."

No I don't, she thinks. Jack's getting a little too imperious. But Maria decides that she's not going to get all prickly and argue with him. She turns her attention to her fajitas.

"Of course, I'd probably end up with supervisory responsibilities at Hudson, too," she says a few bites later. I'd be developing courses that other people would teach. In one form or another, that's going to require leadership."

Jack has a mouth full of rice. He nods.

"Covello has more of progressive mission. That's attractive too. More kids of color. Something I've always felt I should be doing more about."

Jack wipes his mouth with a napkin. He puts it down deliberately before he looks at her. "Well, it sounds to me like you have a bunch of good reasons to go with Covello." He motions to the waiter. "You want dessert?"

"I shouldn't."

"Fried ice cream again?"

"Let's share."

"Done." He tells the waiter to bring it to them with a pair of cappuccinos. Maria knows she won't have much but is glad to have coffee and dessert nonetheless.

"As I was saying, sounds to me like Covello is the logical choice. So why do I have this idea that you're not going to take it?"

Maria laughs softly. "I just don't know, Jack. I just don't know."

"'Just don't know' as in you're sincerely confused, or 'just don't know' as in there's something that bothers you about it that you're having trouble putting aside?"

"More the latter."

"OK then, so what is it? You don't have to worry about offending me or Tony. I just wanted you to return the call when he invited you for an interview. I'm not worried about his finding a good candidate. And I want what's best for you."

"I know that, Jack. And I really appreciate it."

"Good. I'm glad. So what's the problem?"

"You." She smiles.

But he doesn't see it. "Oh Jesus, not that again!"

"No, no --"

Jack looks away as dessert arrives. It suspends the conversation, which gives Maria a chance to gather her thoughts.

"It's the opposite of what you think," she says. But he's still looking away.

"It's not because I disapprove of you. Actually, I think it comes from a good place."

He shakes his head, still not making eye contact. "How do you figure that?"

"I don't want to take something that will complicate our . . . relationship." Maria can't believe she just said that.

Jack looks at her sharply. "Our relationship," he repeats. For a second she's afraid he's going to say "What relationship?" But he doesn't. Instead, he leans back in his chair and exhales sharply, putting his index finger over his lip. "I don't know about you, Maria Bradstreet," he says, finally.

"What? What don't you know?"

"You're a curious woman, you know that?"

"What are you trying to say, Jack?"

He reaches a spoon into the fried ice cream and takes a bite."I guess I'm trying to say thanks. I guess I'm trying to say I'm flattered. I guess I'm saying it wouldn't make any difference to me if you did take the Covello job, but I know it makes a difference to you and I guess I'm just glad that you're thinking the way you are about it. I didn't expect it, or expect it at this particular juncture. But I'm glad we're here." He looks at her, beaming.

"I'm glad, too." The waiter has brought the check. It always annoys her when it arrives unsolicited. But Jack doesn't seem to mind. He pulls out his Amex Platinum Card and places it in the vinyl folder without looking at the check. "Don't even think about it," he says, reading her mind and placing his hand on hers to prevent her from moving to her purse. It lingers there for a moment before he takes it back.

"So we're all set, then," she says.

"All set."

Ambush

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet become the beneficiary of a conspiracy


The Maria Chronicles, #55

Maria, who made the mistake of attending the spring concert assembly, is now desperate to get home. She'd gone to the concert at the insistent request of her students Maggie and A.J., who were singing in the chorus and playing in the jazz band respectively, but the auditorium was so stifling and dank that she could barely stand it. The plan was always to depart after a few minutes -- see, be seen, and get the hell out -- but once there, she didn't feel right leaving until it was over. She made her exit and to breathe the cooler spring air on the school's quad, only to be detained by her colleague in the English department, Carl Kurtz, who asked her for suggestions for good books on the 1970s. She gave Carl a few, only to get a request for a few more on the 1980s. It was for a novel he was planning to write. (Stick to your day job, Carl, she thinks.) Her patience wearing thin, Maria made a couple more suggestions and explained, vaguely, that she had to get going. Karl thanked her and Maria now resolved to make a beeline for her desk, her briefcase, and her car.

"Ms. Bradstreet!"

Maria turns her head to see Wilhelmina Marzetti, determinedly converging from Maria's right, which is odd, because it's the opposite direction from where the assembly was held. Shit, Maria thinks. She loves Willie. But not now. Maria looks at her watch: 3:10

"Hi Willie. What's up?"

"Well, I was hoping I could get a little help on my environmentalism essay."

"Well, OK. So tell me about it."

Willie looks a little sheepish. "Well, actually, I was hoping you would actually look at a draft."

Maria points to a bench a few feet ahead of them as a possible place to work. "Do you have it with you?"

"Uh, no. I accidentally left it back in our classroom. Do you think you could walk back over there with me?"

For the first time in the almost nine months she's known her, Maria is irritated with Willie. "Can we do this tomorrow? The essay isn't due until next week, after all."

Willie winces. "I kinda want to work on it tonight. I have a big French test next week, and Saturday is my dad's birthday and --"

"All right all right," Maria says, a bit too tartly. "We'll do it now."

"Thanks a lot, Ms. Bradstreet. I really appreciate it."

The two walk in silence toward Room 211. Then, as they approach the door to the building, Willie says, "Ms. Bradstreet, can I ask, do you know any more about whether you'll be returning next year?"

Yet one more unwelcome question. Still, Maria thinks, if anyone deserves to be the first to know, it would be Willie. She seriously considers telling her that she got a job offer just that morning to become chair of the History Department at the newly formed Leonard Covello Charter School to be located only a few miles away. More money, but more administrative work, too. Still, the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of something big.

"No Willie, I still don't know. But I'll keep you posted." Maria pushes the door to the classroom open.

"SURPRISE!!!"

Maria is stunned by the large cake -- carrot, apparently, with burning candles -- that sits on a student desk. She's even more stunned by the boisterous crowd, comprising about half of her tenth grade class: Maggie and A.J., who managed to get here unseen, along with Mia, Kenny, Jake, Vanessa, Matt, and Derek. They immediately launch into "Happy Birthday." At their urging, she blows out the candles, and there's further cheering.

"Happy Birthday, Ms. Bradstreet," Willie says quietly.

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

"Google," Kenny answers. "Took a while, but I figured it out."

Maria can't decide whether to be pleased or alarmed. She looks at Willie. "This was all your idea?"

"I had lots of help," she says with a smile. "Couldn't have done it without Maggie and A.J."

"Gotta tell you, we worried about whether you would show up for a while there," A.J. says, clearly amused. "And we worried you'd leave too early."

"That's where I came in," Carl Kurtz says, as Maria suddenly realizes he's in the room too. As is her department chair, Jen Abruzzi. And Principal Eleanor Bernstein.

"So apparently it's the big 5-0," Carl notes. "Couldn't let that pass unnoticed around here. It was fun to conspire with Willie."

Maria sees that Willie is getting a little embarrrassed. "Here," she says suddenly, producing a large wrapped box. "Your present. Open it!"

Maria eyes the package warily, but realizes she's expected to open it. She rips the wrapping and opens the box. It's a Hudson High School hoodie sweatshirt.

"I love it," she says sincerely. "And I love this party. It's really one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me." Maria chokes up as she realizes this is true. She feels ambushed by her own emotions.

"Let's have some of this cake," Jen says to break the tension. "Who wants a slice?"

The next few minutes are occupied with distributing cake and pouring Diet Coke into paper cups. Maria hears snatches of talk about the New York Mets, the Hudson softball team, and senior prom gossip (Vanessa, apparently, will be a sophomore date for a senior, and will be shopping for a dress that evening). Gradually, the kids begin to drift off for rehearsals, practice, and the bus. Willie is actually among the first to go, and Maria embraces her warmly before she rushes off, which is for the best. A mere twenty minutes after it began, the party is essentially over. Short and sweet.

Surprisingly, Eleanor Bernstein is the last to go. "Maria," she says, pausing by the door, "I have news that I hope you'll regard as a birthday present. I've just gotten authorization to offer you the job along the lines we've been discussing. Next year, you would be half-History, half-English, with a $7500 grant to begin developing an interdisciplinary curriculum for the following year, probably something you'd want to start this summer. I have no iron-clad guarantee the job would continue in this configuration after the coming school year. But I've got it in writing that next year will be Larry Roganoff's last. So even in the unlikely event that Mandy Merkel actually came back from graduate school to take the English half of your job back, the worst case scenario would be that you'd be full-time History, with another $7500 to finish the curriculum. Sound good to you?"

Seventy-five hundred, Maria thinks. After taxes, that would probably translate to about $400 more a month.

"It does sound good," she says. "But can I think about it?"

"Of course. But I would like to know as soon as possible."

"How about Monday?"

Dani nods, clearly not thrilled with the prospect of four days, but not wanting to contest it, either. "Monday it is. So what are you doing with the rest of your birthday?"

Maria does not want to tell Dani that she's having dinner tonight with Jack Casey, whom Dani holds in low regard (as indeed Maria herself did until recently). "My kids are coming tomorrow," she says truthfully. "We'll do dinner and a movie. I don't like to make a big deal of my birthday."

"Understood. Well, you have yourself a good one," Dani says. "You deserve it."

Human Resources

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet lead a cool man to lose his temper

The Maria Chronicles, #54

Maria is walking to her Prius, parked across the street from her apartment, when she is surprised -- and pleased -- to see Jack Casey's BMW pull up behind it. Jack gets out just as she tosses the bag of clothes on her back seat. They haven't seen each other since her cast has come off her foot. Maria was going to propose taking him out to dinner to thank him for all his help in her recovery, and while she generally doesn't like unexpected visitors, she finds herself in a mellow mood.

"Well hello, Jack. How are you?"

"Not so good, Maria."

"What's wrong?" She's never seen him so agitated.

"What's wrong is that I got a call from my friend Tony Romano this afternoon. He told me that you never returned the call he made inviting you to come in for an interview for the history department chair position."

"I just -- "

"I've spent a lot of personal capital on this."

Maria doesn't like the idea of his thinking of her in terms of trade and commodities, and she can almost feel her face darken. But she decides not argue the point, taking a deep breath. "Jack, I just --"

But he he cuts her off again. "You know, Maria, call me a fool, but I've had this idea in the last few months that I understand you. I think you've been a little too hard on me, but I've accepted it, not only because I know I've made my mistakes, but also because I felt like there was a part of you that liked and accepted who I am. I can believe that I was wrong about that, and I'm willing to understand and accept a decision on your part to reject what I have to offer. But I think you take it a little too far when this withholding thing extends to other people. Tony is a good guy, a real school person, and he doesn't deserve to be treated this way just because he happens to be a friend of mine. This is bigger than you and -- "

"I just got off the phone with him, Jack. I'm going in to talk with him tomorrow."

This shuts him up. He looks away, silent, not quite ready to stand down. Then he meets her gaze again. "Why did it take you so long?"

Now it's Maria's turn to look away. "It's complicated, Jack. But not quite what you think." She looks back at him. "You're right: I waited to long to call Tony back. I apologized to him when we talked, and I'll apologize to you now. I'm usually pretty efficient about these things. And yes, to some degree it was about not wanting to get a job through you, though less out of a sense of disapproval than a need for independence."

"Maria, you would never get the job just because --"

"I know, I know, I'd have to be able to stand on my own two feet. Blah, blah, blah."

Jack smiles for the first time. "I believe the correct post-Seinfeld terminology is 'yada yada yada.'"

"Whatever. But the truth is, the situation has become more complex. Turns out there may now be something happening at Hudson High."

"Really? Wow. Tell me about it!"

She's struck by his unfeigned enthusiasm: He really wishes her well. It's not about her getting a job through him; it's about her getting what she wants. This is the moment Maria Bradstreet falls in love with Jack Casey.

"Well, like I said, it's complicated. And actually, I'd like to get some advice about it. What are you doing now, Jack?"

"You mean other than arguing with you? Not much. I was planning on going home and watching the Mets lose to the Phillies."

"Well, look, what do you say I forget about my dry-cleaning for now and take you out to dinner at the Italian place around the block so we can talk about it."

"The Mets?"

"No, dummy, my professional prospects."

He looks at her slyly. "Maria, are you propositioning me?"

"Believe it," she says, grinning.

"All right, then," Jack says. And they're off.

A really great Willie

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet have an adult conversation with a not-quite child

The Maria Chronicles, #53

Maria is sitting at her desk in her empty classroom, jotting down some notes for the upcoming final exam in her U.S. survey course, when she recognizes the voice of her student, Wilhelmina Marzetti, in the doorway: "Is it true, Ms. Bradsteet?"

"Is what true?" Maria asks, realizing as she does so that she knows what Willie is talking about.

"That you're leaving. At the end of the school year."

Maria meets Willie's gaze. As she does so, she becomes aware of seeing the girl's face as a snapshot of a life in motion. Willie's hair is braided, and the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose show the traces of the child she is ceasing to be. Maria has long had a theory that everyone has what she calls an essential age -- a core visage in a person's life that somehow defines them even as they move through the life cycle. Not for the first time, Maria thinks that Willie's essential age is midlife; she can somehow see her, perhaps a little puffier and wearier than she is now, nevertheless sturdily sustaining an identity as the mother of children. Probably hold a responsible job of some kind, but a mother first and foremost, and the centrality of that role, that dependability, will keep her from seeming old for a long time after she actually is old. Just a theory. Maria believes her essential age is midlife, too, right around where she is now. But she suspects motherhood is not as central for her as it will be for Willie.

"I don't know, Willie. It might be true that I'm leaving. But it might not."

"What does that mean?" There's a plaintive quality to her student's voice, poised between petulance and justified irritation, that Maria experiences as a dilemma. It wouldn't be fair to burden Willie with the details of her life, anxieties that she would be likely to take to heart. But withholding information seems unfair to the spirit of a relationship which, however circumscribed, has long been understood as significant.

Maria exhales sharply. "Willie, I came to this school in September because I wanted to start my life over. My marriage had broken up, my children were grown, and I wanted, and believed, I could start a new chapter. I left a secure job back in New Hampshire, which I probably could have kept for life, both because I needed a change and believed I was a good enough teacher that I'd be able to find a similarly secure job somewhere else. And I thought that job would be here. So did the people who hired me. But it turns out this may not be the case."

"Is it about tenure? That you were -- what's the term -- denied tenure?"

"No. Actually, I haven't even gotten to the point where that would be an issue. Actually, if it had, I'd feel pretty confident. The problem is really the school budget. As you know, these are hard times. People are cutting back. And as someone who was recently hired, I'm low man on the totem pole."

"That's so unfair!"

"Well, now, I'm not sure it is. In any case, it's not something you need to worry about."

"Yes it is! It's definitely something I need to worry about! You're a great teacher!"

"Well, thank you."

"Is there something I can do? We kids can do? Write letters or talk the the principal? I know there are a lot of people who feel the way I do."

Maria doubts that. "No, Willie, there's nothing you or anyone else can do at this point. Actually, Dr. Bernstein has been working on a plan to keep me here."

"That's great! So if it works, you'll stay?"

Maria is uncomfortable at being drawn into a degree of disclosure she's now regretting. But executing a graceful U-turn will not be easy. "I don't know, Willie."

"Why not? Is it because you're mad? I wouldn't blame you. But I hope you won't take it out on us."

"No, Willie, it's not about revenge. It's . . . well, it's sort of like you're going out with a guy, and he says he wants to see other people, and then he says he wants you back, and you're really glad and everything, but somehow something is broken and even though you want things to work, they just plain don't anymore. I'm not saying that has happened, but it might. That's sort of where I am now. I'm trying to figure out if I can stay, both in terms whether the school will have me, but also whether it will feel right." Jesus, Maria thinks. Why am I telling her this? And is this in fact the way it is with me? Maybe it is.

Willie shakes her head. "I think I understand. I mean, I've never had a boyfriend, but it makes sense. I just hate the idea of you leaving just after you got here."

"Well, let me tell you, I don't much like the idea of leaving, either. Actually, Willie, if it turns out that I stay, you'll be part of the reason why. Even though I know that after two more years you're going to be the one who's leaving. For sure."

Willie smiles ruefully. "Yeah, I guess. But I guess there are always Willies wherever you go."

"No. Not wherever you go. And they're all different. You're a really great Willie. The best."

Willie looks down, her face full of emotion. Maria would like to go over and hug her, but decides not to.

"You go on now, Willie. I appreciate you coming by. I really do. But I've got to prepare this exam."

Willie nods, her head still down. "OK, Ms. Bradstreet. See you tomorrow." She looks up briefly and smiles before she exits.

Maria waits to make sure she's gone before she reaches for the Kleenex at the edge of her desk.

(Re) lit

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet consider learning to speak English

The Maria Chronicles, #52

Maria, sitting alone at a table in the faculty lounge, is restless and bored. She's slogging through a set of mediocre student essays. What's disappointing about this is that she thought she had an elegantly simple essay question: "Who was Martin Luther King, Jr.?" Yet the answers have been uniformly turgid affirmations of King's heroism. Maria had actually been fairly critical of King in her lecture on the Civil Rights Movement, emphasizing the work of women like Ella Baker and Fannie Lou Hamer, and pointing out that King was a plagiarist and womanizer. Yet the class has seemed unwilling to grapple with this; it's easier simply to say that King was a fighter for equality and that his work remains unfinished. Blah blah blah. Even Maria's beloved Willie, who has so often risen to the occasion in her class, seemed uninspired, noting that King has his problems, but using most of her essay to emphasize the depth of the resistance he faced (true, enough, Maria concedes). Beside her, Maria has an old, dog-eared copy of Richard Rodriguez's Hunger of Memory, the introduction of which will help her to kill birds of immigration and neoconservatism once she bolts through the Vietnam War. It's always a sprint to the finish when you're teaching the U.S. survey.

Maria is considering walking across the room for another jolt of caffeine in the form of coffee when she sees the school principal, Eleanor Bernstein, at the doorway of the lounge. This is surprising: Ellie almost never enters this lair. And apparently she's not going to now, either. "Maria," she says, leaning the top half of her tightly coiled body into the room. "You have a minute?"

"Uh yeah, okay," she replies uncertainly.

"Come on over to my office, then," Dani commands. It's only a short walk from the lounge. Dani has gone back there even before Maria can stand up. I wonder what this is about, Maria thinks. At least it's a break from those papers.

Dani is already back at her desk when Maria arrives, motioning her to take a chair on the other side of the desk. "Jesus," Dani says irritably, apparently in reaction to something that's just appeared on her laptop. She fires off a reply as Maria sits there, growing annoyed at the way she's forced to wait after a peremptory summons.

Then Dani looks way sharply from the screen and gazes at Maria directly. "Sorry. Idiots in maintenance. Can't figure out what to do with an illegally parked car. You'd think they would have taped the name of the towing company to the phone by now."

Maria decides to remain impassive, not interested in maligning the maintenance people or talking about parking.

"All right then," Dani says, correctly reading her and deciding to cut to the chase. "Maria, we haven't talked since I told you I planned to recommend you for renewal and eventual tenure, which I did. As you know, we've had budgetary issues since then, principally because Larry Roganoff, who I regard as dead wood, refuses to move on. He's proven to be quite recalcitrant for a passive man. But I've had a series of conversations with him and the pencil pushers working the budget. I've convinced the former to accept a half-time return to his position and the latter to sweeten his health care retirement benefits."

Dani folds her arms and pushes her chair back, regarding Maria appraisingly. "If you were younger and cheaper, Maria, I'd be able to pay you full time on what Larry makes half time. But I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"So you're going to ask me to come back on a half-time basis?"

"No. Or at least that's not my preferred scenario. Tell me, Maria: how do you feel about American literature?"

"American literature?"

"Yes. You know, like The Scarlett Letter. Or Song of Solomon. That kind of thing."

Maria can't help but chuckle. She's never heard Nathaniel Hawthorne and Toni Morrison lumped together as a "thing." "Well," she says, "I was an American Studies major in college."

"Oh yeah?" Dani sounds surprised -- and pleased. "Well, here's the thing. Mandy Merkel has just announced that she's decided to accept a graduate fellowship for an MFA program at Syracuse. She wants to be a novelist, God help her. Mandy was slated to teach two sections of the tenth grade American lit course next year. You make more than she does, but less than Larry does, so the two would more or less balance out. You'd have to teach two preps of an all new course outside your training, but it would be a way of keeping you here."

"The English department would go along with this?"

"Well, they don't have much choice. It's late in the year, a half-time job, and there's no guarantee it will be permanent. Plus you're well-liked. I checked."

"Nice to hear," Maria says. "But I've got to say this is not an especially appetizing offer, Dani. Especially given the way the job I thought was mine proved not to be. This sounds even more wobbly."

"You have a better option?"

"Yes." A fib.But Maria also thinks the job Jack has been working on for her would come through -- if she consented to it.

Dani purses her lips and nods. "Well, I didn't want to bring this up yet, but I see I need to put all my cards on the table."

Maria looks at her quizzically.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Maria, but the English department is fossilized." (Maria has noticed, and nods.) "It's my ambition to bring it into the 20th century. And you're my Trojan Horse."

"A lovely prospect," she observes drily.

"Hear me out. I didn't want to tell you this, but in a few weeks I plan to unveil a major new curricular initiative for the 2011-21012 school year. I've got a few of the department heads on board, including your friend Karl Kurtz. I can't go into the details here -- I've got a meeting in a few minutes -- except to say that it involves much more interdisciplinary teaching. It also involves more team teaching, of collaborating groups working off a shared curriculum."

"How are you going to be able to do that financially?"

"Good question. The plan is actually budget neutral. Eventually. We'll still have the same number of teachers and the same number of kids, but recombine them. More big meetings, more group work, more discussion sections -- overall, a more fluid situation.  I'll need money to get the thing going for training and incentives, but I think I've got some grant money for that. Actually, this is where you come in. I really want you at the forefront of this initiative, Maria. In the short term, there will be extra money for you as the point person. And if  you establish your indispensability, as I'm confident you will, you'll have a secure and prominent future here."

"Wow. I don't know what to say."

"Well, I understand you probably have more questions. Unfortunately, I have to go. The main thing I want to have happen now is that you agree to consider the short-term offer on the table, and not to accept any other position that may be in the offing. Give me a little time to work this out and see if I can put something more concrete on the table. Can you do that?"

"How much time?"

"I dunno. I had hoped to keep this under wraps until I had you on board for next year. But I'm going to change strategies. Can you give me the rest of the week?"

"Yes."

"Good." Dani rises and offers her hand, which Maria shakes. "Now I've got to kick you out of here, Maria. More idiots to deal with."

"For a smart woman, you seem to have to deal with an awful lot of idiots," Maria observes. "Is everyone as really as dumb as they look?"

"Probably dumber," Dani replies. "I know I am." She winks. "Always a pleasure, Maria."

Reality check

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet get slapped on the side of the head with a cellphone

The Maria Chronicles, #51


"So let me get this straight," Maria's friend Janice is saying to her on her cell as they lie in bed in their respective apartments. "Prince Charming, who has been courting you for months, has been a perfect dreamboat during your convalescence, right?"

"More or less," Maria responds, grudgingly, knowing where this is going.

"He learns you may lose your job, and so tells you about a lead he has for another one."

"Yes."

"And you're non-committal."

"Yes."

"And you've had no great leads in the weeks that have followed."

"Well, no. A couple things. I've gotten a couple calls from the employment agency I've been using, but they don't much interest me. Still, I'm hoping something will come through."

"OK. So then this contact of aforementioned Prince leaves you a message asking you to come to interview for a very good job, a better job than you have now."

"Well, I don't know that for sure. But it's probably more administrative. I don't think I want that. I'm a teacher."

"But you don't actually know just what the job involves."

"Right."

"Because you haven't called him back."

"Right."

"And how long has it been since you've received that call?"

"Three days."

"Three days? Jesus, Maria, what are you waiting for? It's just a phone call, for Christ's sake. What: are you afraid you're going to lose your virginity if you call the friend of a friend back? Just to talk to him?"

Maria sighs. "You're not making this easy for me, Janice."

"Is that my job?"

"Of course it's your job. You're my best friend. I'm conflicted. I need someone I can talk to about this!"

"Well I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you're yelling at me. It isn't helpful."

"This is called a reality check, Maria. And it is helpful. You need some friction to see matters clearly."

"Oh I've got plenty of friction in my head, I can assure you of that."

"That's the problem. It's in your head. It's your own friction. You make it, you use it. It's the friction of a control freak. You and I both know this about you."

Maria has no ready answer for this. It's what her ex-husband used to say about her.

"So you're telling me I have to go on that job interview," she says resignedly.

"Can you afford not to?"

"No. I can't."

"So then why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because I really don't want to do it."

"Why, because you'll feel beholden to Jack? Jesus, you've got to let go of that, Maria. So what: the guy was a Wall Street pirate. That's history now. You think you're going to punish him by refusing to accept anything that comes your way because it may be tainted? You're such a goddamn Puritan, Maria. The world's first Chicana Puritan."

"Boy, you're a hard-ass, Janice."

"Well, am I right?"

"Not exactly."

"Fine. You're not the world's first Chicana Puritan."

Maria can't help but laugh. But Janice is pushing ahead. "So what do I have wrong, then?"

"I mean yes, at one point, it was about that."

"Punishing him. Withholding approval."

"Yes. It was. But not anymore."

"So what is it now?"

There's a long pause before Maria answers quietly. "Because I like him."

There's another pause before Janice responds gently. "All right then. Now we're getting somewhere." Another pause. "So you're afraid to take the job because you don't want to feel dependent on a guy -- a rich, good looking guy who might make you feel insecure as it is -- because you'll feel uncomfortable and maybe even self-sabotage the thing."

"Yes."

"Well OK, Maria. That makes sense to me."

"So you think I shouldn't call the guy back for the interview?"

"No, I think you have to call back the guy for the interview. Doesn't mean you'll get or want the job. But again, you can't afford not to. It's really quite possible that you'll get the job, love it, and get Mr. Second Chance in Life in the bargain. Actually, you may well forfeit Mr. Second Chance if you don't make the call, because if I were him I'd begin thinking that you'll never get over what he may well perceive as this withholding approval thing. But none of this is to say that your anxieties are misplaced. I get it now, Maria. Feeling dependent on him would feel really shitty, and maybe doom the relationship. But you're just going to have to face that fear and walk toward it. Which you can and will. Just like you did in walking away from that asshole husband of yours."

Maria's eyes are glistening. She rubs them. "Now I know why I called you."

"Damn well took you long enough. So what's happening this weekend? Is Mr. Right going to sweep you off your feet and take you to some fancy restaurant?"

"No. He did that last weekend. Actually, he's going to be visiting his daughter this weekend down in Washington, where she's attending a conference."

"Great. My sweetie is also going to be out of town. How about I swoop down there with a pair of theater tix. Can you wedge your aching leg into one of those tiny rows?"

"Actually, I get the cast off on Thursday."

"Great. So it's a date."

"It's a date. Love you, Janice."

"Yeah, right. whatever. Back at ya, kid."

Dealing

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet try to handle dishonesty honestly

The Maria Chronicles, #50

Maria expects there to be a phone message waiting for her when she picks up the phone at her desk, and there is. "Mrs. Bradstreet," a voice intones, "this is Dr. Ronald Chiklis, father of Jacob Chiklis. Jake tells me you believe he cheated on an exam he took yesterday. I would like to hear your evidence for this assertion. I will be calling you again later today and/or following up with an email."

Hearing Chiklis's voice reminds Maria of the irritating conversation they had last fall, when he challenged the grade his son received on his essay, Maria suspects, because the Good Doctor himself had a large hand in its argument, if not its execution. Just one more reason she correctly felt dread when she saw Jake looking at Kenny's answers during an exam yesterday.

There's no doubt in Maria's mind now that Jake was cheating. At the time, it seemed surreal, and she didn't want to believe it, in part because the reality of a cheater was going to complicate her life. Maria is not a longtime teacher at the school, something that weakens her when dealing with the likes of Chiklis, and she has felt increasingly isolated ever since budgetary concerns have placed her job in jeopardy. She could take the matter to the principal, and she's aware that there is some kind of disciplinary committee. But she's really hoping that she can contain the controversy by having some kind of candid conversation with Jake, whom she's summoned to come see here this morning. And here he is.

"Good morning, Jake," she says as cheerfully as she can to a notably morose kid. "Like the jacket." It's a dark green windbreaker, seemingly new. "Pull up a chair," she says. He does an unloads a blue backpack from his shoulder.

Maria swivels in her desk chair to face him, dragging her cast-bound foot from the fall on a set of stairs four weeks earlier. "Jake, I want to you to tell me what happened yesterday."

Jake looks down and turns away. "I don't know what happened," he says dejectedly. "I was overwhelmed. I had a chem lab and an English essay and your test. And no time to study, because I had a baseball game Tuesday at Poly and didn't get home until late. And I saw all these questions I didn't know and I just panicked."

"You panicked," Maria repeats.

"Yeah. I just panicked. It's like I went into circuit overload, and I had to do something, anything, to just push my way through."

Maria nods. "I see." She pauses. "Did you not think we could talk about it?"

"What would there be to say?" he asks, irritated, looking at her briefly and then away. "That's not something you could fix. Talking only makes things worse. I made the mistake of telling my mom, who told my dad, who of course hit the roof."

"Yes, I got a message from him."

"Sorry. I told him not to do that."

"Not your fault." Maria's unsure where to go. Return to the test? Talk about workload? "Jake, I know that keeping the balls in the air can be hard sometimes. But you know, you're not half bad at it. I mean, you've been doing OK in my class."

"Yeah, well, tell my dad about it. He's even more upset with my grade in chemistry, which he insists on trying to teach me."

"I certainly can talk with your dad."

"Wouldn't do any good."

"Do you know what would?"

"No."

Maria purses her lips. "Jake, I don't think we can undo what you did yesterday. You would have failed the test yesterday anyway. But it doesn't have to be the last word in our work together."

Jake puts his hand on his forehead. "So what does that mean?"

"Well, it means that you've fallen into a hole. But it's a hole you can dig yourself out of."

"Great," he says in a voice of bitter dejection. "Just what I need. More work."

"Not necessarily. Jake, do you do read the assigned homework?"

"Sometimes I do," he answers candidly. "Like on the bus. But sometimes I just can't get to it. I just have too much other stuff --"

Maria cuts him off. "I get it. And that's OK. The thing is, Jake, you don't talk much in class. You could help yourself, and me, by speaking up more."

Jake pouts. "Yeah, I guess. But a lot of times I just agree with what other people are saying."

"What if I called on you first? If you know it was coming?"

"Yeah, but what if I don't know the answer?"

"Then you say 'I don't know.' No crime in that. But I'd probably ask you a question you did know -- or, at any rate, a question that's more of a request for an opinion. The important thing would be for me to feel that you were actually paying attention, and that I could ask you a question without you feeling that you were being ambushed. It wouldn't be a 'gotcha' thing. I think that would be good for the class to see, and it would be good in that it might make it easier for me to do this with some of the other kids."

"Yeah, I guess." He hesitates. "But what would this mean for my grade?"

"I don't know. Not trying to be coy here. I'm not going to saddle you with more work. But I am going to be watching to see how you engage. I think it's quite possible that come June what happened yesterday will make no difference at all."

Jake looks down and nods. And then he looks up. "OK, Ms. Bradstreet. I can do that."

"Great. We have a deal."

Jake stands up. "Look, I'm really sorry this happened. I didn't really want to do it. And I didn't want to do it to you. I don't really know why it happened."

"I don't either, Jake. And I know that you've still got stuff to deal with. But there's no reason why you and me can't finish the year on an even keel."

"Yeah, OK." He hoists his backpack on his shoulder. "I gotta get to class. Thanks a lot, Ms. Bradstreet."

"OK Jake. See you this afternoon."

Jake has been gone for all of thirty seconds when the phone rings. Maria knows who this is.

"Mrs. Bradstreet?"

"Yes. This is Ms. Bradstreet. You must be Dr. Chiklis."

"That's right. I want to talk with you about that exam yesterday."

"Well, I don't believe that will be necessary, Dr. Chiklis. Your son and I had a conversation and worked things out."

"Worked things out, you say? What did you work out?"

"Well, maybe you should have a conversation with him about that."

"Oh you can be sure I will. But right now I'd like to have a conversation with you."

"I don't think that's necessary, Doctor."

"But I think it is. You're the teacher of my son. If I ask you --"

"I suggest you listen to what your son has to say, Dr. Chiklis."

"Who do you think you are, Ms. Bradstreet? Do you think that as a teacher at this school you can simply refuse --"

"Since I'm likely soon be an ex-teacher at this school, I think I can, Dr. Chiklis. Please listen to your son. And have a good day." Maria hangs up.

Oh, that felt good, she thinks. May well be a mistake, but God that felt good.

Kamikaze

In which see Ms. Bradstreet try to discipline her discipline

The Maria Chronicles, #49

It's exam day in Maria's U.S. history survey. The test today is on World War II; while Maria has growing doubts about the necessity and value of fact-based exams, she still thinks that asking kids to master basic information about the war -- when Pearl Harbor happened; who won at Midway and why it mattered; how Lend-Lease worked -- it seems like a legitimate and even necessary component of her course. But giving a test feels like cutting corners. For one thing, it's a quick and dirty assessment that can be graded in a fraction of the time it takes to grade a set of essays. For another, giving a test means she can sit in the front of the room and read while the kids work. Given Maria's uncertain future -- still no word about next year's budget, and thus no word about her future -- Maria's appetite for hard work is diminished. So she's taking refuge at her desk in Adam Haslett's new novel, Union Atlantic, about the long ago days of the 2000s. Her friend Janice bought it for her during Maria's recuperation from her broken foot. She figures she can get a few pages in waiting for the students to finish.

Finishing a chapter, Maria looks up to see Mia, who, to her surprise, is not looking down at her test. Instead, she's looking across the room at Jake. And when Maria turns her own gaze at Jake, what she sees is Jake gazing surreptitiously at Kenny's exam and writing down answers. Is this what she thinks it is? She really hopes not. But it sure seems that way -- and she suspects Mia isn't the only other one who thinks so. Damn. Maria didn't think she had to distribute different versions of the exam in this school the way she did her last one. That was a mistake, and now she's going to have to act. But how?

Willie is now getting up, naturally the first to finish. But Vanessa, Derek, and Kenny are clearly almost done -- Kenny appears oblivious to whatever Jake has been doing. If Maria is going to do something, it's got to be now. With difficulty, no longer needing crutches but awkward in the boot she wears on her foot, she gets up and walks across the room to Jake. She can feel the eyes of the students on her as she semi-limps her way to him. "I'll take that," she says quietly.

"But I'm not done," Jake says, surprised.

"Doesn't matter," Maria says as evenly as she can. "I'll take this now, Jake, and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

Jake is too shocked to resist. Maria suspects her fragile balance prevents him from any dramatic moves or resistance to taking the exam from him. She pivots to save Kenny a trip to the front. "Here," she says, "you can give that to me." Kenny hesitates momentarily -- is she suggesting he cheated too? -- but decides, perhaps on the basis of Maria's reassuring smile, that it will be OK.

Jake looks stricken, unable to decide whether to say something or to go. Maria decides to ignore him. Other kids are getting up now, shooting looks at him as they do. Jake clearly wants to talk about this, but Maria decides it's neither the time nor place. She needs to think this through. "Go on, Jake. Come by my office tomorrow. Are you free before school?"

He nods.

"Very well then. I'll see you at 8:15." Mia approaches and Maria takes her exam. "Thank you."

Jake exhibits a combination of exasperation and defeat, but leaves the room. By now, the whispering has probably ricocheted to the other side of the school and back. Maria flips back to Jake's exam to take a look. He's changed a few answers on the multiple choice section; usually this is a mistake, but here they're changed from wrong to right. It's clear Jake has done very badly on the IDs that make up half the exam. Lots of unanswered questions -- nothing on Guadalcanal, Battle of the Bulge, Rosie the Riveter, Yalta. He's failed.

Congratulations, kid, she thinks to herself. Now both of us are going to have a lousy night's sleep trying to figure out what happens next.