In which we see Ms. Bradstreet feel right at home (at the supermarket)
The Maria Chronicles, #43 Maria is surprised when, after an early Sunday dinner, she leaves her apartment to go food shopping and finds there's still light outside: Spring is on the horizon. It's enough to take the edge off the drudgery of the task, though the accumulated salt on the side of her Prius reminds her both that winter is not over and that what New Englanders call "mud season" is still to come. Dusk is still lingering when she parks in the lot of the Food Emporium and grabs a cart near the entrance of the supermarket.
It's been at least ten days since she's been here. Maria remembers when she went at least once a week, groaning with the weight of a mini-van's weight worth of groceries (somehow Mark and the kids never seemed to be around to help her put stuff away). Now food shopping is like laundry: a relatively rare, relatively fast event. There you go: an advantage to being old and single. She might even get away with using the express lane on the way out, though she's taken to using the self-checkout machines that were installed recently. Funny how technology makes steady incursions into the interstices of everyday life, and yet some tasks, like buying napkins, never seem to change. Then again, some of her colleagues in the city order their groceries online and have them delivered. So maybe this little ritual will be gone soon, too. She won't miss it.
Maria has made her way to the meat section, and is looking at 90% lean ground beef, when she hears a voice behind her: "Ms. Bradstreet!"
Maria turns around: it's Willie. Maria's stomach sinks. Bad enough to have her private life invaded this way. Even worse to consider that she's wearing faded jeans and an old Harvard sweatshirt. Maria feels like her dignity has been punctured.
But Willie doesn't seem to notice. "Hi!"
"Well hello, Willie," Maria says, trying to sound cheerful. "What brings you here?"
"Well, I'm helping my dad with the weekly food shopping. I always wondered if I would ever see you around town."
"Really? Where do you live, Willie?"
"Over on Hillside," she answers. "Only about a mile away from you."
Maria is as surprised that Willie lives nearby as she is that Willie knows where she lives. If it was anybody else, she'd find this creepy. Instead, it's just a bit deflating. Willie is beaming, but Maria sees that her student is just now realizing that she doesn't quite know what to say or ask. God bless her: She as the decency to realize that questions will not be welcome. And then Maria sees a light bulb go off. Willie leans back and peers down a row just beyond Maria's view. "Dad! I want you to meet Ms. Bradstreet."
Ugh. But Maria can't flee. She's just going to have to see this one through. She steals a look at her watch: 6:13. It's surely dark now.
A surprisingly short man -- Willie is almost as tall as he is -- emerges from the aisle wearing black jeans, a navy hoodie, and moccasins that look like they're actually slippers. Though his reddish hair is thinning, Maria sees that he's younger than she is. This is something she still hasn't made her peace with. Even though her children have finished college, the parents of her students, who typically had their kids later than she did, have been more or less her age for a long time now. But now a gap has begun to widen. One more thing to get depressed about.
"Dad, I want you to meet Ms. Bradstreet."
He extends his hand, and the warmth of his smile gives Maria a shock of recognition: This is where Willie gets it. "Hello Ms. Bradstreet. Tommy Marzetti. Wilhelmina's dad. Real nice to meet ya."
"Pleasure to meet you. And a pleasure to work with your daughter."
"Willie's having the time of her life in your class. Always been a good student, always loved history, but this year has been something special. Many a good dinner table conversation, let me tell you!"
"Well she's been a real spark plug for our class discussions."
"Yeah, well, like I said, she loves history. Just like her old man." He winks at his daughter and resumes addressing Maria. "I was a history major in college. I've taken Willie to Saratoga, Gettysburg, places like that. Over spring break I'm driving her and my wife down to Colonial Williamsburg. She and I went there once before Willie was born and loved it. I want her to have the same experience."
Willie is beaming at her father, and Maria is struck by the depth of their mutual affection. Though very bright, Willie has always struck Maria as socially immature. Most kids would be awkward, if not alienated, in this kind of situation, yet she seems utterly unselfconscious. Maria is moved, in part because she suspects that this man has managed to do something very well to be the recipient of such unstinting love.
He appears to sense Maria's distraction. "Well look, we don't want to hold you up. But I'm very glad to have the chance to thank you for being such a special person. Willie really sees you as a role model. Wouldn't surprise me if she turned out to be a history teacher herself."
"God forbid," Maria says smiling. "Surely she can do better than that."
"Oh I dunno," he says, taking her seriously. "What could be better? Sure beats managing the service department at a Ford dealership. Anyway, have a great evening."
"Bye bye Ms. Bradstreet! See you tomorrow!"
The encounter lifts Maria's spirits, which remained buoyed for the rest of her trip down the supermarket aisles. Surprisingly for a Sunday night, she finds an open self-serve checkout, and is loading her groceries into the back of her car at 6:38 when she hears her cell phone ring inside her purse. Must be Felicia, she thinks. Her daughter always calls on Sunday night.
But it's not. Maria sees that it's the head of the history department. "Hi Jen," she says. "Hey Maria. I'm having a glass of wine with Karl and Penny at The Black Rose, just around the corner from the school. We were wondering if you could join us. We were thinking about ordering a pot of fondue."
Maria is surprised by the offer. She and Jen have socialized, but she hasn't really gone out with any other faculty members. Pleased to be asked, she's also mindful that it's Sunday night and she now has a car full of groceries.
Jen senses her hesitation. "C'mon, Maria. Don't tell me you're not prepared for class tomorrow. "
Maria smiles. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," she says.
"That's my girl. We're in the back. I'll order you a Pinot Grigio."
Who woulda thunk it, Maria reflects, as she cues up the new Lyle Lovett CD as she waits at a traffic light. It's taken eight months, but for the first time she can imagine this as place as home.
In which we see Ms. Bradstreet try to manage an awkward encounter
The Maria Chronicles, # 41
Maria has about five minutes to go before class and is looking at her course website when she hears a voice behind her ask, "Is this Maria Bradstreet's office?" Maria turns around to see Jen Abruzzi point a young man toward her that Maria can recognize but not quite place. She squints in concentration.
"Kwame? Kwame Mercer?" Phew. She remembered. Kwame beams. "Mrs. Bradstreet! So good to see you!" He steps forward with his arms out, leaving Maria little choice but to embrace him. He's bigger and more solid than she remembers. And the dreadlocks are new.
"My God, Kwame, what are you doing here?" "Well, I'm a sophomore at Columbia now. I was at the house of a friend of mine, Eddie Somers, whose sister Mia goes to school here. We were comparing notes and Mia said her history teacher's name is Maria Bradstreet. I said I had a teacher with the same name back in New Hampshire, and as we compared notes I became sure it was the same person. So I thought I'd come by on my way back to school and say hello."
"Well, I'm glad you did," Maria lies. She likes Kwame -- always a sweet kid, always wore Patriots sweatshirt to class -- and she always liked his father, too, who she'd see at the public library all the time. But this just feels awkward and badly timed. How did he even get in here? Didn't anyone accost him?
"So how are you doing, Kwame?"
"I'm doing great. Majoring in sociology. I love Columbia. Really great professors, great roommates, I love New York. My folks moved down to Washington a couple years ago, so I haven't been back up to Derry High. But I've still got a couple friends there. You remember Tommy Gugliano? He visited me a couple months ago."
"Sure, I remember Tommy." But Maria has absolutely nothing to say about him.
"And how are your folks?"
"Just great. Dad, you know, worked for a big accounting firm in Boston, but the commute was a killer. Once I graduated he got a job with this firm in DC and decided to move to the city. My mom's from DC, so she was glad to go. She retired from her job as the town clerk. She's helping out at an animal shelter now. My sister's a lawyer in Philly and my brother works for Boston College, managing their website."
"Well, good for them. Give them my regards." Maria also taught Lakisha and the other Mercer boy -- Ali, she thinks it was. They were among the only minority families in town. A good lesson, Maria remembered thinking. People tended to equate black and poor, but it was always evident that this was a high-powered African American family. Summers on the Vineyard, that kind of thing.
An awkward silence. Maria plugs it: "A sociology major, you say?"
"Yeah. I wasn't really sure what to major in. For a while, I was thinking about economics. But it was kinda tough. I had this really great professor last year, and she really turned me on to soc. So I took another course and I just declared it as my major. Not sure what I'll do with it, but in this economy I'm not sure anyone's gettin' a job. I figure I'll go to business school."
"Sounds like a good idea." Another silence. Jesus, kid, help me out here, Maria thinks. I'm running out of questions to pelt you with.
"And how about you?" Kwame asks. "How long you been here?"
"About seven months now."
"You like it?"
"Oh yeah, it's great." Now Maria's grateful he's not asking about why she's here. She really doesn't want to talk about the divorce and all the rest of it. Could it be that Kwame's actually being tactful?
Maria glances up at the clock. She's already late for class. "Kwame, you'll have to forgive me, but I've got to go teach."
"Sure, sure."
"It was really great to see you." Maria decides to tough it out: no suggestion he stick around, come back, have lunch.
"It was really great to see you too." They embrace again. What does she see in his eyes? Is it a recognition that she's not the person he remembers? Sorry, kid. Really.
As Maria walks to class, she reflects on the subtle brutality of the teaching business. You have these people you see every day, sometimes for years. It's your job to know and care about them -- and you're happy to do it. But then they move on, and once they do, the basis of your relationship evaporates. That's true in all kinds of situations -- co-workers, next door neighbors, whatever. But when it's kids they somehow assume they have a place in your heart even after they move on. Maria actually kind of resents them for it. There are a couple she cherishes, mostly friends of her kids, and one she used to have lunch with in the cafeteria every year at Christmastime, but even then it's hard to close the gap. She's known colleagues who count former students as their friends, but Maria's never really been able to pull it off. This saddens her; she considers it a defect of character.
But then she's at the door and has to think about Chief Joseph, the Nez Pearce Indian who defied federal authority -- for a while, anyway. Someone else pops into her mind: Scarlett O'Hara of Gone with the Wind. I'll think about it tomorrow, Scarlett is always saying. Maria resolves to do the same.
In which we see Ms. Bradstreet try to digest an unexpected flavor
The Maria Chronicles, #33 Maria looks with regret at the substantial remainder of the fried ice cream on her plate. She's not sorry she ordered it -- any dietary resolutions will not kick in until after the new year -- only that after the black bean soup and the excellent fajitas (not to mention the pair of margaritas), she simply has no more room in her stomach. Who knew there was good Mexican food to be found in Dobbs Ferry. The best part will be the short trip home.
It's been a pleasant evening. Besides filling each other in on their respective childhoods and marriages (Jack, she's learned, has a daughter in Washington and a brother in Oregon; she's explained that her parents met in Texas when her father was stationed in Fort Hood), they've had a substantial discussion about the the avowed purpose of this dinner, Ted and Nancy Sizer's The Students are Watching. Maria has never quite gotten her mind around the way the Sizers turn morality into a series of verbs: "modeling," "sorting, "bluffing," and her favorite, "shoving," the idea that prodding students to move outside their comfort zone can -- sometimes -- be the right thing to do. It's not that she rejects these ideas; quite the contrary. There's a strangeness to them that she finds alluring. It's hard for her to explain, and she never quite gets Jack to understand. But he listened attentively, and that was good.
"So you never told me about the origins of your career," Jack says after taking a sip of his coffee. "I mean you told me how you became a teacher, but not why you became one."
Maria takes a sip of her own. "Well, I could tell you, accurately, that pretending to be a teacher was one of my favorite activities as a child, because I wanted to be like my mother. It's funny that I somehow never pretended to be a newspaperman like my dad, given that I felt so much like him. Maybe it's because I wanted her approval. Anyway, after college, I just couldn't see myself going into corporate America like a lot of my friends did, among them my best friend Janice. It was a kind of like a process of elimination: the thing I had the least trouble imagining. The work I did at the Catholic school in Newton was fine, but no great revelation. When I got into the Ed school at Harvard, I felt like I had finally found my calling. It really boosted my confidence."
"Funny. Getting into Harvard, Harvard College I mean, really hurt my confidence. I went around feeling like a fraud for a long time."
"That's too bad."
"Well, maybe not. The flip side is that I tended to think a lot of other people there were frauds, too. It made me a bit jaded, but also less likely to be intimidated."
Maria is not sure what to say about that.
"The operative words there are 'less likely.' At my best, though, I have a healthy respect for authentically talented people."
"Are you at your best now?" She smiles at him.
"Are you telling me that you're authentically talented?"
"Jack Casey is that you?" A large, burly man has suddenly steps up from behind Jack. "You old devil! What are you doing here?"
"Hey, Mack," Jack says, and Maria catches the faintest whiff of distaste in his voice (or so she hopes). "Mack McDonaugh, this is Maria Bradstreet. Maria, this is Mack. We used to work together at Bear Stearns."
"Hey Maria," Mack extends his burly, albeit well-manicured, hand and looks at her briefly before focusing his gaze again on Jack. "So what the hell have you been doing with yourself lately? Did you give up the loft?"
"Yeah, I gave it up. I live out here now."
"No shit. I just came up here to meet an old college buddy of mine and was headed toward the bar when I saw you. So what are you doing these days?"
"Oh well, you know. A little of this and a little of that. Actually, I've been moving into high school teaching."
"High schoolteaching? No way! Are you shittin' me?"
"No, no. I really am. I mean, I don't know if I'll stick with it, but I'm giving it a try."
"Well now, I've heard everything. High school teaching. I surprised they let you near those kids." Mack chuckles at the thought. "But listen, have you heard from Ray Odierno since the collapse?"
"No, like I said, I've been laying pretty low."
"I imagine you have." He smiles conspiratorially. "Well listen: Just last week I was talking with Ray, who's now at Wachovia. He was telling me that they've totally overhauled the refi department down there and he says there are some tremendous opportunities. . . ."
Maria is initially repelled by this interruption, but suddenly finds she's grateful for it. "Jack, I'll be right back," she says, getting up and getting a nod of acknowledgment from him, even as Mack talks away. She sees a sign for "Senoras" behind her and makes a beeline for the bathroom, where she locks herself into a stall and pees. What the hell is she getting herself into? Even if she didn't have doubts about Jack in terms of his association with people like Mack -- which she does -- Maria was edging dangerously close toward flirting with the man ("are you at your best now?" Please.) Maria leaves the stall and washes her hands, splashing cold water on her face. She wishes there was somebody she could talk to now. She's tempted to call Jen Abruzzi, but as much as she likes her new colleague, she's not sure their friendship has reached this level of intimacy. Felicia would probably be weirded out by the thought of her mother on a date. Evan wouldn't, but could she really confide in him? Fuck it, she thinks and dials (clearly these margaritas have gone to her head). But Evan doesn't answer his phone. Thank God. She steps back from the sink and rests her head back on the cool bathroom tile. Slow down, Maria. Deep breaths. This is not a big deal. You've got your car; you're not trapped; you can play out the string. Get back out there.
Maria exits the bathroom and heads back to the table. When she does, she sees it's vacant, though it's clear that the bill has come and that Jack has paid it. She looks up and sees him holding her coat. Apparently Jack's beat her to beating a hasty exit. She'd be offended by his rudeness if she wasn't so eager to leave as well. As they head out the door, Maria sees Mack, who waves broadly to her and Jack.
"I'm sorry, Maria," Jack says when they're safely outside in the chilly but refreshing late December air. "But Mack has a way of taking over a room, and if we stayed I would have been chained to my chair recounting old war stories."
"Sure. I understand."
"So look, would you like to get a cappacino? There's a terrific Italian cafe down the street."
"No, I don't think so, Jack. It's been a really fun evening. But I think I need to get home now." Maria has decided a direct approach is best.
Jack purses his lip and nods, disappointed. "I understand. Well look, let me walk you to your car."
"No need. It's right here." Maria points to her Prius, only one car up the street. If Jack knows what's good for him, he won't hold her up. She looks up at him. "Jack, this has been a really nice evening. A very nice evening." Should she offer to help pay for dinner?
"Maria, I want you to know how much I appreciate this. These kinds of things are not easy. They're scary. Believe me, I know."
Yes, Maria thinks, that's good. "Well, I had a good time. Really."
"I hope that means we can do it again."
"I hope so too."
Silence.
"So look, will I see you at school after the break?"
"Yes. I think I'm subbing that first week back. A couple of precalculus classes."
"Great. So I'll see you then." Maria gets in her car. Jack stands there, a grim smile, as she starts it. I don't know, Jack Casey, she thinks as she makes a U-turn out of her parking space and heads home to her waiting apartment. I just don't know.
