Vanity Plate Shorts, Page 3

  Go Math

  It had started with a gentle jibe. The snickering of a few young children engrossed in their intrinsic immaturity at so ironic a license plate. Of course, such a reaction had been expected when Mr Johnson applied for the plate, but what was to transpire no-one could have guessed. In my career as a school principal never had I seen so heinous an act by children who, by all rights, should have been more innocent; less corrupted by the whimsical influences of modern media.

  I'd met the man earlier in the year, an unassuming, modest and I'd dare say nervous sort of fellow. Yet that gentle demeanour was what had brought me to the decision to hire him. Far too prevalent were teachers with an aggressive teaching style, believing in strictness and discipline over understanding and reason. "What can you bring to this school, Mr Johnson?" I had asked him in the interview.

  "Well, um," I had supposed he wasn't sure how to answer that first question, but I later came to realise it was simply his way, "kids should be nurtured, and as a father of three children myself, I can safely say that, um, well, I'd be able to nurture the students here. With understanding and gentle coercion even the most rowdy of lads; like my eldest, Jacob, the wild beast, can be brought to appreciate not only the importance, but the joys, of education and learning."

  He paused for a few moments, and I was just about to continue my questions when he continued, his voice continually carrying a hushed, respectful intonation. "And my passion for math I've found easily transfers into those with whom I speak, motivating learning and enjoyment."

  It was at that point, as I felt myself also being drawn into his heartfelt speech, that I had made the decision to employ Mr Johnson. And so September came around, and the first day of the school year was soon to start. I noticed, as I stood in the doorway to welcome new and returning staff and students, a rather old car. Perhaps some would call it a jalopy, for it was indeed obviously well-used. Rusty on the wheel arches, and at various other points of the body, I watched as Mr Johnson stepped out and approached the building. What had caught my attention predominantly, however, was the license plate. I couldn't help but smile slightly as I read it: "GO MATH."

  It was then that I knew each word he'd spoken during the interview to be true. It was also at that moment I witnessed the first taunts and snickers, jeers and whispered mockery. A few of the older students even went so far as to vocalise their amusement at such a sight. "You're the new math teach, I guess. Nice plate, dork."

  But Mr Johnson took it all in his stride, offering a smile and friendly nod in their direction. As he reached the door, I greeted him and left my Vice-Principal to attend to any others who were arriving. Quickly I showed the new math teacher where his classroom would be, his cubby-hole in the staff room, and the canteen, along with a few other important places. Perhaps then was my biggest error: I left him back at his classroom, told him that the first class would be Ninth Graders, and then went about my own business. He'd seemed more than competent enough.

  Apparently though, word had spread about the new dorky teacher and his ridiculous license plate. Or so the kids had thought. The corridors of the school were filled with the chatter of teenagers finding mirth in derogatory discussion about the new teacher. My walk back to the office was an interrupted one, being stopped regularly and quizzed about the math-geek that had taken the position of the previous, much loved, head of department.

  Finally reaching my office, which was situated next to the staff car park, I got my first inkling of trouble as I heard a great crash. Looking out the window, I saw the jalopy as the second brick hit it. Then the third. Within the next moment or so all the windows were smashed. I shouted from my window, but it was obviously far too late.

  Not wanting to disturb Mr Johnson's first class, I decided to wait until recess to give him the bad news. Starting the masses of paperwork a principal inevitably has at that time of year, it was maybe forty-five minutes later that I got the bad news. My secretary walked into the office and requested I go to the classroom where I'd left Mr Johnson.

  Making my quickly, I saw... Well, exactly what you saw. I vomited. Violently. And again. Ordered the class leave immediately, my anger more than evident. I closed the school for the day, you guys had already been called of course, and then handed in my notice. I cannot help but feel I had failed him. A nice guy left to the mercy of animals. Surely that is what they are, right?

  "Thank you, Mr Holson. We'll call you should we have any other questions."

  Xnorthnr:

  Jeepers can tell that something is up. He's walking around the cabin with his tail slung low, and he keeps looking over his shoulder and shooting me looks like he's in trouble. I tell him it's okay, but he's smarter than that. That faithful lab has seen me go through my fits before and he'll probably see me go through even more before it's all said and done.

  April 15. It snowed again last night. Dammit. The days are getting longer, and yes, the calendar says it's spring, but apparently we didn't get the memo up here. We're supposed to have a high of 20F today.

  That's it. I am so done. Ain't natural for people to live this way and I'm not spending one more day freezing my tail-feathers in this God-forsaken place. This is what Jeepers can sense. This is what has gotten his radar going.

  The obvious question to ask is, "Where am I going?"

  The crazy answer is that I have no idea.

  I do know however, exactly how to figure out where my new home will be.

  "C'mon, boy." I threw on my coat and headed for the door. Jeepers brightened a bit and scurried out the door, tail wags and the spring in his step giving his true feelings away. He wasn't just excited about going outside, he was excited about what was about to take place.

  The cold air hit my nostrils like a blade. The low clouds threatened snow at any minute and there was just enough wind to help make things a little colder, a little more challenging.

  I reached over, into the bed of the pickup and grabbed the bungees. Tossing them towards the front of the old Ford, I turned and went to the side of the cabin and grabbed the damned thing. I knew it was going to be a long trip so I spent the time to make sure it was strapped good and tight to the grille.

  The truck had been warming up and I'd gone into the cabin and retrieved my earthly possessions and Jeepers' food and water dishes. I took one last look around, called Jeeps into the front of the truck and put it into gear.

  The only plan I had was to drive south. The south, where April truly IS spring.

  Jeeps and I drove for many days. I lost track of just how many. All I know is that with each mile, with each degree raise on the thermometer, I felt my soul awaken and become more alive.

  I knew when we would finally stop. As soon as the question was asked, I would know we were home.

  Sometime in the first week in May, I stopped for gas at a little Mom and Pop store deep inside North Carolina. I came outside after paying and getting some beef jerky for me and Jeeps.

  There, standing in front of the truck, was a man wearing dirty jeans and a RedMan ball cap. He was staring at the grille and literally scratching his head.

  "Mister, is this your truck?"

  "Yeah, it is, why?"

  "I need to ask you a question."

  My eyes grew wide and my heartbeat kicked up a notch. "Sure."

  "What IS that thing strapped to the front of your truck?"

  My eyes watered a bit. I knew we had found our new home.

  I grinned a big one.

  "That, my friend, is a snow shovel."