Parenting Advice
Short Fiction
“He used the ‘F’ word.” The teacher’s muted voice broke the silence of the empty classroom.
I glanced around. Only the two of us sitting at her desk, facing each other—two women with a common goal. No need to whisper.
“What?” Confused, I leaned in. “I don’t understand…” My voice trailed off. I’d expected to learn about Sammy’s progress. Math and reading scores. Something to be proud of. To prove my worth as a human being. A mother who’d done something valuable, impressive, and decent in this world. Not this.
“The ‘F’ word,” Mrs. Snikerich repeated, emphasizing the letter. With both hands, she smoothed the page she spread out on the desk.
“My Sammy?” In disbelief, I straightened myself and pressed against the back of the tiny chair. “My Sammy never says any bad words.” I had taught him well, a sweet boy.
“He did, I tell you. This time he did. Right in front of the entire class.” She frowned, avoiding my gaze.
I wanted to jump up and smooth her brows, erase that glaring disapproval. I wanted her to smile and tell me delightful things about my son. “I don’t believe you,” I said, sure of myself, although I wasn’t. Lately, I’d been questioning every decision I’d made. Not only about Sammy, but my whole life. I pulled a lock of my hair flowing over my shoulder onto my fingers, twisting the brown strands. This had always helped calm my nerves, but not even hair-twirling worked in the last few months.
“Mrs. Kovacs, I need you to—”
“Sammy would never do that!” I cut her off with an outburst. “You must be confusing him with another student.”
I caught myself and consciously forced a breath. Regaining my composure, I examined her face. She seemed young for a teacher. Possibly not experienced enough to tell the boys apart. She had to have been making a mistake—a huge one. She must have.
“No, it was Sammy, Mrs. Kovacs.” She placed her red pen on the desk. Her nails were neatly manicured and painted. Bright pink. I peered down on mine—short, broken ones—and clasped my hands together to hide them. She was better than I in every way. Beautiful and smart, down to her fingernails. But I was Sammy’s mother.
“I know all my fourth graders by name,” she continued. “We’re halfway through the school year.” After a few moments of pause, she added, “It was your Sammy, Mrs. Kovacs.” She looked me in the eyes with a piercing blue stare.
“For God’s sake, just call me, Ella!” I leaped up as if a spider just bit me. Why did she keep reminding me? “I’m divorced, no longer a missus, and I hate everything that name stands for!” Noticing her alarmed expression, I took a deep breath and softened my tone. “You’ve got to believe me. My Sammy is a nice boy. Only, he’s going through so much now since it’s just the two of us.”
“Mrs. Kovacs—”
“Ella.”
“I’m sorry about that, Ella, and I’m sorry your marriage failed, but it could be why Sammy acted out in class. Wouldn’t you agree?” She spoke louder and pushed her chair back. She rose as to make a point.
I was sure the parents waiting outside by the door could hear her. Why didn’t she whisper now? Why broadcast my divorce to the entire universe? I had failed as a wife. This was a private affair. My grief, my life, my secret, and my cross to bear. Was I now failing as a mother, too?
“No, I wouldn’t agree.” I tapped on my thighs to ease my nerves and yanked open my jacket to let out the heat. “You’re saying my Sammy becomes a vulgar person because of his parents’ divorce. How could I agree?”
“No, Mrs. Kov—, I mean Ella,” she lowered her voice, “that’s not what I’m saying at all.” She retreated a step.
Was she expecting another outburst and wanted to be far enough away? She appeared frightened. Ridiculous! I’d hurt no one, not even that scum who cheated on me and then deserted us. Now I had to fend for us alone, and it was much harder than I’d thought.
“Then what are you saying? Do you realize that you’re making a mistake accusing my son?” To admit the possibility of what she said was true would’ve shattered my world.
“I’m not accusing him—”
“Sure, you are!” Moving one step closer to her, I inhaled her flowery perfume. It nauseated me. “I don’t believe you!” Why would I have believed a word out of those red lips? The kind that my ex-husband would’ve found pretty and tempting. “My Sammy is a quiet boy.”
She probably had a loving husband waiting for her at home. She was married. And at such a young age. Perfection. In a tight purple top and slim black pants. Her wavy blonde hair sparkled in the fluorescent light, freshly washed. Doubtless, she had taken exceptional care of herself, so her man didn’t have to look to the side to other women—only had eyes for her. Adored her. I’d been loved once but not for long. My hair used to shine, reaching the middle of my back, but I cut it short with no time to style it since wifely and motherly duties came first. The pounds I put on when pregnant didn’t come off but increased over the years, rounding me out like an apple. My height helped me conceal it, but the extra weight left me self-conscious about my body. So I opted for loose clothing.
Our troubles had started long before Sammy was born. I’d wanted a child, so I’d closed my eyes to his indecent transgressions. I had thought he’d be a terrific father, although he hadn’t been a good husband. He had the wandering eyes but was an excellent provider. One day he’d wandered too far and didn’t want to turn back. Not even for Sammy.
“Ella, you don’t have to believe me, but you need to listen.
“You started with that nonsense about him saying a bad word!”
“It wasn’t nonsense.” Mrs. Snikerich backed away again, and I noticed the panic in her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, although she surely deserved a slap across her face for condemning my son. I thought of Sammy and how he would never hurt a fly, let alone say bad words. Not even the ‘S’ word. On the other hand, his father had used every curse word in the dictionary, particularly to define me, especially near the end. I’d been the ‘F’-n moron who left creases on his shirt, the imbecile ‘C’ word who couldn’t keep the baby calm, and the stupid ‘W’ who’d asked to buy a new dress to fit my body after giving birth.
“I understand your frustration.” Mrs. Snikerich clasped her hands together, clearly trying to stay calm. “I want to reassure you that I stated the mere facts. As I said, Sammy shouted the ‘F’ word in front of the whole class and—” She paused. “Please, discuss with your son his behavior. I understand that things are hard at home,” she said, obviously feigning concern, “but he can’t take his anger out in school on others.”
“So, are you saying he should take it out on me? At home? Is that what you’re telling me?” I sensed the blood pumping in my head.
“I really have no suggestion on whom to take his anger out, but you may have the right idea there, Ella.” Her face hardened like a marble statue. “Then if he does, chances are, you’ll see him use the ‘F’ word and perhaps other bad words, too. So my advice to you is to talk to your son about how he’s feeling. What’s upsetting him.”
“Oh, so now you’re giving me real parenting advice, I see.” How could she? Apparently, not a mother yet, focusing on her career and her perfect apparel, she wasn’t familiar with my pain. She might never have to feel the emptiness of a broken marriage—the struggles.
“The school has social workers available—”
“I think I will talk to the principal about you and your ways of teaching and handling students and their parents,” I said, turning my back at her.
I walked out of the classroom, holding my head up high, dignified. Yet inside, a small voice whispered, “You failed again.”
The Author
Cassandra Crossing immigrated from Hungary in hopes of a better life and now resides in the Chicagoland area. She changed her name to fit in, yet even after many years, she's still viewed as a foreigner. But as in the movie, "The Cassandra Crossing," they survived a catastrophe, she's a survivor. She finds joy in nature and in the little things life offers. Poetry and writing have been her life-long dream. She writes from personal experience about love, despair, loss, and hope. Her work includes short stories, creative non-fiction essays, flash fiction, plays, and poetry. She’s also working on a few novels and novellas.
Her creative nonfiction essay "Naked" won 2nd place in April 2020 in a WOW! Women on Writing contest and was published online. "Why Are You Here?" and "A Future, Bright and Free" won Runner Up status, and they were published online in 2019 & in 2021, while "Sorrow" (2019) and her flash fiction “Allure” (2017) were finalists at contests by WOW! Women on Writing. An interview was published by them on January 5th, 2020, and one in April 2021.
Cassandra’s creative nonfiction essay “Things That Matter”, her fiction “Parenting Advice” and plays “The Chair” and “Three Tickets for the Show” had been selected by Oakton Community College as finalists to represent them in the annual Skyway Competitions in recent years.
Several of her poems were published by The Scarlet Leaf Review in March 2020, by the Illinois State Poetry Society (ISPS) on their website in 2019 and 2020, and in Ariel's Dream Literary Journal in May 2020. Her creative nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, and artwork were published on September 24th, 2020 in Unlimited Literature's first print/electronic issue.
You can find some of Cassandra’s work on her website: ccrossing888.wixsite.com/cassandra and on Patron: www.patreon.com/CassandraCrossing.
Cassandra Crossing
(She believes in artistic expression even in a bio picture :)
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