The Day My Fourth Grade Teacher Dropped Dead ... and No One Cared - January 10, 2007
As usual I was tardy. School had started fifteen minutes ago, so Mrs. Raburn made sure to give me a full dose of the stink-eye before she signed my slip and let me go to class. On average, I got to see Mrs. Raburn about three out of every five school days. She used to ask me why I was tardy until one day I responded with "because I'm too young to drive." After that she became content with the stink-eye. It's always nice when you're a child and adults don't like you.
I was eleven so it's not as if I had any great expectations for the day. I figured recess would be a plus. I was finally going to show that little prick Sean what happens when you use Black Magic on the four square court when the server explicitly states that Black Magic is illegal. I wondered if maybe I could get half of Kyle's Twinkie at lunch, but other than that I had just intended on going with the flow. I certainly wasn't expecting to look up during reading time to find that my teacher had dropped dead of a fatal congenital heart defect.
When I got to class it was reading time. I took my seat and read "Heart of Valor." I found that it was as crappy and engrossing as I had expected it to be. As I read a story about heroes, completely unlike any of the people I had grown up with, I gradually lost all sense of the world around me. For the fifteen minutes of reading time I was gone from the room, and therefore I missed the tragedy. Somewhere between the hours of nine and ten my fourth grade teacher's time simply ran out. Tick. Tock. Stop.
I have no recollection of the sound his body must have made when it hit the ground.
Finally, the murmurs became too loud for me to ignore and I looked up from my fantasy world. Mr. Greeber was laying face down on the ground, his arms close to his sides in a position I knew at once was not natural to a living being. I realized that everyone else had been staring at him for the past five minutes.
Seeing my fourth grade teacher laying face down on the ground, his death murmurs still rattling away, was "interesting." It was so interesting in fact, that for a brief while, I could do nothing but sit at my desk, hold my book, and think about just how "interesting" it was. My stomach, like a fist, clenched in on itself. I was simultaneously overcome with the desire to vomit and pass out. I felt like a balloon tethered only loosely to the earth. At any moment, if the wind became strong enough I would simply float away. I dropped the "Heart of Valor" on my desk without realizing that I was no longer holding it.
Lots of people will make the claim that "sometimes the time just seems to drag on and on." Most of these people are full of shit. For the few seconds that everyone sat there and did nothing time distorted beyond all meaning. It flowed like molasses. That being said, in reality I probably only sat there for thirty seconds. Inside of my own mind, however, I had been looking at him for the lifespan of a universe. His hair, not that different from the carpet his face was in, seemed to lack the luster it had had when he stood.
I was just about to get up and get help, when someone else beat me to it. I was relieved. I had no idea how I was going to go articulate to someone that Mr. Greeber had fallen over and stopped moving and that he needed help. It's not something that four years of grade school had prepared me for.
A lot of people ask me if I still see his face in my dreams. I don't. I only see his face when I watch Star Trek. Star Trek scares me shitless.
Mr. Magellan, the teacher next door to us, suddenly ran in and started to shout "Michael! Michael!" Mr. Magellan was white eyed with panic when he finally shouted "GET UP! YOU'RE SCARING THE CHILDREN!" Mr. Magellan was so wise. What we really needed at that point was some full out screaming to shock the terror right out of us. At this point in time, none of us had moved for about seven minutes. Looking from side to side it didn't seem like anyone was going to either.
Following Mr. Magellan very quickly was Mr. Seabold, our principal. Without yet having taken any of us out of the room, Mr. Magellan and Mr. Seabold turned over Mr. Greeber, in an attempt to "give him some air."
I would find out later that Mr. Greeber had some sort of rare heart condition that basically caused all of his blood vessels to explode. I could see every vein on his face, as if it were drawn on with a purple marker. His eyelids looked like they had been stuffed with cotton balls, and his entire body had taken on the color of a plum. Yup, he was one dead son of a bitch all right.
For a long time I had trouble remembering exactly what he looked like. In sixth grade I saw the latest Star Trek movie and nearly shit my pants. He looked just like the Borg Queen from "Star Trek: First Contact." Exactly. When that satanic bitch made her first appearance on screen, my heart actually skipped a beat because the resemblance was so strong. I didn't know if that woman was going to try to assimilate me into the collective or teach me long division. This is why I'm afraid of Star Trek.
Now that we'd gotten a good eyeful of a death and gore, Mr. Seabold decided the best thing to calm us was to shout again "EVERYONE OUT OF THE CLASSROOM! NOW!"
I can't really blame the guy. This isn't a situation they cover in your Masters of Education. So, after having seen my teacher drop dead in the middle of the class, been yelled at, and wondering exactly what the fuck was going on, I was hustled out into the hallway with everyone else for about five minutes before another teacher thought to grab the class and take us into their room.
It was decided the best way to help us cope was to call our parents and send us home. While we waited we were given crayons and paper. I drew a dead body. Mrs. Raburn gave me another full dose of the stink eye. I think now that I'm an adult I can safely say that Mrs. Raburn was a pretty shitty school secretary.
Predictably, I was the last child to be picked up. My sister had had Mr. Greeber the year before and when she heard something had happened to him she decided to freak the fuck out about it. This was typical Rachel. My parents were with her trying to calm her down. Not that I knew any of this untill later. They left me to color while they took care of the chosen one.
Yes, you read that correctly. I had just seen my fourth grade teacher fall down dead in the middle of class. Not heard about it: SEEN it. And my parents were taking care of my screaming sister. I only became aware of the fact that my parents were in the building when I heard my sister yelling at the top of her lungs. It's a very distinct sound. I hope you never have to hear it. It starts out like Roseanne Barr's voice. Then at some point it gets under your skin and worms its way into your sensory neurons. From there it begins a vicious attack up through the spinal chord and into every part of your brain that registers annoyance, hatred, and disgust. Upon hearing it, I sighed.
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! HE WAS MY FAVORITE TEACHER EVER!" then, because my sister is a conniving evil genius she screamed "I WANT TO CUT MYSELF!" I put my plump cheeks into my hands and sighed more deeply. I hate my sister. I finished the puffy eye-lids on my picture as my parents told my sister that they would buy her something really great for Christmas so that she didn't have to cut herself anymore.
That's when my Dad's head peaked into the room where I was sitting and coloring a dead body. I excitedly raised the picture I had drawn to show my father what I had just seen, but put it down again when I saw him.
He was loudly chewing a piece of bubble gum, wearing a grease stained sweatshirt, and scratching his left ass cheek with his right hand. Why he scratches his left ass cheek with his right hand I do not know. All I know is that he looks very much like a crab on its back when he does.
He did the fatherly thing at that moment and offered me some words of comfort in the form of his cocking back his head in a signal meaning that he had places to go and people to see. I put my crayons away, and threw my picture in the garbage before going with him. It wasn't a good picture anyway.
While my sister cried and moaned at the tragedy that had befallen her, my Mom and Dad looked at each other in order to decide who was going to be elected to "deal with this shit." Meaning, who would get us something to eat, drive us home, and turn on the television. No counseling or anything like that. Counseling is for pussies.
"I'm fucking busy, Gary. I don't work in a saw mill. I have to be at work. I'm in MANAGEMENT."
"GODDAMN IT, DARCY! I have to run the fucking cut-off saw."
My sister continued to scream and wail at the top of her lungs. Her voice is like mustard gas. It's not something you ever get used to. I looked at her ruefully for a moment and caught her eye. She stopped crying just a bit to stick her tongue out at me and wink before she resumed.
As there was never really a quiet time during my childhood, I learned to ask questions even if people were yelling. "Umm... Mom and Dad, is Mr. Greeber going to be okay?" I had my backpack held in the front of me, as a shield between myself and my parents.
They both looked at me, and in unison said "He's dead" before they went back to arguing over who was going to drive us home.
While I had been relatively certain that Mr. Greeber had passed away, there had still been a tiny sliver of hope that my magical vision of childish immortality might survive the day intact. I was wrong. I started to sniffle a little. Then I began to full out cry.
My Dad realized that I was crying when he heard me pop a snot bubble with one of my heaves. He then did the correct thing by turning away from my mother long enough to get before me on bended knee and, grab me by the shoulders, and say "Don't be a pussy, it'll be okay." He gave me a hard, consoling slap on the back, and then he started to argue with my mother again.
I guess he lost, because he ended up taking us both into his car.
In my father's defense I would just like to add that he did take me to McDonald's. I got to eat about a third of my Happy Meal. Before I could finish my sister ate all of hers and wanted more. My Dad took it from me and gave it to her to "shut her up."
That night I dreamed of my dead teacher and awoke in a cold sweat.
I hate my sister.
Posted by BC Woods at 12:01 AM
Print Friendly · Digg it · del.icio.us · StumbleUpon · Netscape
Comment Policy:
Anonymous comments are allowed. All anonymous comments and comments from those not registered with TypeKey are moderated. They WILL NOT appear until they are read and approved by a moderator.
It is strongly encouraged that you sign up and login with a TypeKey account. Once you do that, your comments will be immediately posted.
Comments
Damn BC.. Your stories always make me want to punch one of my one sisters in the face.
Posted by: Shaguar at January 10, 2007 12:49 AM
loved the first sentence
Posted by: pco at January 10, 2007 01:09 AM
You know you're reading quality material when you're giggling at the thought of a dead fourth-grade teacher, and a child's subsequent reaction to it. Congrats on the site and on making death funny BC.
PS. do me.
Posted by: Carla at January 10, 2007 01:31 AM
You are one of the greatest writers ever.
Posted by: Uyen at January 10, 2007 04:28 AM
Christ I'm glad I don't have a sister.
Your writing always grabs hold of me and won't let go until the end. Very well done bc.
Posted by: Shegirl at January 10, 2007 12:27 PM
Excellent story.
Posted by: JY at January 10, 2007 02:05 PM
Great writing, babe, and congratz on your new site. I'll be checking this place often to read all the stories submitted. I love how well you've described that excruciatingly annoying sister of yours, and the neat, concise way you portrayed your father's gruff attitude with the bit where he slaps you on the back & says "Don't be a pussy, it'll be okay" - top shelf writing, babe; great stuff!
Posted by: Snowblood at January 10, 2007 05:55 PM
Congrats on the site, keep it up.
Posted by: backroom at January 10, 2007 06:36 PM
i'm deeply in love with Rudius' new addition. Keep it up!
Posted by: Captain Cool ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.daddydonthitme.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at January 10, 2007 07:48 PM
The "daddy's little princess" syndrome runs rampant in my family too. I've got two sisters, one older (which spared me a double whammy) and one nearly two years younger.
Used to shit me up the wall, but I don't think it got to the level where my old man would ignore a kid who saw his teacher drop off the twig and turn an abnormal colour.
Anyway, great site, looking forward to more posts!
Posted by: mudgie at January 10, 2007 09:50 PM
Very good stuff man. You've officially entered my Firefox Favorites.
Posted by: Anonymous at January 10, 2007 10:47 PM
I remember this day. Great recollection.
Posted by: Dude at January 10, 2007 10:47 PM
has everyone failed to notice how tragic this story is?
Posted by: Anonymous at January 10, 2007 10:53 PM
I love my daughter, but I'll definitely take my son fishing as soon as the weather breaks.
Posted by: Brad Wesley at January 10, 2007 11:04 PM
Hey "Dude", I think the whole site is a little bit tragic. Some of us can really relate though. Good story, made me laugh.
Posted by: Anonymous at January 11, 2007 12:06 AM
I think I have a new favorite website. I never knew dead teachers could be so funny.
Posted by: GPT987 at January 11, 2007 12:20 AM
Wow, I think I dated his sister when she was older. Hit the eject button on that one pretty quick.
Posted by: JeeBs at January 11, 2007 01:23 AM
While the quality of the writing is pretty good, I think the story fails the purpose of this site. As I understood it, this site was supposed to be a forum for authors with "fucked up" parents. Your parents are hardly suffiently "fucked up." I think most parents, my own included, would have reacted similarly in this situation. Your parents are hardly abusive nor is their behavior out of the realm of normal possibility. Rather, the resentment you show for you sister and parents detracts from your character. Hopefully you have some stories for the future with a bit more shock value.
Posted by: Maddog at January 11, 2007 01:46 AM
BC, if any of the other writers on this site are half as good as you, you can bet I'm going to be a consistent reader. There is a bright side to this story too. Mrs. Raburn is probably dead now.
Posted by: ThePillowMan at January 11, 2007 04:01 AM
My 4th grade teacher committed suicide the summer after my class finished. I guess we were too much for her. She was a bitch. She always gave me bad grades that I didn't deserve. But she taught pretty good Japanese.
Posted by: Jaimie at January 11, 2007 04:20 AM
BC, I'm pretty sure I dated your sister some time ago. Either that, or there is an unknown disease called conniving-bitch-a-citis, which affects many, many women.
Posted by: Biobrew at January 11, 2007 07:20 AM
Don't know why, but for some dumb reason I was immediately able to picture your father scratching his left ass cheek with his right hand. Usually it takes me a good 2 seconds for a mental image to really register, but damn man, that just hit home for some reason.
Good read, really enjoyed and I was hooked from beginning to end. Shame you gotta have a fucked up childhood, but God damn it's entertaining.
Posted by: Mikey at January 11, 2007 09:50 AM
Great job, BC. Bonus points for making me hate your sister almost as much as you do.
Posted by: Misanthropic at January 11, 2007 10:07 AM
Someone just really needed to slap your sister, Great story. If needed you can send her my way, and I'll take care of it for you. I can't wait to see what you write next.
Posted by: francesca at January 11, 2007 03:06 PM
Hilarious. I must say, your parents had the subtelty of a Canadian clubbing a baby seal, and the parenting skills of a fetus.
Posted by: Anonymous at January 11, 2007 05:11 PM
i too hate my sister
Posted by: yep at January 11, 2007 05:48 PM
Yea, my Dad used to beat me, then later make me apologise for being bad. That shit has to stop in the world. Emotional abuse is often worse than physical.
Posted by: Ridiculous at January 11, 2007 07:01 PM
The bloodsoaked marshmallow image is pretty priceless (and disgusting). And Maddog is full of shit, no sane parents would act that way. I look forward to reading more.
Posted by: Ben at January 11, 2007 07:19 PM
Wow, I think your sister is pulling double duty as my sister. Sounds the same anyways. Down to the voice. ::chill::
Is she a loser who doesn't have time to work because all she does is party and "scrapbooking"? Her poor husband.
Anyways, I digress...
Interesting story to say the least.
Posted by: Jake at January 11, 2007 08:35 PM
Awesome! The ending is perfect. I can't wait for more from the twisted mind of BCWoods.
Posted by: Jada at January 11, 2007 11:09 PM
Keep it up
Posted by: Plaza at January 12, 2007 12:03 AM
...and to think that some where, right now, a 14-year-old girl is screaming 'I wanna have a baby! I wanna have a baby real bad!' just for the fucking sake of screaming it.
Posted by: Andy at January 12, 2007 12:19 AM
yeah I have two younger sisters and they were the source of my never-ending pain and annoyance as a boy. mustard gas...beautiful and apt
Posted by: siegfried1813 at January 12, 2007 01:27 AM
Fantastic.
Posted by: Jecca at January 12, 2007 02:48 AM
"While the quality of the writing is pretty good, I think the story fails the purpose of this site. As I understood it, this site was supposed to be a forum for authors with "fucked up" parents. Your parents are hardly suffiently "fucked up." I think most parents, my own included, would have reacted similarly in this situation. Your parents are hardly abusive nor is their behavior out of the realm of normal possibility. Rather, the resentment you show for you sister and parents detracts from your character. Hopefully you have some stories for the future with a bit more shock value."
I don't know who fucking wrote this, but you are an idiot. First off, considering I am the publisher of the site, I can tell you that this story fits the profile of the site.
Secondly, the point is NOT to write with shock value, its to write compelling, honest, emotionally authentic stories, which this is. There is a reason you aren't an editor, so please don't try to act like one.
Posted by: Tucker Max at January 12, 2007 10:40 AM
"It's a very distinct sound. I hope you never have to hear it. It starts out like Roseanne Barr's voice. Then at some point it gets under your skin and worms its way into your sensory neurons. From there it begins a vicious attack up through the spinal chord and into every part of your brain that registers annoyance, hatred, and disgust."
This is an AMAZING description. It is so difficult to describe a concept like the pain someone's voice can cause you. You nailed it - I have FELT this EXACT WAY about so many people, and you have described my feelings perfectly. To describe something and have it resonate with your readers so completely is a mark of huge talent. Nice work.
Posted by: Cindy at January 12, 2007 11:28 AM
What a great surprise to see that BCWoods has a site now. I can't wait to read more.
Posted by: Michael at January 12, 2007 03:59 PM
Love it! I am definitly adding to my favorites.
Posted by: mommiebear2 at January 13, 2007 08:08 PM
Why is your sister like that BC? Have you ever asked her why she is an attention-seeking piece of shit? Worse, was she honest about it, or still completely delusional? Didn't you ever get a chance to bash her in the head with a sledgehammer? Somehow, I don't think Mr. Greeber thought of her as his favourite student. A sad story overall, but a great post.
Posted by: Durbanite at January 14, 2007 05:20 PM
Wow Brandon, its no wonder you turned out as fucked up as you did, but you forgot to mention that it was not a complete accident...
Posted by: Brentimus Maximus III at January 15, 2007 03:28 AM
Fucking brilliant.
Really, thats the only way to describe it.
Posted by: Tweekerchick at January 15, 2007 10:23 AM
i laughed my ass off when you said what picture you drew with the crayons....this was an amazing story!!!!
Posted by: Anonymous at January 17, 2007 04:10 PM
Loving all of these stories. I can also agree with the many other comments, I hate my sisters. I can totally imagine that perfect 'rosanne'-esque tone of screaming. I have heard that for atleast the last 20 years and will hear it for a very long time only I'll be hearing from a few sisters. Bravo BC
I like being proud of people I do not know personally.
Posted by: s.s at February 3, 2007 03:53 PM
"GET UP! YOU'RE SCARING THE CHILDREN!"
I almost cried when I read that. Good times man, good times indeed.
Posted by: Sod at February 8, 2007 11:13 PM
I love you Tucker Max. ♥ And I love you too, BC. I just so happened to have a dream about Tucker the other night. So...
But yeah. Reminds me of my Mother. I just want to punch your whole family in the face.
Posted by: Jet at February 15, 2007 10:01 PM
My sister is exactly like that. It's almost scary. I honestly feel the urge to snuff her out with a baseball bat like, 5 times a day. I feel for you.
Posted by: Donald at February 15, 2007 10:35 PM
You should use more fitting "fake names" for your characters--examples--Mr. Greeber should be something like Mr. Tree Hugging Hippie Fag and Mr. Seabold should be something along the lines of Mr. Soon to be next candidate on Datelines "to catch a predator". You can't tell me you didn't get THAT vibe from him. My favorite McDermoth principle was Mr. "Rattly", or Mr. HELL YEAH I'LL STILL WHOOP A KIDS ASS!. But you might have been a little young to have had him. You and your family are just typical Aberdeen residents. Thats NOT an insult. I love that area and its colorful variety of, I'll just call them people for the sake of arguement. But I FUCKING HATE going back there. Anyways, I really enjoy your writing. Keep up with the A-Town memories. You remind me why going there is so painfull.
Posted by: Anonymous at February 28, 2007 02:16 AM
saluer
[url=http://soma.cheap-order.info/] soma [/url]
http://soma.cheap-order.info/
http://soma.cheap-order.info/soma-apartment.html
http://soma.cheap-order.info/soma-seed.html
http://soma.cheap-order.info/soma-online.html
auf Wiedersehen!
Posted by: Monaliza at June 8, 2007 06:46 AM
I hate your sister too.
Posted by: Hawk at July 3, 2007 10:37 AM
Post a comment
