Following My Toes (20 page)

“You should take your break now, and keep me company while I eat this,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied, coming out from behind the counter.

“So what’s going on with you, Faith?” He asked, as I settled atop the donut pillow.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not blind – obviously there was something going down between you and Glenn, and it looked like there was something between you and Ethan. For someone who has just moved here you sure managed to get yourself into trouble awfully quick.”

“You make me sound much more exciting than I actually am. I’m simply trying to find my place here, you know?”

“Sure, I gotcha. Places can be hard to find.”

“Do you ever get lonely, working for yourself?”

He squinted at me, his long nose wrinkling with the gesture. For a second I thought my question had annoyed him, but then he took a huge bite of his rice crispy treat, and smiled with his mouth still full. After he finished chewing and swallowed, he answered me.

“Nah, I’m what you would call a lone wolf. That’s the way I like it. I know my place, and it’s being on my own. Things are simpler that way.”

I contemplated this. “Yeah, that’s a good way to live in theory, but me, I get lonely.”

“Well, that’s what friends are for,” he said. “And neighbors – they’re a great remedy for loneliness. But friends who are neighbors, that’s the best remedy of all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I smiled at him, and got up to get back to work. Before I went back behind the counter, I walked around to his side of the table, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

* * *

Neither Ethan nor Glenn came in, but towards the end of my shift a pleasant looking woman entered and approached the counter. She looked like she was in her late forties, with wavy brown hair and a naturally slim figure. She was wearing no makeup, but she had the sort of face that didn’t need it, with pronounced green eyes, dark lashes, and a friendly smile. I found her at once familiar and likeable, and I soon found out why.

“Excuse me,” she said, “are you Faith?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hi!” She reached her hand towards me with an enthusiastic smile. I shook it, and was impressed with the firmness of her handshake, and that her hand was warm and dry. I hate limp, clammy handshakes.

“I’m Kristin, Ethan’s aunt.” No wonder she seemed familiar.

Same eyes, same hair, same easy-going confidence. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping in, I understand you’re working, but I hate communicating by telephone. It’s so impersonal. Do you have a second? Can we chat?”

It was 1:30. Both the morning and the lunch rushes had come and gone. The place was dead. “Sure. Would you like something to drink?”

“Well, I am awfully partial to those Italian sodas. My twelve-year-old daughter drinks them; she got me hooked. Could I have a raspberry-lemon one?”

“Sure.” I poured raspberry and lemon flavored syrup, combined it with carbonated water, threw in some ice and a maraschino cherry for good measure. “Would you like a straw?”

“That would be lovely, thanks.” I handed her the soda and a straw, and she took a sip. “Perfect. The best I’ve ever tasted. And Ethan tells me you’ve been working here less than a week. You must be a quick learner.”

I laughed. “Well, I like to think so.” What else had Ethan told her? Word about my insane message must not have reached her yet.

“Is it possible for us to sit down? Can you do that, or would your boss get mad?”

“No, it’s fine. If a customer comes in, I’ll get up, that’s all.” I led her to a seat. She sat down, and so did I, very gingerly. I wasn’t about to grab my donut pillow now. But ouch, it hurt to sit.

“Well,” she began, “I don’t know what all Ethan has told you, so I’ll start at the beginning. I am opening a brand new charter school in
South Minneapolis
!” She waved her arms triumphantly; it was almost kind of cute. “You do know what charter schools are, right, hon?”

“Don’t they get government money, but they’re run by the ad-ministration and the parents?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. It really is the best of both worlds. My charter school is going to be based on the principles of Waldorf education. How much do you know about that?”

I shifted in my hard, wooden seat. This was too important to let my discomfort mess it up. I must focus, and ignore the pain. “Well, I know that Waldorf education focuses on developing the student’s imagination and creativity.”

“Very good!” She slapped her hand on the table, then took a long sip of her soda. “Umm, this is tasty. Anyway, yes Faith, you are right, Waldorf does focus on imagination and creativity. But it is also much more than that. One of the reasons Waldorf education started was because Rudolf Steiner, the man who came up with the whole thing, believed teachers ought to be able to teach their students without having to mess with a bunch of economic or government concerns. Now doesn’t that sound great?”

I nodded my head and she continued. “Basically, there are three things Waldorf educators are asked to do. Three! Can you imagine? How many hundreds of things were asked of you in the public school system?”

I laughed as if to say, “I know what you mean,” and she went on. “Waldorf educators are asked to follow these golden rules.” She spouted them off, clearly having memorized them a long, long time ago. “To receive the child in gratitude from the world which it comes from; to educate the child with love; and to lead the child into the true freedom which belongs to man. Faith, as an educator, do you think you can do that?”

My physical discomfort was mounting. I wanted to get up so badly that I was gripping the table to keep myself down. “Sure, yeah, I can do that.”

“Well great, that’s why I’m here. Ethan is a good judge of char-acter, and he thought you could. But you should be aware, this is not a true Waldorf school.”

“Oh no?”

“No. Waldorf usually only goes into the eighth grade, and it is very spiritually based. While we will do things like celebrating the seasons, we are going to focus more on maintaining the student’s natural reverence for the wonder and beauty of life. That, along with a full curriculum of science, math, and the humanities.” She took another sip of her soda, and nearly finished it.

I grabbed the excuse to get up. “Let me get you another soda!”

“Oh, no dear, that’s not necessary.”

“Please, it’s my pleasure.” I was up behind the counter making her another one before she could protest.

“You like to go the extra mile, don’t you dear? That’s wonderful. I have to say, I have a good feeling about you. When can you come in for a more formal interview?”

“I’m free just about any day after two.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be great!” The sooner the interview, the less of a chance she will have spoken with Ethan.

“Great! Here’s my card. The address is on it. Shall I see you at about 2:30?”

“Sure!”

“Wonderful. Now, how much do I owe you for the sodas?”

“Oh no, they’re on the house.”

“Well thanks!” She reached to shake my hand again. “Faith, it was nice meeting you. And I look forward to talking with you tomor-row. I’ll have to call Ethan and tell him as soon as I get home, he’ll be thrilled!” She grabbed her soda, and walked out.

I felt my entire body internally cringe as I wondered if I should even bother showing up for the interview. Ethan was sure to mention something to her. Bill was right, life is a hell of a lot simpler when we keep to ourselves. With a sigh of resignation I grabbed a dishrag and set about to clean the espresso machine. As I scrubbed away at the globs of coffee grounds, I repeated my new mantra to myself, over and over inside my head: lone wolf, lone wolf, lone wolf...

Chapter 15

Then I told him that if he was going to treat me that way, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t take twenty minute breaks. I believe in mutual respect, without it, what good is the work environment?”

I didn’t know if that was a rhetorical question, or if I was actually supposed to answer. I was on my date with Max, this time he had taken me to The Olive Garden, and we were in the middle of bread sticks and salad. He had been talking about work for a while, and I was having trouble paying attention.

He paused long enough that I figured he was actually expecting an answer. “Um, yeah, mutual respect is important.” I took a sip of wine, maybe that would help me enjoy myself more. My donut pil-low was beneath me, and I felt as if everyone was looking at me. It hadn’t helped that Max made a joke about my “booster seat” when we first sat down.

“You’re so lucky you don’t work in an office,’ he said. “There is way too much politics, I’m telling you.”

“Actually, there was a huge amount of politics in the
Duluth
public schools.”

“Right. I doubt it’s the same thing,” said Max.

“No, honestly. You couldn’t talk out or complain unless you were tenured, and even then, the administration could punish you by transferring you to a different school or messing with your schedule.”

“Yeah, but you get all that time off. That must be great.”

“Sure.” I took another sip of wine. I had given up trying to convince people that teaching wasn’t a cake job. Truth was, I worked an average of 65 hours per week during the school year, and most summers I worked a second job, yet my combined annual salary still was well below that of other professionals.

Max interrupted my thoughts. “So hey, how’s the job search go-ing? Have you found anything?”

“I don’t know. I have an interview tomorrow.”

“Hey, good for you!”

“Yeah, we’ll see. It’s with a charter school; they’re into Waldorf education. The whole thing is a little eccentric. Plus, I don’t know if I’m going to get it.”

“Why not? Just go in there and impress the hell out of them.”

“It’s not that simple. You see, I... I have a feeling there’s a lot of competition. And I don’t have any Waldorf training. It’s a whole different ballgame, teaching for that type of school. I’ll have to completely rethink my methods.”

“Umhmm. What you need to do is go in there with the right attitude. Be confident. Show them who’s boss. That’s the way to get hired.” Max took a bite off one of those huge breadsticks, and a glob of butter and crumbs fell and stuck to his chin. “That’s how I got my job,” he said, between bites, “by taking command of the situation. That’s what employers are looking for.”

“They’re also looking for someone who is qualified to do the work.”

“Faith! You’re a teacher! How are you not qualified? You need to get rid of this bad attitude right now, young lady.”

“You have butter on your chin.”

Max’s face fell, his expression changing from one of smug amusement to obvious humiliation. He hastily swiped his mouth with his napkin, while his lack of eye contact punished me with silent recrimination.

“Hey, it’s no big deal. I rarely can eat a meal without spilling something on myself.”

Then he glared at me. “Would it have killed you to let me know as soon as it happened? Haven’t you ever seen people do this?” He wiped his mouth while his eyes now bore into my own. “That’s the subtle way to tell someone they have food on their face.”

Okay. Time to proceed with caution. “Max, it had only been on your mouth for a couple of seconds. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel self conscious.”

“Sure. You just thought you would have a little fun at my expense.” The waitress brought us our food. She placed steaming plates of pasta in front of each of us, but I realized I had no appetite.

“Can I get you anything else?” she said. How about a different date? Involuntarily, my mind raced back to my evening with Ethan, and a huge wave of nostalgia swept over me. We had only gone out once, but suddenly I missed him so much that I would have gladly lopped off my left little toe in exchange for being across from him, rather than Max.

“I think we’re good,” said Max to the waitress.

“Okay,” she replied. “Be careful, those plates are hot.”

“This looks great. I love the Olive Garden’s food.” Max took a bite from his chicken alfredo. “Mmmm! Tasty, I must say. Very tasty. How is yours?”

I took a bite of my eggplant parmesan. It was salty. Maybe I was biased. Peter used to say all their food was salty; he called it The Sodium Garden. Funny, thinking of Peter didn’t bring me the strong reaction the way thinking of Ethan had.

“Faith? How’s your eggplant? Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” I knew I ought to be making conversation, but I couldn’t think of a thing to say. A bad date regulation silence descended over us. The evening loomed ahead. I looked at my food, and it seemed impossible that I was going to have to eat it. Not that it was that bad, but like I said, my appetite was gone. I took another drink of wine, this time finishing the glass. I wanted to order more, but the memory of my recent hangover discouraged me.

“So have you talked to Carolyn lately?”

Another subject I didn’t want to talk about, however unfair that may be. “Um, yeah. She’s doing okay.”