It was already a busy Saturday morning.  Mom woke us all early to help get everything ready for the day’s festivities.  Every year on the Saturday before school started, Mom would host a party for tenured and freshmen faculty alike.  They, along with their spouses or significant others, would begin arriving at the house around six that evening, but Mom was always up and going well before the break of day so that everything was ready when the guests arrived and she could actually enjoy the party.

The work always started the night before.  Dad and I were charged with moving the furniture around while Justin and Parker made sure that there were plenty of places for the party’s guests to park.  Laura and Mom were in the kitchen doing prep work for the next morning.  Perfectionist that she is, Mom needed to go to bed knowing that all the leg work was done.

Then, on the morning of the party, Mom would arise before the break of daylight and enjoy a half a pot of coffee before everyone else got up.  In a very detailed fashion, she would plan out precisely what was to happen and when, up to the point that she retired to her chamber and prepared herself so as to make the partygoers believe that all of the work had been done was so simple that she hadn’t even broken a sweat.  At around eight, she awoke all of us that were there.  Parker and Laura came in about 8:30, after taking the girls to her parents’ house for the remainder of the weekend.

By ten, Laura and I were working on things in the kitchen while Dad and Parker were outside arguing about how to cook the steak and pork that Mom had set to marinate the night before.  Justin was charged with going around the house and making sure everything was just how she wanted it, that nothing was out of place and that everything that could shine did.

At noon, Ms. Loretta arrived with the booze.  That was always her contribution to the festivities.  Like a champ, she brought three cases of beer into the kitchen and then asked me to go out with her to get the rest.  In the trunk of her white Volvo, there were more cases of beer, along with several liter-ized bottles of liquor, most of which would be consumed before the end of the night.

Around four, Mom went over her checklist.  All the beer was on ice; all the liquor was set up for the open bar.  All of the dainty amuse-bouche, or rather, bite-sized appetizers, were perfectly set up on the dining room table for people to grab as they felt the need.  Dad had already gone to shower, while the rest of us were slaving to get all of Mom’s things ready.

“Okay,” she said to everyone, “the fun starts in an hour.”

With that, Dad was charged with keeping Ms. Loretta company while the rest of us went off to do what we needed to do to get ready for the night.  Laura and Parker went up the street to their house to get cleaned up; Justin and I argued over who would be using our bathroom to get a shower and who would have to use the bathroom connected to the girls’ room.  I won.

I was the first to emerge, freshly shaven and dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a polo.  I grabbed a beer from the cooler and joined Dad and Ms. Loretta on the back deck as they talked about whatever it was that they always talked about.

Everyone else returned refreshed shortly thereafter.  Mom, though, took the longest.  She came downstairs right before the first guest arrived.  If anything, Jim Kilgore, Oneonta’s Government and Economics teacher and the reason why I’m a liberal to this day, could be counted on to arrive early.  Stanley Moss was the next to arrive, followed by Mildred Williams, the physical sciences teacher, her husband, and Carol Stevenson, the Spanish teacher that I admired so much because, if for nothing else, she put up with me and my Puerto Rican accent for two years in high school.  The two Ms. Smiths, both of whom taught English, and their husbands arrived almost at the same time, followed by teachers that I’d not had when I was in school.  Leslie, one of the Ms. Smiths in attendance, seemed to want to know everything about school, how my thesis was coming along, etc.  She also surprised me by telling me that she would like to read it once it was finished.

At around six thirty, the first of the freshmen teachers began to arrive.  Paula Nystrom, Justin’s new gymnastics coach and a girls PE teacher at the high school, arrived with her date for the evening, a guy Justin introduced as Matt.  They looked like the oddest couple in the world, with her standing five feet, one inch and him standing six feet, seven inches.  It was the first time that I’d met the woman, though, and we seemed to click from the first moment.  I guess it was because we are about the same age and held a mutual malcontent feeling toward the school’s primary athletic outlet, football.

David Bearden, the band director, and his wife Kathy were next to arrive.  Mr. Bearden was the first teacher in high school to send me to my Mom when I misbehaved, but he was also the first to speak up when some idiot made some comment regarding my then unpublished sexual orientation.

Following them was Ms. Mason.  She was the hated speech teacher who refused to give me a passing score in her class because I initially refused to give a particular speech in English.  For one assignment, she had me arguing in favor of an “English-only” policy, and I refused to do so on the basis of my ethnicity and a belief that the US isn’t just a mono-lingual nation and should respect its linguistic heritage.  When she told me that graduation depended on my completion of the speech, I relented and gave the speech.  For six and a half minutes, I spoke in the most eloquent Spanish that I could muster about why English should be the official language.  The speech, and my protest, earned me a bit of applause from my fellow students, but disdain from Ms. Mason.  I handed her a written copy of the  speech atop which she promptly marked and F and told me that I wouldn’t be graduating with my class the next week.  I stormed from her classroom and took the paper to my Mom, who left her class in the hands of her assistant at the time and marched down to Ms. Mason’s room for a ‘conference.’  With Carol Stevenson there to translate what Mom was telling her, cutting out all the expletives, of course, Ms. Mason relented and gave me a passing score.  Ms. Loretta warned her against such actions in the future, and I graduated on time, with my class.

The final guest to arrive was a man that, I would later learn, would be teaching advanced math classes.  His name was Brand Farley, and he came to the party unescorted.  As he walked in, the place seemed to stop, at least for me.  He was, quite possibly, the most gorgeous man that my eyes had ever seen.  He was average height, with smoothly tanned skin, brown eyes, and brown hair.  He smile was so brilliant that I was almost drawn to it like a moth to a flame.  In his outfit, there wasn’t a single wrinkle or a single fiber even out of place.  I like to think that I don’t normally notice such things about a guy, but this only served to compliment his beauty.

My stares didn’t go unnoticed, as Justin walked up to me and whispered into my ear, “He’s gonna be my math teacher!”

“If he had been my teacher, I might have stayed awake more,” I said as I walked into the kitchen.  If I’d stayed there much longer, I would have gone over and tried to make out with him, right there in front of all of Mom’s colleagues.  I simply stood there for a second to retake my composure.  The rum and coke I’d made with Mom’s special, non-public stash of Don Q rum certainly helped with that.

“Todo está okay?” Parker asked as he walked in a few seconds after me.  He was concerned that the crowd was getting to be too much for me, I suppose.  His tone was riddled with concern as he asked if I were fine.

“Sí,” I answered.  I looked around for a moment.  Given that most of the people there didn’t speak Spanish and that Mom and Ms. Stevenson weren’t around, I explained what I’d just seen.

“Dork.  Vete y habla con él un poco entonces.  Quizá puede ganar un poco esta noche o algo así,” he instructed as I blushed.  My brother, the straightest man that I knew on the planet, was telling me to go talk to this guy, that I might just get something out of it.

“Parker!  Probablemente no es gay,” I responded, having found that most of the men that stirred such a reaction in me were oft looking for something that I couldn’t give them.

“Ay, mano!” he said as he smiled.  “You never know if the candy’s good until you undo the wrapper.”

“God, Parker!” I expressed with embarrassment as my brother laughed at my predicament.

To be honest, I did feel a little like a pussy about not going to talk to him.  It would have been the courteous thing to do, but I’d not been attracted to someone in a very long time.  I didn’t want to seem nervous or anxious.  Plus, I knew that if I did talk to him, he’d probably ask about the scar, and I’m not sure I wanted to go down that road with any of Mom’s coworkers other than Ms. Loretta.

Despite the anxiety, though, I went back out to the party and proceeded to mingle with people as any good co-host would do.  I was even civil to Ms. Mason, who was sitting on the couch by herself with a glass of ginger ale.

I walked out back and found random groups of people carrying on their own conversations.  At one end, Paula, Brand, and Matt were talking about something.

“Ryan!” Paula called just as I was turning around to go back inside. 

“Y’all having fun?” I put on a smile and walked over to them.

“A blast!” Paula answered.  “Ryan, this is Brand,” she introduced.  “Brand, Ryan.”

“Hi,” he said as he reached out and shook my hand.  His grip was firm, solid.  His voice was about the same.  His confidence and finesse oozed from every single one of his pores.

“So, are you having fun yet?” I asked him, kicking myself inside for sounding like a complete and total dork.

“Actually, I am.  The last party I went to was filled with drunken frat boys and sorority girls who were all about taking their shirts off, so pleasant conversation is a nice thing,” he answered, quite eloquently.

“Good.”

“So, are you a teacher at Oneonta?” he asked, filling the air with perfectly timed small talk.

“Actually, no.  I’m one of Olga’s children.  I was told to volunteer to be here and go around making sure everything was going smoothly for everyone.”

“OH!  Ryan!  I should have guessed.  She’s talked about the three of you a little bit this past week.  You’re the writer, right?”

“That would be me,” I said with a little bit of combined embarrassment and pride.

“So, would I know any of your work?” he asked.

“I’ve published a few things in magazines and such, and on a couple of websites, but nothing major.”

“If you’re as good a writer as your Mom says, I’m sure that you’ll be winning the Nobel prize soon enough!” he chuckled.  For a second, I saw something in his eyes, almost as if he were kicking himself inside for saying something like a complete and total dork.

“Guys!  Let’s all come inside for a moment,” Mom called as she stepped onto the porch.  It was that time of the evening when the new teachers were to be put through the ringer in a tradition that dated back to the time when, from what I understand, Mom and Ms. Loretta were both freshmen teachers themselves.

The group made their way inside, with Paula and Matt walking behind Brand and me.  As we entered, Ms. Loretta stood on a step stool my mother had so that she could, for a moment, tower over the crowd.

“First off,” she started after she and Mom welcomed everyone to the festivities, “I would like to thank Ryan.”  She looked right at me.  “I’m sure most of you remember last year, when I had to climb onto his shoulders to get all of y’all’s attention.  This year, he made sure that I had a step stool!”

“Woo-hoo!” one of the more inebriated teachers called as I grew red with embarrassment.

“But anyway...  We’re about to start a new school year, and while I’m sure our summer has been fun, it’s a new year, complete with new challenges.  We’ll discuss those on Tuesday, though, when we meet far too early in the morning for my comfort, at least.”  There was a rumble of laughter throughout the crowd.  “But tonight, we celebrate those teachers who have been at Oneonta for some time and those that are just joining our little family.  I would like to introduce first, Ms. Paula Nystrom.”  Paula walked up to Ms. Loretta and stood to her right.  “My God!  You’re shorter than me,” she commented, having already been in the sauce for some time.  “Paula will be teaching girls’ PE, as well as coaching the boys’ and girls’ gymnastics teams.”  Paula nodded as Justin brought her a chair from the kitchen to stand in for a moment.  He didn’t do it to be nice; he did it because he was hoping to earn brownie points with the lady that he often called ‘crazy.’  “And also, teaching Math and coaching our boys’ swim team, Brand Fletcher.”  Brand walked over to Ms. Loretta’s other side.  “We also have a new English teacher, but I haven’t seen her around.  Has anyone seen Collette?”  Everyone looked around, but that girl was a no-show.  She’d probably caught wind of the ‘tradition’ and decided not to come. “So, here’s to the new teachers,” she said as she held up her can of beer.

“Here, here,” one of the other teachers in the crowd said as the new teachers were toasted.

“Now...  It’s time for the entertainment!” Loretta said as Dad brought in the karaoke machine and quickly set it up.  “Guys,” Ms. Loretta explained, “we have a tradition at OHS that all new teachers have to entertain us for one evening.”  Brand was laughing as Paula shook her head in embarrassment.  “Your department heads have been doing some research, and they’ve picked a song for you to perform.  Consider it a kind of initiation into our little fraternity,” she explained.  “So... have fun!”

Sakari Mason, the girls’ basketball coach and a girl with whom I’d graduated a few years before, took a CD to my Dad for Paula.  In a couple of seconds, music began playing, and Paula grinned with shame at the torture through which her colleagues were putting her.  Paula, in her very deep, New England accent, sang “Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson.  Brand laughed at her, but only to a point.  His time, after all, was coming.  At the end, she took a little bow as the teachers cheered for her.  Even the normally quite reserved Mildred Williams was smiling and clapping for her as she nursed her glass of wine.

Brand was next.  My Mom, who that year was chair of the Department of Math and Practical Sciences (which, oddly enough included Home Ec, Computer Sciences, and the shop classes), reached into the drawer of one of her living room tables and pulled out a CD.  She gave it to Dad, who put it into the machine.  Only Mom knew what was on that CD, and knowing my mother’s twisted sense of humor, I actually felt for the guy.

“What number, Olga?” Dad asked.

“I don’t care; let him pick,” she smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Number 4,” he responded, unsure of what he’d picked.  He seemed almost relived by the fact that New Kids On the Block’s “Hangin’ Tough” was the song that he’d chosen.

When he was finished, the crowd applauded him as they’d applauded Paula, and the party continued.

“Did you know about all this?” Paula asked Justin as she walked back over.

“Yes, Coach,” he answered.

“And you didn’t warn me?”

“Well...  You know how we’re all scared of you now.”

“Uh huh…”

“Well...  I’m more scared of my mom!” Justin answered honestly as she cracked a smile and returned to Matt’s awaiting embrace.

At around ten, the crowd began to disperse.  Some of the teachers had kids who were with babysitters, while others were used to getting up so early that their sleep schedules wouldn’t allow them to stay out as late as some people. 

I actually stayed and talked to Paula, Matt, and Brand.  Brand asked for more details about my thesis and actually listened as I told him the basic plot: that it was about a guy who was attacked and his recovery all the while not knowing what had actually happened to him.  He listened intently, as if he were actually interested in what I was saying.

I asked him about coaching the swim team, and he got excited.  He talked about all the competitions that he wanted to take the kids to, competitions that sounded much more fun than ones I’d competed in.  When he found out that I’d competed on the swim team, he asked if I wanted to be an assistant coach.  I politely refused, telling him that I swam for fun now, and not for competition.  He responded with a comment that made me question once more my initial observation about his sexuality, but I let it slide, convincing myself that I’d simply heard incorrectly the words that were coming from his mouth.

Eventually, though, the three of them also decided to call it a night.  Their departure marked the official end of the party.  It had been a good night, probably the best first-of-the-year party that my mother had ever thrown.  As they left, I grabbed an alcohol-less drink and joined Mom, Dad, Parker, and Laura on the back deck.  We talked for a few minutes before Laura and Parker went back to their house just up the street.

Given that I wasn’t used to being up for so long, I was the next to retire, going into my room and lying flatly on the bed.  As I fell asleep, I thought of nothing other than just how comfortable my bed was, even though, right then, my legs were hanging off the edge.  It had truly been a great night; I enjoyed this party more than any other in a very, very long time. 

To be continued...

Posted: 02/03/12