Planted

The Teacher

Peter Tibbet

It all started with trying to figure out how he'd lost 0.7 points on the latest student assessment. Tapping one of his Ticonderoga's on the plywood teacher's desk, he unconsciously chewed on his lower lip, slowly creating the kind of peel that would soon be the source of a bleed. Only one of the several unflattering habits that his mother would source when lamenting his still-singledom. At nearly 30, he had the receding hairline of 50, which wasn't helped by his propensity to purchase bulk pleated khakis from Costco. "Who did I raise?" His mother would roll her eyes, shaking her head. "I can smell the starch from here. You teach environmental science, for crying out loud!"

Somehow, these words rang in Peter Tibet's ear during quiet moments, even though he didn't recall registering them at the time.

Somehow, these words rang in Peter Tibet's ear during quiet moments, even though he didn't recall registering them at the time.

He was brought back to reality by his drumming Ticonderoga, slowly bringing the shedding eraser to his lips: Insert. Chew. The insides of his cheeks smarted happily at the familiar taste of aluminum tears. He narrowed his eyes off to the side, where the ventilation hummed noisily.

He was brought back to reality by his drumming Ticonderoga, slowly bringing the shedding eraser to his lips: Insert. Chew. The insides of his cheeks smarted happily at the familiar taste of aluminum tears. He narrowed his eyes off to the side, where the ventilation hummed noisily.

It had been seven years since Peter left for Plumber's Falls, his assignment after being chosen to serve in the prestigious Teach for America. "Plumber's Falls?!" His dad had joked. "What's that? Up shit creek?"

Naturally, they assumed Peter would return after his obligatory service had its meaningful, yet ultimately transient impact, on the less fortunate of our country. Then, he'd follow the route of his peers, joining a high-paying consultancy firm, and then perhaps onto Duke or Harvard Law School. Instead, he had left behind his comfortable roots in Silver Spring, Maryland, and had found a cozy kinship with the many creeks and evergreens of Plumber's Falls. Their silence became his solace. And now, he rarely left.

Peter temporarily cast aside his neurosis about the 0.7 feedback points from his peer teachers, and began to daydream a lesson plan for his senior seminar.

He was lucky enough to have ended up with a few kids who had that rare independent gusto for science. For learning, for discovering, for knowing. They knew life was more than what it seemed. And considering the circumstances of most of these students, the tummy rumbles during the morning announcements, the one-too-many holes on several seasons ago sneakers, Peter had to give them credit. A lot of these kids had more moxie than the Olympiads in draining (or breeding, he thought to himself, scoffing), with whom he'd attended Immaculata Prep in Maryland.

This week, he was thinking they could take some water samples from the Old Dam off that fire road near the only gas pump in down, though the precise road number he couldn't recall.

Suddenly, he had the sense someone was watching him. Not looking up, he stiffened in his chair before quickly stealing a glance out into the hallway. There, he was met with a pair of the blackest eyes he'd ever seen in a human being. They were almost...animal. He couldn't conceal his alarm, and the impact was clearly apparent on his strange opponent. Then, as if by magic wand, the black eyed disappeared, and he was easy to think he'd imagined them once the confident, well-dressed young man began striding towards him.

"Can't be much older than me," Peter thought.

Before he knew it, a well manicured hand was moving towards him, attached to it, a now-friendly appearing human being. "Dr. Ethan Agodore," the voice said.