The Revelation of Paisley Parker
by Douglas Young
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
As Mr. Rainwater carefully explained all his corrections and remarks on her papers, he looked at the work she had done thus far on her new fourth essay. It was encouraging to hear her volunteer ever more how she could improve this sentence or that paragraph. Her writing really was progressing well, and Fitzhugh felt a sense of satisfaction he had not known. He wondered if this was how a parent felt.
After they finished going over all the papers and he had given as many writing tips as he could, including gently encouraging her to take notes in class, something she had never done before, to his pleasant surprise she was in no hurry to leave, preferring to comment on and ask about various posters of his literary heroes and books on the shelves. He was elated to have apparently encouraged such enthusiasm for learning from this heretofore ethereal elf.
He also found her steering their conversation ever more towards the personal. In doing so, she helped him better appreciate her academic deficiencies. She shared how she dropped out of school at 16 to work full time. Rapidly growing much more comfortable, she soon confided just what a chaotic family life she had endured with a father she had never met and a mother who appeared to be either working all hours to support several children or who was merely missing. To escape a miserable family or lack of one, Fitzhugh was stunned to learn Paisley left it at 16 and had been totally on her own the last three years, going from job to job and town to town.
After a pause, she revealed how she had tried to escape this precarious existence by passing the state’s high school equivalency test and doing well enough on the college entrance exam to get into Joe Wheeler.
“Brava!,” Fitzhugh replied with a thumbs-up gesture. “How commendable.”
She smiled slightly, but then dropped her head to stare at the floor as she had done that day in class after he asked her to see him afterwards. There was another pause.
“You might not think I’m so ‘commendable’ if you knew more about me, Mr. Rainwater. There’s just so much you don’t know,” she remarked before dropping her gaze back to the floor. The sing-song childlike innocence of her voice stood out more than ever.
“That’s true with everyone, Paisley,” he tried to reassure her.
“Yeah, but I’ve got quite a past,” she said gently.
“And who doesn’t, dear, unless you’re just a total bore?”
“I did a lot of drugs,” she stated. Though she lowered her head again, her eyes quickly looked up to gauge his reaction. To hear those words emanate from that small child voice was a contrast Mr. Rainwater doubted he would ever forget.
“Hey, who hasn’t done drugs, Paisley? I tried pot in college and once even hashish. Of course, Mr. Neurotic had to stop, though, because he kept getting paranoid. I had an awful experience one time out of town with some apparently pretty potent Maui Wowie weed. It got me so stoned I couldn’t hold onto the back of my buddy Hemp — yes, that’s his real name — to ride back home on his motorcycle. Every time I smoked pot after that, I would tell myself, ‘Now, remember, remember, whatever happens, don’t dare think about that terrible time with the Maui Wowie,’ which was of course what I obsessed about every time I smoked. So I had to stop. I’m too naturally anxious.”
Paisley laughed softly at her teacher’s revelation. She had never conversed with any kind of authority figure so freely and frankly. Emboldened, she decided to confide more. “Did you ever do psychedelics, cocaine, meth, ... or heroin?” she asked gently before looking down at his desk and then back up to his eyes.
“No,” he answered, sitting up straight and trying not to look shocked or disappointed. “I was always way too scared to do any of those. I figured if I couldn’t handle marijuana, God help me with anything stronger. As much as I enjoy music influenced by psychedelics like a lot of Beatles’ stuff and other songs from the late 1960s, if I ever took LSD, I’d likely get so freaked out I’d be its first user to die of a heart attack.”
Paisley chuckled and smiled at him. Flattered he was making this shy, insecure girl laugh, he was simultaneously amazed at how casually revealing he was with someone he really didn’t know, and about some of the most personal and embarrassing episodes of his life. But did he really not know her? He suddenly realized he felt far closer to her than to any of his other pupils and even to a slew of folks he had known his whole life.
When her delicate, melodic laughter subsided, she looked down again and paused. Fitzhugh found himself feeling more like a psychiatrist listening to a patient than a teacher. He felt like she wanted to say more, but he didn’t want her to reveal anything she might regret. Before he could decide whether to change the topic, gently say he needed to get back to work — and there was plenty of that — or just let her continue talking, she did.
“I used to dance.” She looked at him intently throughout a long pause.
“Who hasn’t danced?” he asked incredulously. “The only reason I don’t is because I’m afflicted with a particularly pronounced case of Caucasian Rhythm. At a seventh-grade party, my dance partner Lovenia Turner laughed so at how badly I was flailing about that I walked off the dance floor and never went back. What a Blue Meanie she was, too.”
Paisley smiled suddenly and caught herself laughing again in surprise before resuming her sad countenance. Looking at the floor before raising her eyes to his, she slowly spoke again.
“But have you ever danced in a strip club?”
The child-like voice now made him cringe. He desperately sought to find just the right words to comfort her while not sounding shocked. For all the times he had tried to reassure himself how hip and worldly he was for hanging out with Zada, Hemp, and Philmont and reading widely, he realized his little world had been distinctly sheltered. He had never — to his knowledge — known a stripper. Not even Zada had done that. The fact that Paisley was just 19 and her exotic dancing was already past tense startled him. But he was determined to reassure her.
“Well.... I’ve been to a strip club — Hemp took me.” He didn’t know whether to smile or look serious.
“Yeah, but I also made a porno.”
“Well.... I’ve rented one — but not yours! I mean, I didn’t even know you made one. I had no idea. But even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t rent it. I mean you’re gorgeous, but we’re friends. I.... I just wouldn’t do that. You know what I mean. I hope.”
In spite of her sadness, she couldn’t help but laugh a little at Mr. Rainwater’s discomfort and fervent effort to make her feel better. Surprised to silently chuckle in the midst of her own confession, and grateful for what she so hoped and truly believed was a new friend, Paisley just smiled at him.
“No matter what you tell me, Miss Parker, I’m not thinking one whit less of you, dear. That you endured such a stormy childhood and adolescence yet somehow summoned the courage to get off drugs, stop dancing, and go to college — especially when your schools hadn’t prepared you — well, color me right impressed, young lady. Big time.”
“Thank you, sir,” she smiled again. “You make it somehow sound special.”
“It is. You are, Paisley. Remind yourself of that and stop beating yourself up about nothing. You haven’t told me one thing about you hurting anybody or anything but yourself. Stand tall, Miss Parker; I think you’re a whole lot stronger than you know.”
She thanked him again and for the first time that day seemed to have run out of things to say. He noted how weird but wonderful it was to be surprised; Paisley Parker was suddenly speechless.
As he stood to wish her goodbye, he walked around the desk to shake her hand. Instead of taking it, she hugged him. It was the first time a student of his had done that, and Fitzhugh had not expected it. But he knew reassuring this girl was the most important thing he would do that day and perhaps the whole week. He hugged her back and, when she didn’t withdraw, continued to hold her, feeling she needed comforting more than anything.
He also felt a little ashamed to hope no busybodies saw them to misinterpret the moment. But he knew not to care about that. When she began gently to weep, he didn’t know what to do. He just continued to hold her and gently pat her upper back.
“You’ll get through this, Miss Paisley. The worst is already in your rearview mirror. You cleaned yourself up from drugs and you made it into college on your own effort and you’re passing, too. You’ve already overcome and accomplished so much in your very young life and I’m sure the best is all ahead.”
He said other things to try to buck her up but couldn’t recall what. He sensed she just desperately needed a hug, some reassurance, and a friend. After a while he gently let go first, she thanked him, and he urged her to contact a pastor and/or check out the campus health clinic for free counseling. She said she thought she would, and he assured her she was always welcome to stop back by the office with any of her other papers or if she just wanted to talk.
“If I don’t have the answers, I can at least offer a friendly ear. And we can compare notes on our favorite Oz books,” he winked. She grinned and nodded.
After she left, he sat down and stared into nowhere, appreciating as never before just how little he had ever really ventured from Due South’s cozy cocoon. Sure, he had known loneliness and insecurity his whole life, but he now found a new respect for his parents and students, and he wondered how many more of the latter had battled the kinds of fierce dragons at home and elsewhere he had only read about. We’re all carrying around so much more than most folks will ever know, he marveled.
He also realized how his teaching might prove to be far more than just a means to paying for a degree. He now understood what a duty he had to be available to his students, not just academically but at other levels. Perhaps precisely because he was just a young teaching assistant might make him all the more approachable for a troubled student too intimidated to confide in a more knowledgeable, albeit more intimidating authority figure.
Suddenly correcting his students’ run-on sentences and split infinitives, critiquing their faulty arguments, and trying to make sure each word of his lectures sounded exactly right faded into the background. How much more important work was there to be done ministering to scarred souls, he speculated. Never before had he felt so much responsibility to be a role model, in and out of the classroom, and to provide a friendly ear and some support to others in need.
Fitzhugh also figured perhaps a little less self-pity and a lot more gratitude would do him good. For all the frustrations with his workload and lack of romance, it was now much harder to be indignant about either. He recalled a few professors saying they had learned much from their students and, for the first time, he felt he understood.
Finally, he wondered if he had taken himself and his work a tad too seriously. Yes, be good and try my best, but remember I’m not that special, he told himself. Everybody’s got burdens, and mine are comparatively mild, he concluded. Yet people can and do persist and even prevail. So he resolved to try to drown in the positive as much as possible and be available to anyone needing some help. Perhaps I’m getting more mature in spite of myself. He smiled.
Copyright © 2021 by Douglas Young
