Mr. Desmond’s Demise

The two girls stood before the door of their most detested professor, one holding orchids, the other roses. They had chosen these specific flowers for their distinctly feminine flair, for Mr. Desmond was loathe to anything that insulted his masculinity. There was no need for him to be so defensive, as he was both married and the coach of the varsity football team, and yet he was. If caught, the girls knew that their prank would earn them a detention. Even so, it would be worth it. In their minds, this offense would avenge all the wrongs their gym teacher had done them. His snide comments were nothing that could be explained to a parent, not legitimate enough to report to a guidance counselor. Perhaps he was a bully of sorts, messing with their minds to lower their already shaky self esteem. Whatever he was, monster or ordinary PE professor, the two girls were quite sure of the necessity of their actions. The girl with the roses took a step forward, rapping once, twice, three times on the oak door. The other, orchids clutched to her chest, breathed in deeply, preparing herself for the escape. From inside the office, a chair creaked as its occupant rose from where he had been hunched over a disappointingly dull novel an old friend had recommended to him at their last high school reunion. Striding over to the door, he noticed, not for the first time, the heaviness of his footsteps, sounding around the empty room in an almost ominous manner. He shook his head, as if to dislodge thoughts of the good old days when his footsteps had been light and carefree as he strutted around his high school kingdom, captain of the football team, dating the most attractive girl on the cheerleading squad. They were married now, he and that cheerleader, no longer the youthful beauty she had been back in the days when nothing mattered. Those days he had once so foolishly taken for granted were all he cherished now. Sometimes he could trick himself into believing that nothing had really changed. Sometimes it was almost easy to pretend that his students were his classmates, and that he was still their king, their quarterback, the most popular, envied guy in school. Sighing deeply, he placed his palm on the brass doorknob, cold to the touch as he turned it slowly, reluctant to acknowledge his current reality. The door grumbled open. In response, a nervous chorus of high pitched giggles erupted a mere foot away from him. 1

“What are—” he began in a low grumble, flinging the door ajar. But the perpetrators were gone, their scampering footsteps barely audible, a mere echo. “Get back here!” he growled after them in a voice which had once earned the respect of an entire student body, but which now rebounded ineffectively around the empty corridor. 2

Fuming with anger that comes with the embarrassment of being ignored, he frowned down at the floor where feminine flowers had been lain in two offensive bouquets. 3

“Stupid kids,” he muttered, gathering up the flowers and plopping them, with a disgusted grunt, into the nearest trash can. 4