Air Dud Pt 1.5
Working Title
Bernum is not necessarily the type of guy you’d call dumb; however, he never really had much grace in the eyes of the public. Some people can sell ice to an eskimo; Bernum is the type of guy that would buy ice if he was an eskimo. Handshakes fail him every time, and the awkward fist to thumbs up gesture he does after never fully redeems him in the eyes of the man who first perpetrated that handshake. Bernum has the social competency of a wet ferret. But, what the man lacks in status, he more than makes up for with organizational skills, and his ability to plan ten steps ahead. That is, unless one of those steps includes playing against a golden retriever in the final minutes of the match because of some loophole in the rules. “Get it out of your head” Bernum thinks to himself. No, don’t let it go away, coach. Allow the wound to fester. Allow scar tissue to form. Allow this unsavory reminder to sit and stir. It is necessary. A mild mannered behavior is unacceptable now. Everything has changed. Everything is changing. It's time for preparation. Summer. A few more months to contemplate a future action, and then after the school year, the plan becomes kinetic. Bernum knows what comes next – and everyone else is oblivious.
8:00 a.m. Another morning and another geometry lesson. These things are just as insufferable for Bernum as they are for the class. “Five sides and five angles,” the coach says. “A five sided and five angled polygon. Give me a name” Bernum can sense the apathy in his voice, but the apathy of the students far outweighs his own. “Uh, a pentagram?” one student says. Little dirtbag. There is no doubt that the young man is serious. The room, collectively, is not attentive enough to remember the fundamentals taught from day one. The room, collectively, couldn’t find fruit in an apple orchard. It’s unreasonable to give this kid the benefit of the doubt. His answer is the best he can come up with. “Yes,” Bernum” responds. “Yes, it’s a pentagram. Alright class, for the rest of the day, we’re gonna watch a movie. Let’s check out an old western.” In a dissociative manner, the geometry teacher wheels out a small flatscreen on a cart. A DVD player sits beneath it on the second shelf. Bernum places the disc in the machine and immediately sits at his desk. Although the movie is out of the ordinary, the class won’t think a thing: Apathy is not uncommon around these parts. The students won’t think a thing about this. At most, they will just think he’s catching up on his grading. In a way, he is.
The theme to Jurassic Park plays in the background, but the man behind the desk up front pays no mind. There is planning to do. There is plotting to do. The humiliation from that final match will not be final. Bernum knows this. The geometry teacher pulls out a large binder from the middle drawer of his desk. With his peripherals on the rest of the class, he slides a small key into the strap holding the folder shut. No one notices this action. Good. The class ought not think that he’s writing in a large diary in the middle of the “lesson”
The bell rings before the dinosaurs in the movie eat anybody. Oh, well. The little shits know what happens: dinosaurs eat people. Bernum carefully locks and places the binder back in the middle drawer of his work station. As the feet shuffle out of his room and into the hall, he mentally prepares himself for the short break in between this and his next period. This will be the first time that he looks his co-workers in the eyes since he took that month-long hiatus. Gotta hide the shame. Gotta be a rock. The disgraced coach has to keep his chin higher than the rest of his colleagues. He might have lost the game to a stupid dog, but he refuses to lose his dignity. In any case, the shame will be a distant memory around this time next year. Bernum is certain of that.. Stepping into the breakroom, the Coach spots around seven or eight of his colleagues. Some are chatting, some are looking at their phones, and one is trying to get a bag of chips to fall from the vending machine. That’s Catherine Blakely, the newest member to the crew. She teaches History, or Literature, or something in the humanities. Bernum slowly walks over to the machine. “I was gonna get a bag of those anyway.” he says and then places a crisp dollar bill into the machine. His bag knocks down what she was trying to get. Ms. Blakely gives a nervous smile and thanks him. Bernum pays her little attention. He grabs his bag and heads over to the cookies and creme colored fold out table. She must think that he’s a joke. Everyone in this room thinks he’s a joke. They have to.
Bernum quickly finishes his snack and spends the rest of his break in a sort of meditative trance. Well, he would spend the rest of break in a meditative trance had his boss not confronted him shortly before the end of it. “Your next class is a planning period, correct?” Principal Jones asks him. “Yes, it is.” Bernum replies. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to meet with you briefly in my office. It’s good to have you back, and I think it would benefit the both of us to sort of touch base after this past month.” This is it. She’s going to begin administrative action against him on his first day back. Here rolls the snowball that turns his career into an avalanche. Wow, they’re moving fast here. He supposes the disgrace on the school has been too much for them to bear. They’re moving fast, but Bernum still reckons that he has a year. He’s only surprised at how fast they confronted him about it. Heartless bastards. “Clark!”
Bernum shakes out of his thoughts. “Yes?”
“Is it okay if we meet briefly in my office before you begin your planning period?” She asks.
“Uh, yeah. That’s fine. Just let me go to the restroom real fast.” Bernum responds.
Coach Clark Bernum stands in front of the sink of the faculty bathroom. Sweat rolls down his brown as he notices his own sunken, baggy eyes staring back from the mirror. Sleep doesn’t come easy for Clark these days. His knees are weak and his palms are sweaty. He’s not worried about the meeting – not in the least bit. He just can’t stop replaying the events of that night in his head. That fucking dog. Cold water rushes from the tap and Clark gathers a handful and splashes it into his face. Breathe through your nose, Coach. Ten deep breaths – straight through your nose. A montage of the past month plays before him: a swift divorce. An embarrassing ambulance ride. Joint custody. And that fucking dog. He finally comes to. Ten inhales and exhales out of the way. His heartbeats have slowed. Good. Bernum exits the bathroom and makes his way from the faculty lounge to Principal Joy Jones’ office. Just stay quiet and nod that head, Coach. Focus on what’s important. Just nod your head and think about this afternoon. This afternoon is the first step in your redemption, Coach. Your secret weapon awaits.
The hallway to Principal Jones’ looks like a tunnel. It reflects Clark’s own vision. He’s a man on a mission. This small annoyance is just that: an annoyance. Three knocks on the door and then Bernum’s boss responds. “Come in.” Bernum opens the door and steps forward. Just a few more paces and he’s in front of Principal Jones. “Have a seat,” she says, and he does so. The next moments are insignificant to Clark Bernum. His mind is occupied with more important things. He just nods in cadence with his boss’ words and allows her to do most of the talking. “We all support you through these difficult times…” nonsense “and we all want you to know that if there is anything we can do to help you through this whole situation, you can always rely on us…” keep your head straight and eyes forward, coach “if you need any more time off, that’s fine. A divorce is no small….” Bernum cuts her off, “No.”
Ms. Jones responds, “No?”
“No,” Bernum echoes back. “I don’t need anymore time off. I’m fine, really. All I want to do is get back to my regular schedule. Is this all that you wanted to talk to me about?” he adds.
With a sympathetic look on her face, Principal Jones ends the short exchange with, “No. I suppose there’s nothing else. Just know that you have people that you can lean on in these ti ....”
“Thank you, ma’am. I really ought to be getting back to my room now. I’m pretty far behind on a lot of these papers.” Bernum states as he stands up from his chair. Principal Jones just nods.
The doorknob rotates counter-clockwise and the sound of keys jingle as Clark clips them back to his belt loop. Home. The living room sits spotless and just a few yards away from the front door are clean dishes and an empty sink. His shoes come off one at a time and he places them dress-right-dress with the rest of the footwear that sit adjacent to the front door. Most of these shoes he didn’t even know he had, until recently. The past three weeks had been busy for Bernum. After the events of that night, his wife never came back. He hadn’t seen Dominic since. The only thing to do to occupy his mind was to sit and stir and sob – for the first week, at least. The following three weeks were busy, though. A man left alone with his thoughts can be a dangerous thing. For Bernum, the danger is yet to be had. For Bernum, being alone with his thoughts was a productive burden. Things were cleaned. Things were found. Habits were formed. Habits were broken. Phone calls missed. From a ten thousand foot view, the disgraced JV basketball coach might have appeared as if his life was improving. It wasn’t. It isn’t. No, everything Bernum has been doing for the past month has been – well, this isn’t the right word but it fits – masochistic. He didn’t enjoy doing any of this. He still doesn’t enjoy doing any of this. But he has to do all of this. He has to do something. Idle hands have something to do with the devil, he always heard. He didn’t understand that phrase until now. His hands will not be idle any longer. His hands are not idle. His hands won’t be idle. Tonight he meets with “The Guy” Bernum doesn’t remember the name, but he is The Guy for what the coach needs – for what Bernum needs – for what Clark needs. Bernum has stuff to do this next year. He grabs a few hundred dollars from the shoe case under his bed – he doesn’t want to risk any transactions being seen by his ex. He wants this to be a secret, and Julia would recognize an off-pattern to his usual spending when she checks the bank statements next month. 7:00 p.m. “The Guy” is dropping by at 7:00 p.m. Bernum gets a quick work-out in and then after, he puts on a pot of tea. Clark tidies up what little mess is around and about, and awaits his guest’s arrival with a salad in front of him at his dinner table. The house looks tidy and smells great. That dog might have taken his family away from him, but his hospitality was left untouched.
The rest of the school year went by without a hitch. There were conversations that Clark’s “friends” tried to have with him about his situation, but he shut those down quicker than they began. He didn’t become a hermit, but he entered social interactions with indifference and stoicism. Oddly enough, people seemed pretty satisfied with this demeanor. Well, perhaps satisfied isn’t the correct term, but they were certainly content. As uneventful as those following months were, they were not unproductive. Sure, the Coach had to let the players have some time to study and rest after the season was finished, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t get a game plan together for the next season. He watched game footage, after game footage, after game footage annotating every single flaw he spotted in not only the opponent’s teams but his own. The Coach’s plan would not work if he didn’t make it to that championship game. And his plan wouldn’t work if he couldn’t face off against New Brinkwich at the final. Luckily, neither school would be losing any starters this forthcoming year, so the match up wouldn’t be too tricky to organize. Still, nothing in this world is certain. Just ask the guy who lost the championship basketball game to a fucking dog.