The bellowing and intrusive screech of my alarm dragged me forcefully out of the calm, empty portion of the slumber I was in. 5 AM, damn. Today was the first day of school; well, first day of WORK for me I guess. At least the painful nostalgia associated with my old high school would be thwarted by the realization that this time around I was the one in charge.
I drug myself out of bed, the pale sheet clinging slightly to my sweaty skin, the desperate need of showering caused by the innumerable night terrors that tend to occur almost nightly. I slunk lazily towards my bathroom, happy as always that having no roommate meant I could sleep naked and walk around in the same condition. I flicked the plain, off-white switch on the wall and winced as the sudden severe change in lighting stung at my eyes. I reached into the small, rectangular glass cubicle in the corner of the room and turned the shower dial up all the way, standing outside of it and peering into the mirror for a moment to let the water warm up. Noting the small shadow of dark brown stubble sneaking from the back of my thin jaw line, I decided then to take my razor into the shower with me to shave.
As my foot touched upon the first cool floor tile in the bottom of the shower, I shivered, jumping fully into the messy rush of scalding hot water pouring out of the ancient, lime-covered shower head. The steam and artificial precipitation burning my skin felt strangely nice, like it was peeling off the layer of me that had been created yesterday, making room for a new one to be peeled off the next. I washed my hair, my body, and shaved carefully, being extra mindful that the skin around my dozens of tattoos was without a stray blemish, and in optimum viewing condition. I mean, if they’re gonna let someone like me work in a high school, I might as well show off my ink right?
I toweled myself off, wrapping my hair with the cloth when I was dry and went to find clothes. I stared into my closet, pondering whether to dress nicely, or like myself. After a moment of heavy deliberation, I decided to shoot for somewhere between the two, slipping on one of my few intact pairs of jeans and an old and comfortable, yet nicely fitting Pink Floyd tee shirt. With it I wore my least fucked up pair of Converse and a black and white stripey hoodie.
I stepped back into the bathroom, drying my long-ish hair thoroughly and combing it relatively straight, yet still a bit wavy, as it usually is. I threw on a light dusting of foundation and some thin, yet noticeable eyeliner to complete my casual look. I guess if someone didn’t know better, they might even think I was one of the students!
I headed for the door at about 6, grabbing my phone, tote bag (rather than a stupid ass briefcase), and keys on the way out of my shitty apartment. Getting coffee on the way, I drove tiredly to the familiar campus, all the while trying to find my favorite radio station from back in the day. Just when I had tuned in to hear the end of “Astro Zombies”, the old, prison-like building caught my eye. “Here we go, Mr. Iero,” I muttered to myself out loud as I turned down the driveway and dodged a school bus.
As I stepped out of my beat up, rusty Saturn, I felt as if eyes were boring into the back of my head the whole way to the office. Again, I muttered under my breath, ”Yep, definitely just like old times.” Even some of the teachers from my day were still here, old and crusty as ever!
I finally made it to the center of the school, pulling on the handle and stepping into the overcrowded front room, full of under prepared and unwarned freshmen wanting to know their schedules and locker numbers and whatnot. Poor suckers. Luckily, I was able, unlike the students, to walk straight through the line and go in the back to get my stuff myself. The secretary, Nancy almost stopped me, thinking I was a senior looking for trouble, but soon realized I was in here often enough those years ago to remember my allegedly mischievous face. She then gave me a friendly wave and smile, welcoming me back to my prison of the past. I found the keys to my classroom and ducked out as soon as I possibly could.
The key was small and a dull silvery color attached to a yellowish lanyard with “MUSIC” scrawled on it in sloppy stitching that looked as if it was a D+ Home EC project. If I hadn’t myself been in that class for those four dreadful years, I would’ve been completely lost looking for the small, underused, and underappreciated room that was on the east wing of the school in building C. The door was settled between two bushy, under maintained trees and tall patches of weedy grass that nearly overcame the concrete pathway that lead to it. Building C evidently used to be used for storage, the structure and lack of any other rooms or exits proving so. Sure, it made it inconvenient, but it meant we could play our music as loud as we wanted to. This tiny, unkempt building is actually the reason why I chose to teach at this hellhole. I figured, since my band didn’t really work out, why not help others do it, better yet, in the shittiest school ever, in the only place any good high school memories came from?
I wrestled my way through the heavy, metal front door and flicked the relatively dim light on, tearing at the pungent, yet cozy and nostalgic scent of mildew in the air. I scrunched up my nose though, the smell had obviously gotten worse since then. I dug into the closet, pulling out the huge, orange fan that had been stored in there for God knows when and plugged it in, leaving the door open and pointing it outward as I turned it on to get rid of the stuffiness and smell. I sighed, glancing around the room and let the memories it contained flow through me. The dusty old chalkboard in all its greenish glory, the time we helped the art kids design the now faded paint on the walls. I stepped back towards the wall that presented three closets, including the one the fan was in, and knelt down, placing my hand on the wall next to my name signed in black paint.
I turned around, noting that all the chairs were up and in the closet that had the fan in it, that will now be referred to as the misc. closet. I only had a little bit of cleaning to do, but school was set to begin in 5 minutes, good thing I didn’t start until second period. I dug into the percussion and strings closet, finding wire cutters for changing strings, “Close enough,” I sighed and cut the most intrusive of the many branches in the way of the door. I spent the remainder of the hour vacuuming, cleaning the chalkboard, pulling the stacks of chairs out of the closet, etc.
The bell rang once again, and at the sound of students approaching, I pulled my trusty fan out of the doorway to let them in. When the flow of people came to a halt, there were only about 10 people in there, a completely appropriate amount for the size of the room if you ask me, about half of them donning somewhat puzzled expressions upon entering. I told them as they walked in not to do anything just yet, only to stand and wait for instruction. The tardy bell rang and I began my short lecture to introduce myself to my class, “Hi, my name is Frank Iero, but you all can call me Frank, or Mr. Iero, whichever is comfortable. I’m usually a pretty laid back guy, not anything like your other teachers, I PROMISE you that. Trust me, I had some of their classes growing up, not fun.” A few laughs resounded throughout the room and I continued, “I’ll let you use whatever language you’re comfortable with as long as you let me use mine. I like all types of music, punk rock especially-” I was interrupted by a few small cheers and “Whoo’s” “Now,” I clapped my hands together loudly to get the attention of any stray minds in the room, “Here comes the serious part of it.” Several groans echoed throughout the small space. I held my hands up defensively, a chill expression, complete with smirk resting on my face, “C’mon guys it’s not that bad. I just want you all to know that this class may be the best and most fun class in this school, but I still have rules. Few of them, but still some. First thing, most important; don’t think the word music translates to easy. I want you guys to be in here because you enjoy it, not because you want a free A. So if you thought this was a freebie elective, I’m warning you to get out, because you’ll definitely fail in here. But if you want to be here, get a chair and pick a spot where you‘re comfortable.” Everyone chose the chair rather than the door, good so far, “Rule two; instruments. Think of them like they’re your own CHILDREN. If you damage it in any way, you WILL cry for it, and you WILL pay for it, understood?” the majority of people nodded, that went well.
I smiled and pulled myself out of serious mode, “Alright that’s pretty much it, that and common sense, you know. Any questions?”
A senior, a little taller than me came stumbling through the door, panting, “PLEASE tell me this is the band room!“ A few gossipy whispers and stares were directed towards and/or about him.
I glanced around, confusedly answering, “Yes? And you are?”
He opened his mouth but was cut off by some blonde girl in the corner chewing bubblegum rather loudly, “Oh THAT’S Gerard Way, the GAAAY kid!” Everyone but him and I laughed, making him adopt a sort of insecure stature, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes as if to hide from the world.
I turned to her, pointing at her and snapping, “And THAT’S the rude kid, the one that’s leaving my class right now!” She irritably grabbed her backpack and stormed out, a look lingering on her face that made it seem like she didn’t even know what she did wrong. I took a deep breath and turned back to Gerard, adopting the friendly smile I had on at the beginning of class, “Well well, looks like a seat just opened up,” I gestured for him to go sit down, his face reddening. I repeated my question from earlier, “Anyways! Questions anybody?”
omg omg OMGEEEEE!!!! This is gonna be good! I just KNOW IT!!!!
LOVE THAT FRANK IS THE TEACHER THIS TIME!!! looks like its gonna be an epic fic! cant wait for moar :3
..I would've loved him as my teacher o.o
I know right? I would get some SERIOUSLY bad grades in there though because I wouldn't be abe to focus AT ALL.
i like this!
I'd love to have Frank as teacher!
And I play brass so that would probably be pretty tragic on my tone lol
I like it. Like mine its written with Frank as the teacher but it is a first time I have seen it writtn inn a teachrs POV. I like it alot. Good job xoxxo
Thanks I was really going for what is usually an overdone type of thing with a different twist to it so I appreciate the comment! I'm gonna have to read yours now though XD