101- Outing Viamonte

I spent the weekend trying to convince myself that Caroline’s miserable predicament is not my fault. One could argue that I should have warned my coworker about her husband’s wandering ways, but I certainly did not instigate his extramarital affair. My guilt has subsided slightly; now that Caroline knows the truth, I no longer feel responsible for holding back that ugly secret.
Sadly, Caroline did not show up for work again. Her students have been asking about her, and Esther and I don’t know what to tell them. We have no idea if she will be returning and we have no idea if she’s okay. Despite our few nighttime outings and heartfelt chats during the school day, Caroline and I are mere acquaintances. I don’t know her well enough to call her house and ask her how she’s holding up.
The faculty is buzzing with speculation about “The Caroline-Viamonte” situation. The general consensus is that Caroline will not return to work as long as Ms. Viamonte is there. And who can blame her? Facing your husband’s mistress, day after day, would be awful. Luckily for Caroline, our southern faculty, with their Good Old Boy mentality, has vowed to force Viamonte from the workplace. The more redneck part of the staff has already devised some sort of plan.
During this afternoon’s faculty meeting, I had the opportunity to witness Phase 1 of the Outing Viamonte Plan. Faculty meetings are held in the Media Center, where teachers are seated at large tables in groups of seven or eight. Principal and The Intimidator stand at the front of the room to conduct their business. Teachers are cliquey and tend to sit with their buddies, so they can chat and gossip, rather than listen to what the bosses have to say.
Today I arrived a little early, and took a seat at a corner table. I was hoping to position myself in a spot where Principal wouldn’t be able to see that, instead of reading her boring memos, I actually was grading papers. Slowly, teachers trickled into the Media Center. The best seats, the ones slightly out of Principal’s view, were filled up first. The buzz of teacher chit chat gradually built up in the room.
Little Shanda got sick after lunch today; it was a huge mess…
Has anybody seen the 5th grade Science Kits? I’ve been looking everywhere…
I’m going to have to work late tonight, so many papers to grade…
Have ‘y’all heard about this year’s school play? I heard it would be about…
I tried to fade out all of the chatter and focus on my grading. All was going well, until about two minutes before the Faculty Meeting was scheduled to start. I noticed a change in the sound; the chit chat had begun to die down early. This is usually the sign that Principal or The Intimidator has arrived. I looked up to see that Ms. Viamonte had entered the room.
One by one, the teachers stopped talking and turned their heads to stare at the girl. Where will she sit? Panicked, teachers began shifting their belongings to make it look like empty seats were actually taken.
Wearing a tight magenta cardigan and a matching skirt, Ms. Viamonte held her chin high and pretended not to notice all of the unwanted attention. Her curly brown ponytail bounced with every step that she took- straight over the table of First and Second Grade teachers. Smiling, she sat down among women who used to be her comrades and confidants.
The teachers at Ms. Viamonte’s table exchanged uncomfortable glances. The Media Center had grown completely silent. Looking disdainfully from Ms. Viamonte to her colleagues, I saw Mrs. Reeve, the winner of the Bulletin Board Contest, shake her head in disgust. Mrs. Reeve quietly picked up her pen and her notebook, stood up, smoothed down her skirt, and walked to an empty table at the far end of the library.
One by one, the teachers at Ms. Viamonte’s table began to get up and move. They scattered through out the room, finding new seats at other tables.
Ms. Viamonte sat alone. Deserted. Her face was burning red with embarrassment, but she pretended not to notice and quietly flipped through a student workbook.
Everyone in the Media Center was either glaring menacingly at the girl, or they were staring uncomfortable at their own notebooks. No one said a word, and the silence went left unbroken until Principal burst into the room.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get started!” Principal began, but then she paused and dumbly exclaimed, “Gosh, ‘y’all are a quiet group today!”
I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Ms. Viamonte.