Changing gears, p.9
Changing Gears, page 9
Jen took a deep breath, her expression consoling. “Wow. That’s… a lot. Doesn’t look like it’s put you off, though.”
“No, I’m still young enough to recover from my stupidity, and its part of the job,” and she toasted herself before finishing the last of the wine in her glass. “But none of this is a plan. And at some point I’m going to have to get one.”
“I’ve never done anything like that. The most daring thing I’ve ever done is leave a small town to go to uni in the big smoke.”
“That’s a big deal,” Abi filled their glasses again. “Some people never leave, right? I worked with a woman who’d never travelled more than forty miles from where she was born, for god’s sake. But she’s perfectly happy.”
“I don’t want to be perfectly happy.”
“Ah, well, that’s a different story, then.”
From Eygalières, they rode towards Fontaine de Vauclause. Along the way, Abi led them on a detour through a vineyard and down a dusty gravel road that paralleled the La Sorgue river. Trees provided some much needed shade. They dismounted to push their way through the undergrowth until they found the waterway and a place to lean their bikes. Idyllic waters flowed slowly, and the air crackled as insects darted about.
“C’mon!” and suddenly Abi was stripping off, dumping her clothes and shoes near the water’s edge. Jen looked around hesitantly, trying to avoid gawking at her. “This is one of the few spots on the river you can swim without an audience. C’mon, live a little!” She dived into the water and resurfaced a moment later, pushing the water from her hair, grinning happily. “Oh my god, this is fantastic. C’mon!”
After a moment, Jen puffed her cheeks out and threw caution to the wind. She was conscious Abi watched her as she shed her clothes, but did her best to ignore the blush that engulfed her. As she waded in, Jen splashed water at her, starting a water fight that had them laughing away her reserve.
Leaves rustled in the breeze, and the river rippled and ebbed. Abi floated near the riverbank, basking in the sun. Her hair fanned out around her, an amber umbra as she drifted. Jen lounged against the bank, watching her, head cocked. Was it confidence or lack of self-consciousness that hypnotised her? Alabaster skin broke the water’s surface here and there, long limbs, small breasts, freckled shoulders. Looking down at herself, she wondered if Abi found her attractive. She was lean in a way few men she had dated found appealing, but would that be pleasing to a woman? As she chewed her thumb absently, her mind wandered, imaging what it would be like if Abi swam over and kissed her.
“Oi, we should probably get going soon.”
Jen snapped back to the moment, and quickly submerged herself to cool the heat that surged through her at being caught in the middle of a fantasy she shouldn’t be entertaining. When she resurfaced, Abi was climbing out of the river, twisting the water from her hair.
She took a few minutes to get the courage to climb out. When she finally emerged, Abi was sitting on her t-shirt in the grass, elbows on her knees, air-drying in the warm summer sun.
“How do you get that fit?”
Jen shook her shirt out and sat beside her, her skin prickling in the dry heat. “I ride a lot. I’ve always ridden. There’s not much else to do in small town Australia except get outdoors.”
Abi reached across and tweaked her shoulder. “I’m fully expecting to have these by Sunday, then.”
“You don’t need any help,” Jen blurted, and glanced away, eyes wide, horrified at herself. But Abi only snorted and flicked her with her t-shirt as she got up to change.
“C’mon bashful, I’m hungry, and there’s a fabulous restaurant in Fontaine I want to eat at tonight.”
Sydney
Sunday, 8 April, 2018
Saturday passed quietly. Jen opted for a long ride, biking the coast from Bondi to Brighton-Le-Sands and back. She stopped at the beach for lunch before the return fifty kilometer ride, glad to have filled the day and her head with nothing more than pedalling, traffic, rolling hills and head winds.
Next morning she rose to an early breakfast on her balcony. Pen in hand, she journaled about her conversation with Yvonne and how powerless she felt. She didn’t know what to do, or where her priorities should lie. What difference would standing her ground really make when schools like St Mildred’s were quietly firing teachers and removing students with sexual orientations they didn’t approve of? Emily’s parents seemed better equipped to deal with the situation than she felt. Wouldn’t keeping her head down, at least until the end of the year when she could apply for another job, be the better solution? Abi’s face popped into mind, piercing blue eyes staring into the core of her. She was unsure if her friend would be disappointed or not.
Her phone rang, her mother’s face appearing on screen. Church’s out, she surmised, noting the time as she tapped the answer button and put her mother on speaker. “Hi mum, how are you?”
“I’m fine, dear,” her voice crackled for a moment, then came through splinter clear. “How’s your week been?” Sally rang her every Sunday without fail, straight after the sermon, ready to course-correct her daughter as necessary. “What’s been happening?”
Jen was silent, unsure whether to the whole sorry story or keep her mouth shut. If things continued to go badly, she’d find out eventually, but instead of being supportive, Sally would likely reprimand her for not telling her earlier. Not to mention the alarmist reaction that would come with news that Emily was gay. Taking a deep breath, she dived in.
“It’s been hard, actually. I’ve a girl in one of my classes who’s being bullied. The situation’s getting ugly.”
“Oh my goodness,” and a rush of static followed as she sighed into the microphone. “I hope the school is doing something about that. What are they bullying her about?” Sally never sympathised without fact-checking.
“Some girls are spreading rumours she’s gay. MacKechnie isn’t exactly being supportive.” The pause that followed was so long Jen wondered if they had been cut off.
“Is it true, dear?”
“What? That’s she’s gay? Yeah, but that doesn’t excuse anything.”
“Well, yes and no, Jen. I imagine Mrs MacKechnie is concerned for her salvation. And she certainly wouldn’t want that influence around the other girls. That’s not the lifestyle she would want to encourage.”
Jen rubbed her face, urging herself patience. “It’s not a lifestyle, mum. Emily didn’t decide to be gay. No one would make that choice. Who would honestly chose that when people are so homophobic and awful.”
“Perhaps she wants attention. Ever since this gay marriage nonsense in parliament, it’s become trendy to be… Oh, what do they call it? Queer!” Sally’s voice went up half an octave. “Does her mother work?”
“Yes, but what does that…”
“Children need time at home with their mother. I’ve said this to you before Jen, parents today are too selfish. Both working, leaving their children to their own devices. It’s no wonder so many are falling through the cracks. Drugs, sex, homosexuality.”
Jen rolled her eyes, grateful her mother had never worked out how to FaceTime her. “Things are more complicated than that, mum. Besides, a working mother doesn’t make a daughter gay.”
“We don’t know that, dear.”
“Oh, we do, Mum. There would be a hell of a lot more lesbians in the world if that were true.”
“Language, Jennifer. And there’s no need to be patronising.”
“Sorry, mum. It’s…”
“And what is your involvement in this? I hope you’re keeping well away from it all. We’ve had quite enough drama this year.”
Jen bit back an exasperated sigh. “I can’t. She’s one of my students.”
“You’re at least doing as Mrs MacKechnie tells you?” Jen fell silent for so long her mother actually tapped her phone. “Are you there, Jennifer? Stan, is the modem working?”
“I’m here, mum. Things are complicated.” More silence, accompanied by a huff. She sensed the disappointment pouring down the line.
“I don’t have to remind you what the Bible tells us about the sin of homosexuality.”
“Of course not, mum, but it’s more complex than that. A young girl’s mental health is at stake, for starters.”
“And her ever-lasting soul, Jennifer! Mrs MacKechnie takes the salvation of her students seriously, as I expect you to. Perhaps you should go to church or talk to Father Jenkins?”
It took a minute for Jen to remember who Father Jenkins was. “I don’t need to go to church right now, mum.”
“When did you go last?”
Jen tucked her hair behind her ear as she wondered how on earth the conversation had turned so quickly to that. After the drama at Christmas, she’d hoped the topic had died a death. “We have a pastoral care team that takes care of that sort of thing. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to provide that kind of support to Emily.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the student, dear. I was thinking of you. The gays are rife in that city, and now you have one in your school. I was so very pleased when you told me where you were working. I assumed you would be safe from all that, at least during the week. But now you have one in your classroom. It’s important you protect yourself and your job. Sin spreads like a disease, Jennifer. Now more than ever. I don’t need to remind you how careful you need to be.”
So does bigotry, Jen seethed, searching for a question she knew would distract her mother and get her off the topic. “How did rotary go last week? Did they vote for you to lead the fund raiser next month?” Another exasperated sigh blew out the speaker, and Jen breathed a silent sigh of relief as her mother quickly forgot about sin to launch into a diatribe about her fellow rotary members.
Sydney
Monday, 9 April, 2018
Monday arrived far too soon—Jen was nowhere near ready enough to step foot back on campus. She’d come to no obvious conclusions about what to do over the weekend. Arriving early on campus, she sought Karen out, hoping to get some balanced advice. She found her in her office.
“Jen! Are you ok? What happened on Friday?”
She pulled up a chair, dumping her bag at her feet. “I don’t know what to do, Karen. I might lose my job if I continue to stick up for Emily.”
Karen clasped her hands together, ringing her fingers as she pondered on her response, and with a deep breath she plunged in. “I got an email from Yvonne on Saturday. You’re under review. I’m not supposed to tell you, but she’s got you in her crosshairs over the protest.”
“Shit,” and Jen buried her face in her hands. “So what do I do here, Karen? Obviously, I don’t want to lose my job, but she’s all but admitted they’ll expel Emily if this doesn’t die down.”
“I can’t tell you what to do, Jen. This is a conscience call for you. What I will say is, Emily won’t be the first student to be moved on for not upholding school values, and you wouldn’t be the first teacher targeted for voicing their disagreement with that. Standing your ground on this probably won’t change anything here. The school’s protected from complaints about discrimination under the Religious Freedoms Act. You know that. So, just… don’t make any rash decisions. We’re not even out of term one yet.”
Karen’s comments were like a punch to the chest, and as she walked to her desk, Jen took her time. There was nothing so sobering as the cold, hard truth.
When she entered the shared office space, everyone quieted. A colleague pointed to the post-it stuck on her screen. “See Principal MacKechnie.” Glum stares followed her as she headed back out the door.
Jen tried to work out what to say to Yvonne as she walked to the main office, but nothing honest or sensible came to mind. Karen’s reminder of the school’s protected legal position had only exacerbated her turmoil. Every scenario she envisioned ended with her losing her job. By the time she reached the Principal’s office, her throat was sand-dry.
Yvonne was busy typing when she took a seat, her fingers stabbing keys aggressively, her plucked brows a deep vee of consternation. She was not in a good mood, an ill omen. It was several minutes before she finally lifted her attention away from her laptop.
“Right,” she sighed. “I’ve been dealing with angry parents all weekend. So I need some good news, Jenny.” Her hands were clasped atop her desk, knuckles white. “I asked you to reflect on your career with us at St Mildred’s. What have you decided?”
Jen broke out in a cold sweat and sucked in a deep breath. Words she hadn’t anticipated saying came tumbling out. “First, Yvonne, I’d like to apologise for Friday’s events. I never dreamed anything like that would happen. My intention was to curtail the girls, and I stupidly thought a debate might be enough to let them have their say without it blowing up. It was a mistake.” MacKechnie nodded gently and waited for her to go on. “I want to support Emily.” Yvonne’s brow furrowed. “But we are an Anglican school. And we uphold Anglican values.” A sudden rush of bile filled Jen’s throat, and she had to stop for a moment. “I’m sure I can do both.” Her voice cracked. “Obviously, it’s Alice’s responsibility to counsel her, and I would never encroach on that space. But I do think I have a role in at least protecting Emily from unwarranted bullying and gossip. Until there’s some sort of resolution.”
Yvonne sat back in her chair and regarded her for a moment, her expression blank. Nodding suddenly, she got to her feet and walked around to sit on the edge of her desk, her pencil skirt impossibly tight across her narrow thighs. “I applaud your desire to protect our girls, Jenny. I really do. But it can be a fine line in matters such as this, between pandering to childish behaviour and offering strong, morally right support. I realise that’s what you are trying to do here, despite the mess you caused.” Jen went a violent red. “So I take it you want to remain part of the St Mildred’s community?”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Jen struggled to swallow past the lump of cowardice in her throat.
“Good, I’m pleased. From now on, if there’s anything you’re unsure about, please come and see me first. This issue with the Jamison parents is becoming complicated, and if things continue, we may get to a place where we need to actively encourage them to find another school for their daughter.” Jen felt the blood drain from her face. “I spoke with Mrs Jamison yesterday, clarifying that although we would very much like Emily to return, she is only to do so on the proviso she does not continue to bring this sin to school. We came to an understanding. But I need your support, Jenny, to ensure nothing more happens to bring attention to Emily and her struggles with homosexuality. Alice will continue her good work, and with God’s grace, we can help her.”
“If not?” That ounce of courage appeared out of nowhere.
“If not?” Yvonne’s pencilled brows rose. “Then St Milred’s is not the school for Emily.”
By the time Jen escaped, the bell had rung and first period was under way. As she rushed to her office to grab her materials, she tried to quell her self-loathing. No backbone, no principles, just her tail between her legs as Matron MacKechnie mothered her into place. Nauseating. No matter how much she wanted to do something—anything—she kept coming back to what Karen had said. Nothing she did would change the school’s culture. But her conscience wouldn’t hear it. She didn’t know how she was going to face Emily, let alone look at herself in the mirror.
When Jen arrived at class, Yvonne’s PA, Margaret, was seated at her desk, her students reading quietly. She could only imagine what that woman had threatened them with. Margaret was gatekeeper to the Principal’s office and filled the role with petrifying efficiency. Her approach to students was no less unkind. As though to illustrate the point, Emily was lodged at the back of the room, an island of empty seats around her.
Once Margaret and her oozing disdain left, the lesson progressed, albeit quietly. Not a single pair of teenaged eyes met Jen’s during discussion, and a distinct lack of enthusiasm tainted the room. When the bell finally rang, they packed and left in a rush. Only Emily took her time, hanging around until everyone had gone. Jen closed the door to ensure they wouldn’t be interrupted.
“How are you this morning?”
“Ok, I guess. No one’s talking to me.”
“That might be a good thing, for a few days at least,” Jen conceded. Leaning against the door, she glanced through the glass panel into the corridor. “If anyone gives you grief, or you want someone to talk to, come and find me. Mrs McAllister will know where I am. Her classes are always upstairs.”
Emily nodded, her face forlorn. “Mum said she’s going to find me another school, but it might take a while. I have to keep my head down.”
Jen was genuinely disappointed. She liked Emily. She was a smart young woman with incredible insight, and the idea of losing her was saddening. “I’m sorry, Emily. I wish I could tell you things will work out, but I don’t see the school being ok with you…” she trailed off.
“Being gay?”
Jen shrugged.
“It’s hard to change schools, Miss. It’s Year Ten. Most of the good schools aren’t taking anyone now. I don’t want to lose my grades. I’ll end up in a crap class with people I don’t know. That’s really going to impact me for Year Eleven, and HSC.”
Senior school was serious business these days. Learning for enjoyment went out the window after Year Nine, and despite rhetoric to the contrary, every teacher and student at SMLC worked to squeeze the highest marks possible out of the syllabus content and its assessments. Year Ten was the serious year. Students got down to the hard work of earning their ATARs—their Australian Tertiary Admission Rank—to secure spots at ranked universities. Getting that wrong could have long-lasting effects. Transferring schools during the last part of high school was potentially a scholastic hand grenade.
