Ms. Meyer

Warning: No names have been changed to protect the (un)innocent.

My fourth grade teacher was a monster. Not mean, not scary, just manipulative. She was tall, lanky, almost crack-whore thin. Her hair smelled sickly sweet of hairspray and perfume, covering up cigarette smoke. The skin on her face was droopy, looked almost like it was melting a little. If I remember right, she was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. I’m not sure.

Every child in the school adored her, loved her. Everyone in fourth and fifth grade would tell you that she was their favorite teacher, and the first, second, and third graders couldn’t wait to have her. Her name was Ms. Meyer, and gosh, wasn’t I proud to have the same last name as her? I was excited when I went into the fourth grade…I couldn’t wait. As the first months of the year passed, things went well…and then I realized, wait…something is wrong here. Doesn’t anyone else see it?

I can’t say whether or not I was more mature, and that is the reason I noticed, or maybe she just had all the other children just completely brainwashed. Or maybe I didn’t realize it then, but came to realize it later when I thought back. Don’t get me wrong, she never did anything to physically hurt us or anything…it was just…little things.

Like the time Shannon Geehan’s new markers were missing. Shannon was real popular…and the popular one’s were Ms. Meyer’s favorites. Ms. Meyer made everyone empty their (what were the called?) tool boxes maybe? And empty out their pockets, and open their desks. When she came to me I didn’t want to open my desk. Not because I stole the markers (Which I had) but because I didn’t think it was right to be searched. No, I didn’t know it really WAS a constitutional right…but all the same, it didn’t feel right. She made me open it anyway. Shannon Geehan never did get her precious markers back. They were hidden in my snow boots.

And then there was the time that ‘someone’ had made her mad. Had done something to cause Ms. Meyer to be disappointed. Boy, were we a sorry bunch that day. She told us we would have to ask her individually to find out if we were the one who had made her mad. Can you imagine? A fourth grader asking a teacher if they were mad at them? That scared me half to death. I had someone ask her for me, and she told them that I would have to ask myself. It was like having your friend Sally go ask Billy if he liked you, or give him a letter that asked him, ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no…and give it back to Sally’. And so it was…mind games, all the time.

Every week a student was picked for student of the week. All of our names sat in a manilla envelope and Ms. Meyer picked a new one each monday. The student got to fill out a question and answer survey about themselves, have their picture posted on the board, and then on Friday they got to share everything about them. I remember sitting through all of those speeches…I remember the undivided attention everyone got as the whole class listened as they sat by Ms. Meyer at her desk. Everytime the question arose of ‘Who is your favorite teacher?’ A bold…’Ms. Meyer’ followed, and then she would smile, and pat that student on the back…

I held my breath every Monday when she picked that name out of that stupid envelope…It wasn’t until one of the last weeks of school that I finally exhaled. My name and my picture got posted on the board. Then I worked very hard all week on my answers. I don’t remember all of them, but I do clearly remember putting down the Monkees as my favorite band. Come Friday all eyes would be on me. I couldn’t wait. Friday came and I recited My name, and a couple answers. The whole class was listening intently. I said outloud ‘Who is your favorite teacher’ and then I glanced at Ms. Meyer, very tentatively and said ‘Actually, it’s Mrs. Loovas…sorry’. I saw her reach her hand up to pat my back and then slowly lower it when she heard the words. Then, turning to Shannon Geehan, she started a conversation! I went on…reading my questions and answers…and they were all talking to Ms. Meyer and Shannon. No one even noticed me…or that my favorite band was the Monkees.

There was other things too. So many little things that I can’t recount. She was fired the next year, rumor had it she was sleeping with one of the staff…I’m not sure if that is true or not.

I saw her just the other day while I was out shopping my competition. I was at the Woods of Burnsville, an apartment community by the mall. She was coming out of the elevator and my heart almost just stopped. Other than her face sagging even more, she hadn’t changed a bit. Still skinny, still stinky. Still stuck in the eighties. I caught her eyes for a split second. I don’t think she recognized me, but I couldn’t be sure.

I stepped onto the elevator and the leasing consultant turned to me and said…’That woman is crazy. She keeps to herself, but she’s gone looney in the last couple of years. They should lock her up if you ask me…’

And a smile spread across my lips.