Status: Currently on Hiatus
The Breakdown of Natalie Whitman
Mrs. Daphne Torres
On Monday morning, I was jittery as can be. Maybe I should have called Natalie Whitman, find out who she had been. I bet she had a better weekend than I did, my weekend was lousy, and things came up. As a result of my little run in with Miss Whitman, I felt like crap and stayed in bed all weekend, a dramatic result of a simple scare. In that period of bed rest, horrid memories came up, memories of things that were said, memories of things that should have been said and memories of horrid actions. Secrets that hid deep in my soul and just decided to plague me this weekend, yeah I guess your mind has a way of replaying things when you have nothing to do.
After wasting three periods, fifth period came and that meant Miss Whitman. Limping in, she stared at me before sitting in her seat. Her face had no expression, eyes were cloudy and her limp hair covered her face. Like an empty hollow shell, she just sat there and did…nothing. Not even a flinch, all she did was stare. However, it wasn’t an “I hate you” stare like she had been giving me all week last week. It was more of a cry for help, like something was troubling her.
All of class, Miss Whitman did not speak a word; she was like a statue. Something was troubling her, so it would be best for the whole class and her if I left her alone, but I still wanted Natalie to get the material, being the teacher that I was. However, the motherly side took over and I decided that I would just wait after class.
Students would yell out phrases in Spanish, but Miss Whitman was in her own world, those phrases probably could not penetrate the wall that enclosed her. Finally, like a miracle, the bell let out its horrible shrill and the feet of students scurried out of the room. Miss Whitman slowly got up from her seat and stared at me with a strange expression. I could not determine if she was mad at me for the other day, but then a deep breath and she sat back down. Tears began streaming down her face and she turned bright red. In order to respect her privacy, I closed the door and lowered the blinds.
“Ms. Torres…thanks…for the ride, I just wish…” Her meek voice trailed off until deep gasps were all that was audible. Like a statue, I stood there with a look of pity on my face and did not know what else to do. “I’m scared, what happens…if I don’t pass this year?” That thought was absolutely preposterous; Miss Whitman was a wonderful student. A bit eccentric, yes but an excellent student, last time I had her, she passed my class with a full house of A+.
“Natalie… just listen to yourself, if something is bothering you…I’m always here. Listen, I’m not sure what I did to scare you away in freshmen year, but just remember that my door is always open.” With a scowl on her face, she got up and looked at me with those red, bloody eyes. My heart sank a little bit, biting my lower lip and trying to decide if I should confront her with that same question two years ago. Instead I decided to go for a question that would not evoke such a reaction from her. “What’s bother you?”
Sitting back down, Natalie then buried her face into her arms. “It’s my mother; she’s…getting on my back, that’s all.” Mrs. Meredith Whitman…yes I had the pleasure of meeting her once for back to school night. Most likely I’ll be seeing her again this year. A tall, stern, elegant woman whose eyes seemed to want to pierce your soul, with her ebony hair neatly tied in a bun and her power suit, she was rather terrifying. She spoke rather eloquently and always knew what to say. It was as if she could read your mind and prepare an argument before you even had a chance to take in a breath. That was the lawyer attitude, Mrs. Whitman possessed it. The coldness you felt, even when she smiled, you knew that behind that friendly mask laid a cold woman. “I…did horrible on an English paper…she got mad…” When I came to the US, I was fortunate enough to have a grasp on the language that I could pass English. Pretty soon, it became my best subject. However, I could understand why some people would have trouble with it, I just never pictured Miss Whitman have difficulties.
“Don’t worry, in a couple of years, I bet neither of you will remember this incident.” At that, Miss Whitman grimaced a bit and shook her head, letting her long bangs cover her face. In freshmen year, Miss Whitman wasn’t this upset. In fact, she was the opposite; she had a smile from ear to ear, well until the question. Now, there was no smile, there were only tears. Teenage life was hard sometimes. Luckily, I was fortunate enough to have a good high school career, fantastic you might say. I had it all: an A average, voted most likely to succeed, and I was prom queen. Yes, I had a terrific high school career. However, I felt Natalie’s pain; college was a terrible thing for me. It was so horrid; I nearly lost my life because of it. Without warning, Natalie shifted to get up and then stared at me with teary eyes as she slowly walked out of the classroom.
“My mother…never forgets…”With that, she walked out, all alone and going to lunch. Sitting there, I felt terrible. My parents always wanted the best for me, but never to the point of making me cry. However, I made myself cry. In Miss Whitman, I saw myself, trying to be perfect in a world that is not even perfect itself. Sure, you may be given the false impression that one day you will reach the top of the ladder of perfection. The world takes care of giving you the final blow and ultimately you fall down. Depending on the fall, you can end up with an episode of mild depression to a full blow breakdown. In rare cases, you can lose your life at your own hand: suicide.
Feeling chilly after that epic moment, I decided I would get Jennifer and go out for lunch. Grabbing my purse and my overcoat, I quickly scurried over to the office of my new friend. Jennifer turned out to be a genuine nice person, something extremely rare. Keys clacked as Jennifer did who knows what on the computer. Her office was painted a light pastel yellow color, like a baby chick, just hours born. The walls were adorned with pictures that Jennifer, the closet photographer, took on her travels. There was a stunning picture of the World Trade Center; Jennifer told me that on September 9, 2001, a Sunday, she went to see the World Trade Center for the final time and decided to take a picture. I cried a bit when she told me that, it was rather unfortunate. There were other pictures that were a lot happier, like pictures of her Costa Rican vacation one year.
While I stared aimlessly at those pictures, Jennifer chirped that she was ready to go, with a bright smile on her face. Her body was adorned with a fiery red shirt that complimented her light skin and her bright red lips to match her top. Locking the door of her office, she placed a sign “Out of Office” on her door to alert any potential students. With her jacket, we went outside to a rather chilly September day. Hard to imagine that just two weeks ago, it was a sweltering heat. Now, autumn was claiming the earth once again with its rain and chilly breezes. Our heels clicked in unison like a perfect song as Jennifer led me to her car, our destination; somewhere we can get food, most likely the local deli.
Kristi D’s was the place, a nice quiet little deli. The owner was charming and it had good food. Walking in, you were immediately hit with the smell of vinaigrette, a smell I quite enjoyed. After ordering our lunch, we sat down and quickly munch on our lunch: the topic of choice was Natalie Whitman.
“Miss Whitman was crying in my class today, at first I thought it was because I accidentally bumped into her with my car on Friday.” At this comment, Jennifer almost spit out her lemonade and had a look of shock across her face. Making sure she had heard me right, she asked again to which I told her the same answer. “I didn’t see her, she appeared out of nowhere. One minute, she’s not there, the next…I have my bumper on her leg. I took her home, not sure if that was a bad move on my part.” Jennifer shook her head in disbelief and then as I looked down at the sandwich, I realized something and quickly had to run to the bathroom. All the blood rushed to my head and I felt warm in the face. It became hectic, as I grabbed the purse and ran to the bathroom. A worried shriek pierced the cloud of craziness that had surrounded me; it was Jennifer, still at the table. Cursing myself, I could feel the eyes of the few customers of the deli burn into my skin. Damn it, how could I forget? It is times like these that made me feel like an idiot.
After wasting three periods, fifth period came and that meant Miss Whitman. Limping in, she stared at me before sitting in her seat. Her face had no expression, eyes were cloudy and her limp hair covered her face. Like an empty hollow shell, she just sat there and did…nothing. Not even a flinch, all she did was stare. However, it wasn’t an “I hate you” stare like she had been giving me all week last week. It was more of a cry for help, like something was troubling her.
All of class, Miss Whitman did not speak a word; she was like a statue. Something was troubling her, so it would be best for the whole class and her if I left her alone, but I still wanted Natalie to get the material, being the teacher that I was. However, the motherly side took over and I decided that I would just wait after class.
Students would yell out phrases in Spanish, but Miss Whitman was in her own world, those phrases probably could not penetrate the wall that enclosed her. Finally, like a miracle, the bell let out its horrible shrill and the feet of students scurried out of the room. Miss Whitman slowly got up from her seat and stared at me with a strange expression. I could not determine if she was mad at me for the other day, but then a deep breath and she sat back down. Tears began streaming down her face and she turned bright red. In order to respect her privacy, I closed the door and lowered the blinds.
“Ms. Torres…thanks…for the ride, I just wish…” Her meek voice trailed off until deep gasps were all that was audible. Like a statue, I stood there with a look of pity on my face and did not know what else to do. “I’m scared, what happens…if I don’t pass this year?” That thought was absolutely preposterous; Miss Whitman was a wonderful student. A bit eccentric, yes but an excellent student, last time I had her, she passed my class with a full house of A+.
“Natalie… just listen to yourself, if something is bothering you…I’m always here. Listen, I’m not sure what I did to scare you away in freshmen year, but just remember that my door is always open.” With a scowl on her face, she got up and looked at me with those red, bloody eyes. My heart sank a little bit, biting my lower lip and trying to decide if I should confront her with that same question two years ago. Instead I decided to go for a question that would not evoke such a reaction from her. “What’s bother you?”
Sitting back down, Natalie then buried her face into her arms. “It’s my mother; she’s…getting on my back, that’s all.” Mrs. Meredith Whitman…yes I had the pleasure of meeting her once for back to school night. Most likely I’ll be seeing her again this year. A tall, stern, elegant woman whose eyes seemed to want to pierce your soul, with her ebony hair neatly tied in a bun and her power suit, she was rather terrifying. She spoke rather eloquently and always knew what to say. It was as if she could read your mind and prepare an argument before you even had a chance to take in a breath. That was the lawyer attitude, Mrs. Whitman possessed it. The coldness you felt, even when she smiled, you knew that behind that friendly mask laid a cold woman. “I…did horrible on an English paper…she got mad…” When I came to the US, I was fortunate enough to have a grasp on the language that I could pass English. Pretty soon, it became my best subject. However, I could understand why some people would have trouble with it, I just never pictured Miss Whitman have difficulties.
“Don’t worry, in a couple of years, I bet neither of you will remember this incident.” At that, Miss Whitman grimaced a bit and shook her head, letting her long bangs cover her face. In freshmen year, Miss Whitman wasn’t this upset. In fact, she was the opposite; she had a smile from ear to ear, well until the question. Now, there was no smile, there were only tears. Teenage life was hard sometimes. Luckily, I was fortunate enough to have a good high school career, fantastic you might say. I had it all: an A average, voted most likely to succeed, and I was prom queen. Yes, I had a terrific high school career. However, I felt Natalie’s pain; college was a terrible thing for me. It was so horrid; I nearly lost my life because of it. Without warning, Natalie shifted to get up and then stared at me with teary eyes as she slowly walked out of the classroom.
“My mother…never forgets…”With that, she walked out, all alone and going to lunch. Sitting there, I felt terrible. My parents always wanted the best for me, but never to the point of making me cry. However, I made myself cry. In Miss Whitman, I saw myself, trying to be perfect in a world that is not even perfect itself. Sure, you may be given the false impression that one day you will reach the top of the ladder of perfection. The world takes care of giving you the final blow and ultimately you fall down. Depending on the fall, you can end up with an episode of mild depression to a full blow breakdown. In rare cases, you can lose your life at your own hand: suicide.
Feeling chilly after that epic moment, I decided I would get Jennifer and go out for lunch. Grabbing my purse and my overcoat, I quickly scurried over to the office of my new friend. Jennifer turned out to be a genuine nice person, something extremely rare. Keys clacked as Jennifer did who knows what on the computer. Her office was painted a light pastel yellow color, like a baby chick, just hours born. The walls were adorned with pictures that Jennifer, the closet photographer, took on her travels. There was a stunning picture of the World Trade Center; Jennifer told me that on September 9, 2001, a Sunday, she went to see the World Trade Center for the final time and decided to take a picture. I cried a bit when she told me that, it was rather unfortunate. There were other pictures that were a lot happier, like pictures of her Costa Rican vacation one year.
While I stared aimlessly at those pictures, Jennifer chirped that she was ready to go, with a bright smile on her face. Her body was adorned with a fiery red shirt that complimented her light skin and her bright red lips to match her top. Locking the door of her office, she placed a sign “Out of Office” on her door to alert any potential students. With her jacket, we went outside to a rather chilly September day. Hard to imagine that just two weeks ago, it was a sweltering heat. Now, autumn was claiming the earth once again with its rain and chilly breezes. Our heels clicked in unison like a perfect song as Jennifer led me to her car, our destination; somewhere we can get food, most likely the local deli.
Kristi D’s was the place, a nice quiet little deli. The owner was charming and it had good food. Walking in, you were immediately hit with the smell of vinaigrette, a smell I quite enjoyed. After ordering our lunch, we sat down and quickly munch on our lunch: the topic of choice was Natalie Whitman.
“Miss Whitman was crying in my class today, at first I thought it was because I accidentally bumped into her with my car on Friday.” At this comment, Jennifer almost spit out her lemonade and had a look of shock across her face. Making sure she had heard me right, she asked again to which I told her the same answer. “I didn’t see her, she appeared out of nowhere. One minute, she’s not there, the next…I have my bumper on her leg. I took her home, not sure if that was a bad move on my part.” Jennifer shook her head in disbelief and then as I looked down at the sandwich, I realized something and quickly had to run to the bathroom. All the blood rushed to my head and I felt warm in the face. It became hectic, as I grabbed the purse and ran to the bathroom. A worried shriek pierced the cloud of craziness that had surrounded me; it was Jennifer, still at the table. Cursing myself, I could feel the eyes of the few customers of the deli burn into my skin. Damn it, how could I forget? It is times like these that made me feel like an idiot.