A Teacher's Secret Life

The hardest tests happen outside of the classroom

Elementary school teacher Benjamin Haynes grapples with the aftermath of a breakup while teaching

Don’t make it obvious.

I walk down the familiar purple and white painted hallway, past the seemingly endless student lockers to find the door marked “Mr. Haynes, 5th Grade” on the right. I jam my key into the knob, open the door, and swiftly close it behind me.

The three sets of tall windows illuminate the room. Twenty-five waist-high desks, neatly arranged in pods of five stand before me. We cleared them off two weeks ago, but in half an hour’s time, they’ll be filled with bright, happy faces donning rosy cheeks from the bitter outdoors. My fifth graders will be eager to see me after a well-deserved break.

The class I have this year is my favorite group of students I’ve ever taught. Not that the bar is set high; this is only my second year teaching. These kids are kind, warm-hearted, and welcoming. They’re exactly the type of class every teacher yearns for at the start of a new year.

Will they be able to tell?

Our school has adopted a leadership theme. We model and practice simple actions and principles in our everyday instruction, and teach the kids to take charge of their learning and hold themselves accountable. It’s pretty incredible to watch in action, especially as a new teacher. Since my kids are the oldest in the school, we expect a lot from them.

And yet…despite how I teach these kids to notice their actions and how they affect others (as well as themselves), I’ve been doing exactly the opposite since around the time I met them four months ago.

Hypocrite.

That’s the first word that comes to mind as I take my seat at the large, sleek metal desk at the front of the room. I power the computer on and take a sip from the coffee tumbler I brought with me from home. I hold the piping hot liquid in my mouth for a moment, savoring the silence, and swallow.

But despite the lack of sound in the room, I can’t ignore the war raging inside my head. Flashes from the weekend, so wild and out of control, I should be ashamed of myself for even considering showing my face in a place as esteemed as this.

Not that this is the first time I’ve sat at this desk this year, contemplating my life choices from the days prior. What about that Monday back in September, after the weekend spent in bed from the crippling hangover we’d endured since Saturday morning? I’d shown up and just shaken it all off then, despite knowing this wasn’t the healthiest path.

Everyone has bad nights, I’d told myself. Let it go.

And again in October, I arrived shaken and unsure that Monday of the short week of classes. My heart had been bruised from the difficult conversations he and I’d had over the weekend. I’d left this room the Friday before, so happy and so convinced he was the one. Now…now what?

That had become the familiar pattern between myself and the man I’d met back in August, for whom I ‘d quickly fallen. The dangerous yet gentle and passionate man who’d fled from the abusive hand of a love gone bad. He had become my weekend adventure. On Fridays, I’d leave work to be by his side, stars filling my eyes and love overflowing my heart. On Mondays, I’d reemerge, returning to this classroom and feeling the crash-and-burn from another weekend too wild for the person I (and everyone else) had known myself to be.

October…those weekends had been the start. August and September were fun, but the chill of autumn changed our course. The downward spiral began. After he’d divulged he wanted to start exploring other options for beds to sleep in, I’d thought my world was over. 

Perhaps I should’ve let it be.

Then came the weekend I’d caught him with my friend in the dark basement bathroom. What a shame I had to ruin the lovely wedding reception by running out into the cold night air, screaming in agony. The bride’s mother drove me home, consoling me as I sobbed.

I still showed up the following Monday, ready and determined to make the kids’ lives better. But I was bruised, and though I spoke the words of a confident and determined leader, in my heart I knew it was all for show.

I catch myself thinking back to the past, and will myself to be here, in this moment.

You’re not there right now. You’re here. Be here.

After fumbling around on the computer, searching for my weekly lesson layout I’d typed before break, I realize the coffee still required plenty of time to course its way through my veins. Technology can wait, but the whiteboard is what they’ll notice blank and empty. The last thing I need is twenty-five ten-year-olds saying, “Oh, so we’re not doing anything today,” in unison.

I rise and make my way to the familiar cup of markers on the metal tray of the whiteboard ten steps from my desk. The purple marker in hand, I begin to write out today’s date on the top of the board: Monday, January 4, 2016. 

Without warning and as if from nowhere, tears begin to flow.

Where they come from, I’m not entirely sure. Though a little rattled a few moments ago, I was relatively fine. However, this wave of sadness, dark and all-consuming, has tackled me like a football player coming up from behind, seemingly out of nowhere. I grab the closest student chair and place myself in it. The tears don’t take long to subside, but my breath takes a few moments to return to normal.

This must be what he meant when he said there’d be after-effects.

There certainly weren’t any of these random “feeling attacks” back in November. There was the Monday morning I came to work, ridden with shame and feeling filthy. Just one week prior, we’d hung ribbons around the building preaching the dangers of drugs. Now here I was, hoping my lungs were now clear of the white powder I’d filled them with only the day before.

That should’ve been where I drew the line, but instead, I moved it farther.

Farther ahead, where I found myself lying in bed, holding his hand as he experienced the effects of the pill in the plastic bag he’d bought from the guy at the bar. I stayed up with him most of that night, willing for him to be okay.

Even further I moved it this past weekend. The New Year’s Eve party at the bar promised fun and happy memories. If only they weren’t fogged over by decisions that need not have been made. The plastic bag was back, this time with plenty to go around.

It’s fine, he told me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.

Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me, but it didn’t matter. I’d already hurt myself.

After taking my own helping of party favors, I sat in wonder of what would become of me. What roads had I missed? Which turn should I have taken rather than the one that led me here? What the hell had I allowed myself to become, just to win the hazel-eyed gaze of the man with the messy brown hair?

The eyes and hair that were now seated next to me on the coffee table, feeling every bit of the party that was coursing through my veins as well. Despite the bruises, the tears, the betrayal, all of it, I pulled him close. I put my mouth to his ear and whispered the three words I told myself to save only for the man who truly deserved it.

He gave a small, gentle smile, and for just a moment, I saw that familiar gleam in his eye. The very same gleam I’d seen back on that August night when he pulled me close in the middle of the street, under the light of the only streetlamp around.

The ring of the school bell startles me. Adrenaline floods my veins as I realize it’s showtime. Ready or not, it’s time to once again put on the face of the person I’m supposed to be, but no longer identify as.

I had neglected the light switch on my way in, but now as I open the door, I flip it up. Light floods the room as I leave it, making my way into the hall and to the left. Around the corner I find the exit doors and hear the familiar, playful laughs and cheers of learners, too young and happily naive to know what life would bring their way.

I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply through my nose. The innocence of these kids makes my heart swell.

Don’t let them see it.

My eyes snap open and I push the door open, stepping out into the bitter cold to greet my class.

Benjamin Haynes is an elementary educator living in Phoenix, Arizona. For the past decade, he has had the honor of teaching kids in fourth, fifth, and sixth grade. He enjoys drinking lots of coffee, reading, and going for hikes around the challenging mountains of Arizona. Writing has always been a passion of his, and he has aspirations to channel his experiences into stories that can influence and empower LGBTQI+ individuals to live authentically every day.