Pariah
Tripping on the crack in the sidewalk jerked Jonathan's mind back to the here-and-now, as he leapt forward to recover his balance. He felt a few raindrops on his face and became aware once again of the cold, damp air finding its way inside the folds of his coat. The sidewalk glistened with moisture, reflecting the sparse row of street lights running along one side of the road. It was then, when he was forced to look up momentarily from studying his own feet, that he saw the woman walking just ahead of him.
He wasn't sure where she had come from. Probably out of one of the houses behind the tall fences while he had been deep in thought, walking with scant awareness of his surroundings. He hadn't seen her then, but now he stared at her back as she walked briskly along the dimly-lighted street.
She was wearing heels, and he could tell more by their click-click on the pavement than by watching her legs that she was taking quick strides. Despite this, her relatively shorter legs conspired to keep them walking at almost identical speeds.
There was something insistent about the way she walked that told him she was aware of his presence, ten or fifteen metres behind her. She was walking too fast, he decided. At least, faster than one would normally walk, but not as fast as someone running late. She was trying to cover ground as quickly as possible without seeming to be in a hurry. Although she never glanced back, and never gave any other indication of it, he knew that she felt him behind her, here alone on this dark street, and that it made her nervous.
He seemed to have that effect on people, he thought bitterly, giving a wry smile in spite of himself. Wasn't that why he had been transferred? It wasn't as though they had proven anything, or even presented anything passing for evidence. It was simply that since the allegations had surfaced no one was sure any more. He made them nervous. So, he had been transferred from the classroom to a desk job, and Miriam had taken over the grade fives.
He missed his children. Janice with the perpetually runny nose; Catherine who told on everyone; Joseph who listened so intently and read quietly in the corner while the others played. He even missed rambunctious Russell, always trying Jonathan's patience with his hyperactive energy and the kinds of jokes that only an eleven-year-old could find funny.
He wondered if he would ever be allowed to teach again.
He had gone quietly, with that in mind. He had imagined that if he had kicked up a fuss they might have suspended him altogether, or looked upon him less favourably if and when he decided to ask for an end to his purgatory. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do, but now the decision gnawed at him. Perhaps he had done the wrong thing. Perhaps he should have fought them, demanded proof, perhaps even taken them to court, if it had come to that.
Now it was too late for any of that; he had accepted his sentence, at least outwardly. He spent his days seated at a desk doing administrative work instead of what he was trained to do. At least they had let him keep his seniority and pay, but it was a small consolation.
He noticed the woman giving a quick glance back in his direction, probably trying to gauge whether he was a threat, as if you could tell just by looking. She took a couple of short running steps and quickened her gait, trying to outpace him. Jonathan felt the shame that always came with making another person uncomfortable. Checking over his shoulder for traffic, he crossed over to walk on the dark side of the street.
