Alfred, The Classroom Bunny

ALFRED, THE CLASSROOM BUNNY by Devon Pitlor I. A pretty woman in shock On the morning of Friday, May 10th 2002, a babbling West African taxi driver did his best to escort an hysterical young woman past police security and into the emergency section of Corrington County Public Hospital in Valleyview. The woman, screaming wildly and frozen in a paroxysm of terror, had no hands. She flailed her arms before her, curling up the stubs of her blunt wrists, scanning them again and again in disbelief. Attendant physician, Vijay Singh, noted on his initial examination report that the woman was in complete traumatic shock over what Singh characterized as the “recent” loss of her hands. She seemed, he noted, to suffer no pain from the stumps left above her wrist joints, which gave Dr. Singh reason for pause as he noted with some disbelief that the excision, though undoubtedly recent, was perfectly cauterized and that not a drop of

blood was visible on the stumps or anywhere else on the woman’s body. Her hands had been surgically removed with such precision that it was doubtful that any morbid scarring would result at the end of her arms. Dr. Singh, who had removed an entire array of limbs during his nine year career in emergency medicine, had never seen an excision so cleanly executed. Sedated, the woman lapsed into a comatose state and was summarily assigned to a ward bed along with the night’s entry of knife, broken bottle and shotgun wound victims. The on-duty police officer recorded that the cab fare had not been rendered to the Ivorian driver and that the man, almost in as great of grip of shock as his unfortunate passenger, asked only to be allowed to leave. He had simply seen the woman running about screaming near an entry path to Bethany Hill Park in the trendy intown neighborhood of Tower-Town . His civic duty had been to deliver her to hospital emergency, and now, from the officer’s best understanding of the driver’s broken English, his only desire was to drive away and forget

ever seeing a young woman with missing hands. Further investigation revealed that the neatly attired lady carried full identification in her shoulder bag and that she was an elementary school teacher named Andrea Paxton, age 28, single and a resident of a rather plush townhouse above Tower-Town Square, an area rarely visited by central Valleyview’s nightly round of violence. As the woman was unwilling or unable to speak, little other information was gained at the time. II. A blessed event in the making creates a temporary job Welcome pregnancy and the happy anticipation of her first child had at last compelled kindergarten teacher Melody Tarken to call her former University of Montana roommate into Goodfriends Neighborhood Charter Academy to substitute teach for the remaining four weeks of the school year. The entire transfer had been

neatly arranged weeks in advance when Melody had glowingly recommended to her principal that Andrea Paxton, who was recovering from a bad live-in romance, take over her class during the Melody’s maternity leave. Andrea was certified, as required, in early childhood education and by Melody’s account a “caring person” who would nourish the young minds in Melody’s class with commitment and purpose. Melody comforted herself that “her” children had at least been turned over to a friend. This was important to Melody, who, like many elementary school teachers, felt she was on a mission to save and uplift tomorrow’s children. Andrea would finish the good work on these kids that Melody had started, and Melody could go have her baby with a clear conscience. If Melody had even the slightest qualm about the transfer of class, she kept it to herself. And, in fact, she had only one little nagging doubt: Andrea, who had never shown much interest in getting a teaching job after college, had just suddenly become a little more than eager to assume control of Melody’s class.

But Melody credited it to finally wanting to “get her feet wet” in the teaching profession for which she had been trained---this despite the fact that Andrea had literally begged for the $90/day subbing job and, coming from a well-to-do family, had no particular need for the money. But for Melody it was a quick thought and just as quickly dismissed in the glow of oncoming motherhood. III. Andrea takes charge. The class transfer took place on Wednesday, May 8th. Of the twenty-two children in Melody’s class a shocking total of twenty-one parents took the morning off from work or chores to meet the substitute. At Goodfriends, parental involvement was primordial and expected. Andrea, always a charmer, made quick friends with both children and parents during the first day and gave great assurances to even the most solicitous mothers that their privileged offspring would be in excellent educational hands. As it is generally accepted,

kindergarten is the most crucial year in a child’s schooling, and Goodfriends, though boasting a rainbow of ethnicities, was united in its unflagging mission to aliment the minds of its upper middle class children for whom the families held the highest of professional expectations. General assent was that Andrea, graceful and charming, was more than qualified to satisfy this need. Though not written in its name, Goodfriends was a school for gifted children, kids from homes charged with books and computers and where early parental intervention in academic stimulation was pre-assumed. The children of Goodfriends, with only a few of the usual exceptions, issued from the homes of college professors, physicians, technicians, researchers and CEOs of Valleyview’s leading companies and organizations. They were five and six year olds already awakened to the demands of the scholastic world upon arrival at Goodfriends, children who would be tomorrow’s cutting edge, children destined to succeed, children who covered their mouths

when they coughed and were capable of blowing their own noses and finding their own tissue to do it with. All day Wednesday, Andrea and Melody bustled about the school together. Melody introduced Andrea to everyone, including the custodians, and all agreed that Andrea had the kind of spark that characterized an excellent teacher. It had something to do with energy. Something to do with her winning smile, her neat dress, and, yes, a great deal to do with her stunning looks. A couple of male teachers were immediately smitten and told Melody so in private. Schools often become spousal hunting grounds among young teachers, and Andrea assuredly was fair game. However, toward these men, Andrea showed little interest. IV. Alfred, the classroom bunny What Andrea did show sudden interest in near the end of the day, when the last child had been hugged and packed off home, was

Alfred, the classroom bunny. Alfred, a floppy Angora, like most classroom bunnies, lived in a cushy cage under a table at the front of the kindergarten classroom. And like most classroom bunnies, Alfred was sleek, overfed and seemingly content. Classroom bunnies, not being called on to perform any sort of tricks, are endearing by just being there, by being fluffy and harmless, by eating from any child’s hand at any time, by staying in the room all night and being there all ready to be petted and caressed the next morning. Alfred seduced by his essential harmlessness. In a rough world, Alfred was a block of fuzzy security, an island onto himself symbolic of childhood’s innocent tranquility. Melody Tarken, who noticed many things--including the fact that her children took right away to Andrea---paused to wonder briefly why her old college roommate was so delighted by the rabbit, who, after all, was a common if not expected feature in many elementary classrooms. She and Andrea had kept tropical fish in their college dorm room,

and it was, Melody remembered passingly, Andrea who had let them die over one semester break. It was Andrea who had casually tossed them into the trash. V. Andrea alone On Thursday, May 9th, Andrea took the class on her own and began the routine process of reinforcing all the skills that Melody had labored all year to instill. Many of the children were now six year olds, and first grade loomed in their future like the next gigantic step toward an ultimate life of brilliant achievement. And Andrea duly noted their evident intelligence. In so many way, very little actual teaching was required, just stimulation and the essential TLC that kindergarten must provide. Read aloud story time was scheduled each day at eleven AM right before lunch and nap. Andrea assembled the class on the reading rug at the front of the classroom where they eagerly awaited the next chapter of Dion the

Dopey Dinosaur. But Dion’s next adventure remained closed and unexplored in the book on the table. Instead, Andrea was going to teach something further about numbers and something new about….the regional lottery. Like all bright children, Andrea’s class was primed and eager for anything new. A little nose blowing and hugging, and Andrea was ready to start. VI. The state and regional lottery After a record of twelve weeks of winnerless rollover, the weekly six number, five state lotto game prize had risen to an astounding one hundred million dollars for the coming Saturday drawing. It was touted across the country as the highest jackpot in lotto history. The lines at gas stations and convenience stores in some locations spilled from the counters into the streets, as the hopeful queued in huge numbers to buy a chance at the elusive dream of sudden wealth. Andrea did not explain this to the children.

What she talked about was the lottery itself and the magical number six. She produced a handful of playslips from her shoulder bag and passed one out to each child to hold and feel. Then she carefully collected each slip and replaced it in her bag. Over and over again, she spelled the word lottery for the children and even sang a little song about it--a song which the children, now growing somewhat restless, could not totally follow. “Lottery…lottery…lottery,” she sang. “ The five state lottery…because, boys and girls, you are living in Valleyview in one of the states that has it.” Jennifer yawned. Keenan asked to go pee. Rafael giggled and said “lottery… lottery” under his breath. Alisha tried to get up and dance to the somewhat fractured lottery tune. And Scotty, always a bit cheeky, told Ms. Paxton that “Everyone knows we’re in Valleyview.” Andrea, obsessed, did not seem to notice the impertinence. Lunch and naptime came and went. Near the end of the day, Andrea reminded the whole class again about this thing called lottery.

They didn’t seem to care. The five state lottery had been a poor substitute for Dion the Dopey Dinosaur. VII. History This had all been a part of a chancy plan that Andrea Paxton had formulated in her fantasies some weeks before. In fact, she had thought of the scheme on the very day that her father, the owner of a plastics manufacturing firm, had been arrested for embezzlement and stock fraud. Her family fortune would, she knew, be depleted, and she faced the grim prospect of going to work in the drab education business which she so dreaded. In effect, Andrea had little use for children and had even successfully managed to rid herself of one in the past before it became “real” and entered the daylight of life. It was in the central computer room of her father’s assembly shop that the idea had first taken form, and it had been inspired by a

person that up until that moment Andrea had always considered to be the most boring man on Earth: Harrison Doyle, chief technician of Paxton Plastics, “computer guy,” nerd, or whatever they were commonly called. Doyle had spotted Andrea drifting about by the main server and had tried as usual to make conversation, something he was very bad at. He asked Andrea if she was interested in computers, to which she had summarily replied “No,” and rambled on to tell her that the seven units currently in operation could easily be replaced with one small server, “as big as a small television box.” Then he lapsed into his usual tech-talk rhapsody. “Technology moves faster,” Harrison said, “than anyone can imagine.” Blandly, he continued that “We can’t even imagine today what the next day holds.” Harrison, a thin sallow man with an uneven goatee and a pocket full of breath mints, liked technology and liked to make banal pronouncements of this kind as often as possible. He had been single for as long as Andrea could remember, and it was clear that his interests did not

intersect with those of the females he accidentally encountered. His love of technology and its wonders would continue to bore most people, even in the face of the firm’s financial ruin, of which he was no doubt blithely unaware. But today his flat patter sparked a sort of nascent interest in the distressed young woman who feared the imminent end of her accustomed lifestyle. Fantasy overtook her nervous brain, and a plan was hatched. VIII. The plan And so the scheme unfolded. On the morning of Friday, May 10th, a little more than thirty hours before the big lotto drawing, Andrea Paxton, substitute kindergarten teacher, assembled her class of bright charges on the reading rug at the front of the classroom. Dramatically, she pulled a large hypodermic syringe from her shoulder pack and waved it before the amazed eyes of the children sitting cross-legged before her. She had filled the syringe with a triple dose of insulin stolen

from her diabetic mother’s medicine chest. The children had no idea of what insulin was, so Andrea called it “poison.” “It will kill you or anything else,” she began. “But today we are going to kill Alfred.” The children gasped. One might as well have said “kill Ms. Melody or Mr. Sholtz, the lovable janitor.” The children to a one adored Alfred beyond all bounds and measure, and now their new teacher was threatening to kill him. A horrified hush filled the classroom. Stifled cries and sniffles broke out. The children watched in uncomprehending horror as Ms. Paxton ripped the gentle bunny from his cage and flung him face down on the table. “Your rabbit is going to die right now,” she muttered in a pitiless voice filled with intentional malice. “Right now. I am going to stick him with this poison, and he will die.” Several children began openly sobbing. “Shut up,” Andrea snapped, “and watch and

listen.” She brandished the needle and its poison before their eyes. “You all said the date with me this morning as we always do. Today is Friday, May 10th 2002. Do you hear?” She repeated the date three more times then grew less threatening and smiled almost pleasantly. “You see, boys and girls, you are some of the brightest and luckiest children in the world. You have great futures…astounding destinies…awaiting you, and (summarizing Harrison Doyle’s little aphorism) you are growing up into a world where technology…science….is moving faster than anyone can imagine. You will see incredible things in your lives, astonishing, surprising things, and one of them will be people visiting yesterday, going backward in time, maybe changing what happened before. Do you understand? Time travel. Dino did it in your stupid book, and someday you will live in a world where everyone can do it. If you want to save Alfred’s life, you’ll need to come back and tell me those six magic numbers for the lottery this very morning before I kill Alfred. I’ll be in this room, like I

was today, starting at 6:30, sitting at my desk waiting. Come back, one of you, and tell me those numbers, and Alfred lives.” With that, Andrea lifted Alfred by the scruff of the neck and plunged the syringe into his side. With a shudder the rabbit convulsed and died immediately. Andrea flipped its motionless corpse over on the table as if to prove its death. The children screamed. IX. Conclusion And one did return, a little Chinese-American boy who had sat quietly all year near the corner of the room. His name was Tanzie, and when he returned it was Robert, and Robert was old. Lines of worry and stress from an uncharted lifetime in the unknown future creased his face, and he carried with him the technology of his times, something small and concealed which couldn’t possibly have even had a name in 2002. And three times Robert put this thing to use without saying a word. Three times. And then he was

gone. Andrea Paxton, substitute teacher, came out of her psychotic coma twenty-six hours later. She searched for her still missing hands and, not finding them, immediately relapsed into an even deeper traumatic stupor. She lay half-asleep mumbling for another hour or two until a caring Indonesian nursing assistant was assigned to undress and bathe the patient, who had lain so far in her original clothes. Upon removing Andrea’s neat blue business suit, the assistant was horrified to see the name Alfred tattooed in red across her back. Under the name were six numbers about which Ketsia, the assistant, knew nothing. And it was a full week later in the psychiatric ward that a police investigator stumbled onto the fact that these were indeed the six winning lottery numbers from the big drawing which had taken place the Saturday before. There had been a huge jackpot, and like so many others, the detective had played and lost. Once again, there had been no winners.

_____________________________. Devon Pitlor -- July, 2009