Last Dance. David Russell W.Читать онлайн книгу.
was going to be fun.
Bill’s office was the smallest of the three vice-principals, though he had served in his administrative position longer than anyone else, including the principal. There was a theory that anyone who remained a vice-principal for more than six or seven years was pretty much a lifer. In a large city like Vancouver, where there are over twenty high schools, it was likely true. My impression of Bill in my year at the school had confirmed the theory. In a rare moment of serendipity, his office was devoid of students or other staff taking up his time. There was no real reason to put off the conversation. I knocked gently on his open door.
Bill turned away from his computer and looked at me. It was also well known that he knew as much about computers as I knew about physics. “Oh, hey, Win,” he began jovially enough.
A pet peeve of mine is being called “Win” by those I don’t consider to be friends. There’s something about the presumption of informality I find rankling.
“Hey, Bill. Got a minute?” I resisted the urge to call him “Billy” or “Billy-Bob.” This conversation was going to be edgy enough. He looked only mildly distraught at seeing me. Despite my present vocation, few people are happy about sitting down to chat with lawyers, even former ones. But Bill smiled pleasantly and offered me a chair at his little round table. In education, round tables are considered friendlier than sitting across a desk from one another.
“How are things going?” he asked with feigned interest.
“Good. Things are good.” I paused to permit a silence to hang between us long enough to be just this side of uncomfortable. I’ve found in both my careers that a sustained silence often indicates to the other party the gravity of the conversation about to take place. “I need to talk to you about one of my students.”
Bill sighed and tilted back in his chair. His posture took on a fatherly form, no doubt preparing to pass on some kernel of classroom management wisdom. The man loved to dispense kernels. “Having some trouble in class?”
“No,” I responded, making sure to not allow any defensiveness in my tone. “No, the student is fine with me. I’m actually here on his behalf.” The contrived warm smile that had welcomed me only seconds before began to fade, though it did not completely disappear from beneath the eighties-style police mustache he refused to shave.
“Who’s the student?”
I paused until it seemed he was on the edge of repeating the question. “Tim Morgan.”
“Oh, Christ,” he sputtered, grunting as he heaved himself forward from his chair’s tilted position. A few more pronouncements like this one, and I could practically give him a workout. He put his beefy arm on the friendly round table and stared at me without speaking. I decided I would out-pause him and see what happened. His eyeballs finally rolled skyward in disbelief and he let out a tremendous sigh. I suspected that was the most exercise he’d had all day. “So I’m guessing this is about his choice of date for the graduation dance?”
“Yes.”
“And you want him to be able to bring his, what, his boyfriend?” The scorn dripped off his final word.
“To be honest, I really don’t care who he brings to the dance.”
That slowed him down only long enough to clear the anger spittle already forming at the side of his mouth. I wondered if it would get caught in his moustache. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”
It was time to lay out the cards. I sat forward gently, saying, “I care about why he’s not allowed to bring his date.” Only a short pause was necessary before carrying on. “You can’t tell someone that he can’t bring a date because he’s gay.”
“I can’t?” I could sense Bill’s back going up. On the plus side, it was improving his posture.
“No. You can’t. It’s discriminatory.”
“I’m the vice-principal here.”
“I’m aware of your title.” Oops. I had not planned to be snarky or sarcastic. I’d lasted less than two minutes. If Bill’s posture straightened any more, he’d be completely standing.
“Look,” he began, his voice rising slightly.
“I’m sorry. That was sarcastic and uncalled for.” My mother had been reminding me lately of the need for occasional humility. My apology took the wind out of his sails. I’m known for my sarcasm, not my apologies. “I just meant to say that even as vice-principal, there may be limits to the reasons you can deny someone their choice of date to the dance.”
Bill began to slouch slightly in his chair, a good sign. “Look, Win, I have nothing against Tim or his date. I’ve never even met him. But I have three hundred and fifty other grads and their parents to think about.”
“What about them?” I asked innocently.
“If Tim brings his boyfriend to the dance, there could be a lot of upset, uncomfortable people.”
I let that sit for a moment. “So Tim is being denied his choice of grad date because a few people might be uncomfortable?”
“Win, it isn’t always as straightforward as it seems.” I smiled slightly at his choice of words. He seemed to catch the humour, too, and smiled back. “Sometimes I have to make a decision that’s best for the whole school community, not just best for an individual student.” What a load of crap, I thought, but elected not to voice it.
“Bill, this is Tim’s graduation as much as it is anyone else’s. He ought to be able to enjoy it just like everyone else.”
“And he can. He can still come, and there are plenty of kids who come to grad without a date. They still have a great time.”
“Bill, come on. That’s hardly the same thing.”
“I think it is. I’ve been doing this a little longer than you.” This was the point of any conversation with Bill Owen where he turned completely patronizing. I tried to prevent my own eyeballs from rolling skyward. “I’ve been through many of these types of situations, and after awhile you get a feel for them. It may not seem like the right thing to you, but you’ll just have to trust me on this one. I’ve made my decision.” His tone hovered between dismissal and challenge.
“So that’s it?” I asked.
“Win, don’t take it personally. The last thing we need is a bunch of angry parents calling the school, making a big fuss about gay students bringing their gay dates to the dance. I’ve made a decision that’s best for the school.”
“And possibly tortious,” I countered.
“Excuse me?” he said. I sensed my tossing of elementary legal terminology was having the intended effect. You really don’t need to go to law school to make use of a few well-chosen legal words. Pick a Latin phrase most people don’t hear often, and you’re bound to give them a little anxiety.
“If you deprive Tim of the right to attend his graduation, you could be placing yourself and the school in a legally untenable position.”
He sat back up straight again. Two sit-ups in one meeting. He must have been working up a sweat. “I’m not depriving him of the right to attend the dance. He can still attend.” He smiled. Touché.
“You are arbitrarily depriving him of bringing his choice of guest based on discriminatory criteria.” Thrust.
Bill paused again, choosing his words. I was a little flattered. He wasn’t one for pausing and carefully selecting words. He must have felt the challenge. “There is nothing in the B.C. School Act that requires the school to permit students to bring whoever they wish to a dance. I can guarantee you it simply isn’t in there.” Parry.
“The Charter of Rights and Freedoms guarantees protection from discrimination. It supersedes the School Act.”
He looked a little defeated, which with Bill