Disturbing Abigail’s Class

“Let go of me,” Layla shouts. You’ve grasped her by the wrist and are holding on. She tries to tug herself free. All that does is make her clothing jiggle enticingly.

“Not until you tell me the truth. What were you doing going through my things.” Your response is just as loud.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. Let go. Let go.”

All this shouting was bound to disturb someone. The door to the classroom opposite is thrown and Abigail storms out. A scowl dominates her beautiful face. Behind her you see a class straining to look beyond her.

“What’s going on here?” she shouts. For a small woman she has a very commanding voice. “Mr Smith, Miss Coventry, some of us are trying to teach.”

You let go of Layla and she totters on her high heels. Then she collapses to the floor, like a striker in the penalty box. Your instinct is to help. You know that will just make things worse. Abigail helps her instead.

While she’s helping Layla to her feet you speak.”

“I caught Miss Coventry going through my stuff. When I asked what she was doing she came up with some nonsense excuse, and when I challenged her on that, she tried to run.”

“You frightened me,” Layla counters. “I thought you were going to do something inappropriate. I know men like you. You saw him. He threw me to the ground.”

“I let you go.”

“You threw me. You wanted to hurt me.”

“No. I found her in my office, going through my stuff. When I confronted her, she tried to run. I grabbed her. Then you came out, and I let her go.”

“All I saw, was you holding Miss Coventry here, and when I ask what’s happening she falls to the ground. I don’t know whether she was in your office, or not, but she’s not in your office now. She’s in the corridor.”

“Because she tried to run. Come into my office. You’ll see …”

What would she see? Anything incriminating? No. An open rucksack. A mess inside, but so what? None of that proves anything. It’s your word against Layla’s word, and Abigail clearly doesn’t trust you enough to believe either.

You step way. “Ok. Ok. I didn’t do anything here. If you want to believe her, believe her. Just let her go.”

The glare Layla gives you is chilling. But more chilling still is the distrust in Abigail’s eyes. You retreat back to the classroom, away from the gaze of the two women, away from the straining looks of the students in the classroom beyond, feeling pure frustration and abject failure.

How could you have handled this differently, better? You shake your head and return to your office, but you can’t handle homework now. You head home, hoping the familiar environment will allow you to forget the event.