A Sweaty Guy - Homeless in Hawaii

15.

The day before my first official day at Kapahulu Elementary, I was asked to attend their weekly faculty meeting so that I could be welcomed and introduced to the staff. The meeting ended with my introduction as the new Student Services Coordinator. Many of the staff members came up to me and introduced themselves, but there was one demure teacher who didn't approach me and even seemed to be avoiding eye-contact with me. She looked familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd seen her before.

Along with all the other paperwork that usually goes along with orientation at a new workplace, I received the school’s faculty handbook which included a phone list of all the staff members at Kapahulu Elementary School. On the list was a name that seemed to ring a bell with me, Darlene Wunderlich. Again, I couldn’t place where I knew the name from. I didn’t connect the name with the exotic dancer I’d met 7 or 8 months earlier. I hadn’t even thought about that night since the morning after, when I’d tried to remember what I had done and who this Darlene Wunderlich person was who gave me her phone number. Neither did I connect the familiar name with the familiar face I’d seen at the faculty meeting.

It wasn’t long before I knew that the familiar face belonged to Darlene Wunderlich. Still, I didn’t know where I’d heard the name or seen the face. My job as SSC required me to have a lot of contact with the Special Education teachers and Darlene ’s classroom was situated just below my office on the first floor of the same building. In those first weeks Darlene was always friendly with me, but she never gave me any indication that we had met before. Being attracted to her as I naturally was, and curious because of the nagging feeling that I had met her before, I went out of my way to spend time in her classroom and help her out in any way I could.

I wanted to find time to talk to her, maybe ask her out. The few times we did have time to talk, there were too many other people around for me to move beyond professional friendliness. Once she stopped by my office when no one else was around; she had a question about an administrative matter. I was able to give her the information she needed, then I took the opportunity to ask her a couple questions about herself. Where was she from? What was her ethnicity? I remember her little smile, as if she was humoring an absent-minded old man who was asking questions he should already know the answers to.

A few weeks went by; each day I would make a point of bringing Darlene a cup of coffee. I’d gently flirt with her at school and fantasize about her at night. She didn’t dress as you would expect a teacher to dress. Her job working with children with physical disabilities dictated that she dress for comfort, so it was not remarkable that she wore shorts and t-shirts to school. What was remarkable was the way they fit her body; short shorts and “baby doll” t-shirts. She had an educational assistant (EA) who was a hot little local Asian girl. I recall her with “Juicy” shorts and a tramp stamp, just visible. Frequently she would join Darlene and me in my nightly fantasy.

One Monday in February, the school had its monthly “faculty workday”. This means that the there were no students, but the staff came in to catch up on paperwork, develop curriculum, grade papers and do all the things they don’t normally have a chance to do when the students are around. In some of the classrooms workshops were being held on various topics of interest to elementary school teachers. I spent most of the day in my office, but late in the afternoon, I decided to go to a workshop that I knew Darlene would probably be interested in.

The district had sent a physical therapist to provide a refresher for teachers and their EAs on how to safely transfer students between wheelchairs and the floor or onto a massage table. The students at Kapahulu Elementary School's orthopedic unit sometimes had multiple disabilities and needed to be moved throughout the day for various activities and therapies. I was not likely to ever have to transfer students myself, but the information could be useful to me at some point. Besides, Darlene was there. It was near the end of the day, there were no students to deal with; maybe I could ask her to coffee after the class.

The class had just begun when I arrived and Darlene was already sitting in one of the second grade sized chairs facing a carpeted area in the center of the room where the transfer techniques were being demonstrated. An EA was playing the role of a student, while the instructor demonstrated how to safely move her from a chair to the floor and back into the chair again. The staff was then given the opportunity to practice the technique, working in small groups and taking turns playing the student.

Next, the instructor had a table moved to the demonstration area and asked Darlene to be his "student" while he showed us how to transfer her between a chair and the table. With Darlene on the table in the middle of the classroom, I had a sudden flashback to that night in the strip-club months before. I could see her in my mind’s eye in the blue bikini she wore (briefly) that night. I remembered her revelation that she was a teacher and our long conversation about the DOE. I remembered that after a while she had stopped dancing and we were just talking, though I continued to pass her dollar bills at appropriate intervals.

I finally recalled where I knew her from, and understood why she behaved around me the way she did: avoiding eye contact with me at that first faculty meeting, the way she seemed amused at my questions about her. After I had demonstrated my lack of memory of that first encounter, Darlene had become friendlier toward me. With my memory finally jarred by seeing Darlene up on that table I began to think of how I could delicately confront her about her other vocation and our initial meeting.

After the class, which was on the other side of campus from our building, I walked with Darlene back towards her classroom and my office. When we were far enough away from the other staff members that I would not be overheard, I said to her, "I remember now where I met you." I turned to look at her and saw a smile on her face, though she continued to look straight ahead. I didn't mention where we had met. From her expression, I knew it was understood. Instead, I suggested that we get together and talk about it. Maybe we could go for coffee after work sometime. She said she'd like that, but we didn't set a date.