Read Online The Age of Cities by Brett Josef Grubisic - Free Book Online

Dickie was waylaid by that impromptu visit with his friends and they’d never arrived at the actual destination. It didn’t matter, Winston thought. The evening had been an adventure all the same.
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    Only after gathering in the staff room did the assembled teachers realize their cramped sanctuary—chock-a-block with two chesterfields of advanced years and an assortment of mismatched chairs, tables, ashtrays, and cups for tea and coffee—would not serve them well. Cameron McKay suggested his classroom with its broad plain of black-topped work stations cluttered with sinks and Bunsen burners. “Plenty of surface area, it’ll do the trick,” he said, already standing up to leave.
    They strode down the empty halls, a gaggle of professional talkers now keen to begin one of their last get-togethers before the summer vacation. Close to Winston, Delilah thanked him once again for being so obliging with her special requests. She spoke quietly: “I don’t mean to impose, and yet that is what I seem to be doing whenever I walk through your door.”
    The Curriculum Committee had been asked to produce a list of recommended books for the new Family Life Education unit that would start up in September. Delilah had explained that the committee needed to act with haste since it had left this matter until so late in the year. She reminded him that he did not have to help them to make a decision, but his expertise with the materials and overview of their merit would be thoroughly welcome.
    Winston could hear McKay’s one-way conversation with dimple-cheeked Mrs. Pratt, the chubby Guidance Counselor whose flat expression and perennial drab woollens belied her happy-go-lucky disposition. Winston turned to see Mr. Westburn talking to his wife Mary and Miss Mittchel. It was plain that the Vice-Principal was telling them a joke; the man lived for them, or so he liked to say whenever Winston stood within earshot. Like whistling and gum chewing, joking was positioned high on Winston’s list of unsavoury characteristics.
    Now McKay was grumbling about woeful parents (“They should be required to get a license”) and the School Board’s passing the buck yet again.
    â€œWho will teach the darned course?,” he asked. “You? Miss Mittchel in Biology? Phys Ed? Ought we to bring someone in?” The enthused voice dragged in Winston and Delilah.
    â€œWe used to have that dour nurse lady from the Canadian Social Hygiene Council come in. Delilah, you remember Mrs. Pitt, don’t you? She was like a Sherman tank or that sour Salvation Army matron who rings her bells in front of Eaton’s over the Christmas holidays. She did fine work, I imagine. No nonsense.” While talking he had scurried ahead of the group and now walked backwards to address them.
    Delilah was agreeable. “I’m sure she did, Cameron. I think the School Board is looking for something more comprehensive and more, well, secular. Perhaps Mrs. Pitt was too admonitory.” As though buffeted by a sudden gust, she patted her blonde hairdo.
    â€œAnd by that you mean?” McKay asked, stock still. He was testy; time and again, he’d explained that two-dollar words made his hackles rise.
    â€œYou know precisely what I mean, Cameron. We have been through this before. It’s not a Sunday school lesson.” Winston recognized her pursed expression: it was all-purpose and he’d seen it manifest when students made atrocious excuses for not handing in homework assignments and in the face of inclement weather. Once, soured milk in the staff room refrigerator had brought it on.
    At the door to the Chemistry classroom she stopped and withdrew a sheet of paper from her file folder. She cleared her throat and addressed the impromptu assembly:
    â€œHere are the words we underlined in the report that the School Board sent to us—
    moral standards
delinquency
social