"Ha ha ha!" Mason laughed. "Is that really your Dad?"
"Ha!" Jordan laughed. "Yeah, it is!"
"Holy cow! He was skinny!"
"What are you boys looking at?" Scott asked as he walked into the garage.
"We found your old yearbook," Mason answered. "You used to be thin!"
"Thanks," Scott smirked. "Where did you find that old thing?"
"It was wedged behind some old newspapers & magazines on the shelf." Jordan answered.
"Hand it over to me," Scott said. He took it in his hands as he held it. Jackson High School, home of the Beavers. Class of 1999. It had been at least twenty years since he had looked through his senior year book.
"You boys continue working on cleaning this garage," He said to the boys. "I'm gonna go take a look at this thing."
Scott walked back into the house & sat down on the sofa. He began to thumb through the pages. Memories flooded his mind as he found himself overcome with emotion. Pretty girls he had forgotten he had once had crushes on. Friends he thought were lifelong that he hadn't spoke to in over a decade. The class jerks he was glad he'd never see again. He laughed hard when he saw a photo of the class skit they had done for homecoming. He gleamed with pride when he saw the track photo of him and the other three members of the conference and district 4x4 relay team that took second in the state of Alabama. It felt good to look through the yearbook, until he came to page 37.
Suddenly a sense of guilt and remorse hit him like a solid right hook to the body as if it were delivered by Marvelous Marvin Hagler. He choked for air as his eyes swelled up & a pain tingled throughout his whole body. Page 37 was the school staff and there the picture stood out as clear as day. Mr. Lanny Stockart, Chemistry.
42 year old Scott Wulff was suddenly 18 again.
Scott had never been that good at Chemistry. He appreciated science and found it interesting, but it might as well have been a foreign language once math was added to it. He needed the class to graduate and he needed to pass in order to be eligible for the track team. Track was his life at the time. Nothing deemed more important.
Upon his first test, he slumped in his chair starring at the 27% F that seemed to only grow a brighter shade of red the more he looked at it. Mr. Stockart, who walked with a limp and had a difficult time turning around tapped on the chalk board to get everyone's attention.
"I realize some of you may not be happy with your test results," He said. "Realize this is only the first test. We'll have other test, as well as projects and assignments to get your grade up."
Scott got up to leave for his next class as he noticed Mr. Stockart looking at him. Not casually glancing at him but starring at him as if he were the only kid in the Chemistry room.
"Mr. Wulff," He said to Scott.
"Mr. Stockart," Scott said in return.
"Got your first big race on Friday night at Allman?" Mr. Stockart took off his glasses that seemed to have lenses that were two inches thick. He cleaned them with a tissue.
"Yeah, if I can even run," Scott answered. "I cannot believe how poorly I did on this test."
"What's the issue?" Mr. Stockart asked.
"I don't know." Scott answered. "I swear to you I'm paying attention. I'm taking notes. I'm reading the material. I'm studying it. I'm not bullshi....crapping you Mr. Stockart."
"I know you aren't," Mr. Stockart continued cleaning his glasses.
"I just don't get it. I don't know if I can get it. This is material that is above my head."
"Nonsense," Mr. Stockart put his glasses on. "You are correct that there is a problem. Where you fail, is to see that there is a solution."
"What is the solution?" Scott asked.
"Tell me something Mr. Wulff. Do you only go to track practice and call it good?"
"You mean like going to practice and giving it my all rather than just showing up?"
"Yes, but I also mean that you do much more to be good at track than just work hard at practice. I see you in the weight room lifting weights. I see you running out on your own time. You know it takes more to be good at track. Chemistry is no different."
"What do you suggest?"
"I can get here an hour earlier in the morning if you can. That way you don't have to miss track practice and we can get it done and over with so you can concentrate on other things. Deal?"
"Deal."
For the next three weeks Scott met with Mr. Stockart every morning in the Chemistry room. They would go over concepts and equations again and again. Scott wasn't sure if he understood Chemistry any better than he had, but what he did know is that he was putting in the effort.
Come the next test, Scott waited anxiously as Mr. Stockart handed them back to see how everyone did. As he waddled up to Scott's desk he gave Scott a stern look. Scott held his breath as Mr. Stockart laid it down on his desk. 79% C+. Scott held the paper in his hand. Mr. Stockart winked.
"I told you when there's a problem, there's a solution." Mr. Stockart smiled. "I think you're better than a C+ too."
The conference track meet was that weekend, held at Jackson High. The 4x4 Relay team that consisted of Scott, Chase Adams, Noah Wehr & Luke Knowler not only won the event but did so in record time. Among the Beaver fans who cheered from the stands, hunched over leaning up against the chain link fence was Mr. Stockart. As skinny as he was and as off balance as he always seemed to be, Scott thought the wind might pick him up and carry him away. He stood firm though, clapping as he watched the team celebrate their victory.
The next Chemistry test came back and this time it was a 85%, a B. A grade Scott never thought that he'd see on anything that had anything to do with Chemistry. Things were going great for him. He was doing well in school. Track couldn't be going any better than what it was and both Auburn and Troy State had already sent scouts wanting to talk to him about running in college. Life was good for Scott Wulff.
That all changed on a Monday afternoon.
Both the boy's and the girl's track team had missed Chemistry on Friday, because they had to leave school early for the district meet that was held in Montgomery two hours away. In order to make up what they had missed on Friday, Mr. Stockart had them watch a video in the back of the classroom, while the other kids who had not missed class worked on a lab.
With Mr. Stockart distracted up at the front of the room, Luke Knowler pulled out a video from under his shirt.
"What is that?" Chase asked him.
"Just shut up," Luke snapped at him. He then took out the video they were supposed to be watching and put in his video.
When he pushed play, it was obviously the kind of video it was. A pornographic film.
"Dude, turn that shit off," Scott snapped his fingers at Luke.
"Will you relax?" Luke fired back. "Stockart can't hear it all the way up there. He's so damn slow he couldn't make it back here in time anyway."
"Probably the first time Scott's ever seen a pair of those anyway," Michelle Banks laughed.
Luke laughed as the others laughed along with him.
"Better not make him mad or he might go and tell on us." Chase put his arm around Scott. It wasn't meant as an insult but simply a gesture to suggest that Scott take it easy and not get so wound up.
"Ok, Ok." Scott said. "I'm sorry. All right."
Scott knew that what he was doing was wrong but the peer pressure was too much for him to resist. These were his track teammates. The ones that he had worked so hard with day in and day out to win both the conference and district team titles. Michelle Banks was the most popular and the best looking girl in his class. These weren't people he wanted to upset. These weren't people he wanted to look weak in front of.
The fun lasted for two more days. Luke kept bringing the video to school and they kept finding reasons to go to the back of the room to watch it. With the TV turned away from Mr. Stockart, there was no way he was going to see it.
"Oh! Oh!" Suddenly the screams of a woman claim blaring from the T.V.
"Chase you idiot!" Luke yelled.
While messing around with the remote control trying to rewind a part that he had wanted to see again, Chase had accidently turned the volume up as high as it would go.
"What's going on back there?" Mr. Stockart asked.
"Sorry Mr. Stockart, " Luke said. "I just got mad at Chase. That's all."
"What was that screaming noise?" Mr. Stockart asked.
"Oh that was me, " Michelle answered.
"It didn't sound like you at all."
"It was," Michelle continued to lie. "I hit my knee on the table."
Mr. Stockart had been a high school chemistry teacher for 10 years. He had a degree from the University of Alabama. There's no way that a pretty little face from Jackson High was going to fool him with what anyone could tell was pure manure.
It took him a good two minutes, but he waddled back to where a good third of his students were. He studied the area around him. Scott prayed that he would not go towards the TV that thankfully Chase had managed to shut off. Mr. Stockart looked about the room, trying to figure out the actuality of the situation. It seemed as if he wasn't going to find out and as if he were going to give up. That's when he noticed the chemistry video tape, the one that was supposed to be in the VCR lying on the the counter.
That's when Scott knew the gig was up. He knew what Mr. Stockart was going to do. He was going to walk over to the TV, push the eject button on the VCR and discover the porno. All Scott could do was picture how much trouble he was going to get it. How disappointed his parents would be in him. How this might cost them the opportunity to compete at the state championships in two weeks. What other consequences could await? All Scott could do was wait.
Mr. Stockart held the video tape in his hand. He held it like it were a dead puppy or a dead kitten. Scott hated seeing the look of anguish and disappointment on Mr. Stockart's face. Knowing that a man who had done so much for him, he had let down.
"Anyone who was a part of this," Mr. Stockart said as he squeezed the VHS in his hands, "Stay after class. I'll write you a pass to your next class."
The bell rang as Scott, Luke, Chase, Noah and Michelle sat quietly at their desk, while the rest of the class got up and left.
"This type of behavior is an automatic suspension from school and an F for the course," Mr. Stockart said.
"You can't do that to us!" Luke yelled. "We have state coming up!"
"Yeah," Michelle shrieked. "If I fail Chemistry, I won't graduate. None of us will. We'll have to all take summer school or repeat the semester next year."
"It's not my personal decision," Mr. Stockart said. "It's school policy. Written clearly in your student handbook. If I report this to the principal these will be the actions took."
They all sat in their desk, as if prisoners awaiting execution. A silence so loud that they could hear their own hearts beat.
"Wait...wait...wait..." Chase held up his hand. "You said 'if' you tell the principal. 'If'....does this mean you might not?"
"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," Mr. Stockart answered. "You guys put me in a horrible situation. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You are better than this."
Scott knew Mr. Stockart was addressing all of them, but he couldn't help but feel singled out. As if Mr. Stockart were talking to him and only him.
They knew that there was no trying to persuade Mr. Stockart into his decision. He was going to do what he was going to do and that was it. All they could do was sit it out until he had. They got up out of their desk and headed to their next class.
"Mr. Wulff..." Scott heard the faint sound of Mr. Stockart's voice. He turned around.
"Yeah?" Scott responded.
"Did you know about this?" He asked.
"It wasn't mine," Scott answered. "I didn't bring it in."
"I already know that," Mr. Stockart answered. "but you watched it the past couple of days and you were a part of it."
"Yes sir," Scott said. "Yes, I was."
Nothing more was said as Scott went to class. That night track practice was a blur. It went by quickly and he soon found himself at home. Luckily both his mom and dad had to work late that night, so he didn't even have to see them before he went to bed. That night he dreamed of Mr. Stockart and the other kids. The dream had nothing to do with track. It had nothing to do with chemistry and it sure didn't have anything to do with the stupid porno film that they had watched. Instead it was Mr. Stockart moving about as freely as were the rest of them. Him running and jumping. No hump in his back, no slouch. He didn't limp or waddle. He didn't have to lean up against anything for support. He was like the rest of them, not one physical ailment.
The next day in Chemistry, Mr. Stockart stood in front of the entire class holding the video in his hands. It wasn't labeled, so only those who knew what it was, had any idea that it was a porno. To the rest of the kids in the class, it was just a black video tape. They had no idea what was on it.
Mr. Stockart laid the video down on the table and then put on a pair of thick rubber gloves as he put on a pair of goggles. Already in a protective jacket, he reached down on the floor and picked up a container of liquid. He put the container on the table.
"This is dichloromethane," He said as he picked up the VHS tape. "Also known as methylene chloride. It can dissolve many types of plastics. Like the plastics that make up this video tape."
He put the VHS tape into the solution as they all watched it eat away at that tape.
"Dichloromethane is a very powerful substance, " Mr. Stockart said. "You don't want to breathe it in or get it in your eyes or on your skin. As you can tell by looking at what used to be a VHS tape, it makes short work out of what it touches."
He destroyed the tape. That was a good thing. After all he hadn't told the principal yet. He couldn't have. There's no way that this much time would have gone by without them getting in trouble if the principal had known. If Mr. Stockart had decided to tell the principal, why would he have destroyed the evidence? He wouldn't have. It was clear to Scott that Mr. Stockart wasn't going to turn them in.
"Thank you, " Chase spoke for all of them as they had another quick meeting before their next class. They were all indebted to Mr. Stockart.
"Your thank you means nothing to me," Mr. Stockart spoke slowly and deliberately. "What I want from you is to realize you were given a second chance. To make the most out of this second chance and to do good with your lives. Make better decisions."
They all agreed to Mr. Stockart's deal, but Scott felt that he might be the only one who actually meant it.
What a relief it was. They were going to get to compete in the state championships, they were all going to graduation and they were all going to go on to college. Mr. Stockart was right. This could have all ended horribly for them and they would have had no one to blame but themselves. Instead he gave them a second shot and who was he but to do anything with that second shot other than what Mr. Stockart had asked of him?
They ran at the state meet and being handed a huge silver trophy that read Alabama High School State championships, state runner-ups was the greatest feeling Scott had ever felt in his life. A feeling so great that he knew as he felt it, he might never feel a feeling as good ever again. Mr. Stockart could have taken that feeling away from him. Could have robbed him of what was up to that point the greatest moment of his life. Instead he decided not to. He decided to let Scott and the other guys have their moment of glory.
The weeks went by and soon it was time to graduate. Scott had taken his final Chemistry test and some how or another managed an A. A grade of B overall. A 3.2 GPA, headed to Troy State on a partial track scholarship. His senior year was almost over, only three days left of what had turned out to be a near perfect year.
"Attention students," the announcements came over the loudspeaker as they sat eating lunch in the cafeteria. "Would Luke Knowler, Chase Adams, Michelle Banks, Noah Wehr, Scott Wulff & Mr. Stockart please come to the principal's office."
They never did find out who ratted them out. It had to be someone in the Chemistry class room or maybe it had been one of the custodians. Scott didn't know. He didn't think Luke had left the video in the room, but maybe he had. They had thought they were going to get away with this, in fact, they thought they already had. Now the five of them, along with Mr. Stockart sat in the Principal's room.
Not much was said to the students. Most of what the principal had to say was directed at Mr. Stockart. Scott wondered what all he was feeling. Perhaps ashamed? He never hung his head. Perhaps regret? Maybe anger towards them? He didn't glare. He just sat there looking the principal in the eye as he was chastised and ridiculed for his decisions.
"Please," Mr. Stockart said once the principal had finished. "They all graduate in two days. Let them have their diplomas. One mistake shouldn't cost them so much."
The principal folded his arms and took a deep breath.
"All five of you are very lucky." He said. "I should take that state trophy and throw it in the trash. That's what I should do. I should make all of you go to summer school or redo the semester. I won't though. Get out of my sight now. I don't care to look at any of you."
Once again they all thought it was over as they left the office. It was close to over, there was only one more part to be played.
The next morning there was an assembly held. The entire school gathered in the gym as the Principal made his way up to the podium.
"We have gathered here because we have some recent happenings we want all of you to be aware of."
Scott sat in the bleachers wondering if he and the other students would be ousted for watching the porno film. Be humiliated in front of the whole school.
Instead Mr. Stockart came walking from a dark hallway out into the light. As he walked towards the podium he seemed weaker. More fragile. Brittle and frail. He trembled as he put the microphone closer to his face.
"Students of Jackson High," A man who had always spoken with such diction, struggled to get the words out. "I have been teaching here for over a decade. I want you all to know how much I have enjoyed educating you. Teaching you. That you too have educated and taught me. I value all of you. With that said, I also want you to know that I recently made a decision that was not in your best interest. I owe you all an apology. As a result I have decided to resign from my position as a Chemistry teacher. I wish nothing but the very best life has to offer."
He walked back to the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness. Maybe the wind really did come along and carry him away. That's all Scott could figure. No one ever knew what happened to him. All they knew was that he had packed up and left town. His house was put up for sale and not even the realtor working it had any idea where he had went. The summer came and gone and they were all at different colleges continuing the courses of their lives.
Scott tried to look Mr. Stockart multiple times throughout his college years. Internet searches, he couldn't find anything under Lanny Stockart. He asked around, discovering he was originally from Mississippi. A three hour drive one day, people in the small little community of Dry Water remembered him, but hadn't seen him in many years. Scott was always hoping that he'd pop up again someday. Somehow even though Scott knew it wasn't possible under the circumstances, as a teacher somewhere.
Upon graduating and life hitting him with 1,000,000 other things, Mr. Stockart got placed in the area of Scott's brain that collected other forgotten thoughts. It wasn't until he saw Mr. Stockart's photo on page 37 of the yearbook that he remembered everything that had happened. How he wished somehow he could find Mr. Stockart. How he wished there was a way to locate him. Was he even still alive? He would have been in his 50's back then, so he'd be at least 70 something now if not close to 80.
Scott had never gotten the chance to tell Mr. Stockart how sorry he was for what had happened. That if he could go back in time, he would have turned himself in right away. How he would have sacrificed one of his most glorifying moments, if he knew it meant Mr. Stockart would have gotten to have kept his job. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted the opportunity to thank Mr. Stockart. There's so much he wanted to say to the man, but the man was no where to be found. Scott knew that as he sat down at the computer, but he searched the internet for hours anyway.
Mr. Stockart had said that all problems have solutions. That was something he instilled into Scott's mind and even though he didn't always remember where it had originated from, it was a philosophy he lived be. A problem would come up and even if it looked like there was no way of dealing with it, Scott knew it had a solution.
Yet what was the solution here? Scott hadn't seen Mr. Stockart in 25 years. All attempts to try and find him during his college years turned up nothing. The attempts to try and find him now, same result. God if there were a solution, what was it? What was it Mr. Stockart? What was it?
