You’re in… The Listening Room, a podcast series by The FLARE Substack. I’m Chevanne, the voice behind both.
This next presentation is of my first proper short story, written over three days with no outline and no plan. It was the first time I knew writing could be so thrilling and stressful. There was a small bowl of gummi bears and aperitif glass of vermouth to spur me on.
In “No Way Home”, we meet Martin LaSalle, who takes a journey into depths which he may not be able to escape.
1.
Streams of sweat coursed down his neck. The trailer was dark as Martin crouched next to a broken window to see who had approached. Alonzo groaned in the next room. He’d received the beating of his life and was still down.
Men exited their cars with guns on their hips and assault rifles strapped across their chests. The trailer was silent as both sides stood still, listening. From an unseen corner, a bullet pierced the trailer and startled Martin. He fell back, knocking over a kettle on the stove. He desperately grasped at it, muffling the sound as it clanged against the floor.
Martin cursed under his breath, clamped his eyes shut, and waited.
Martin sat alone at the kitchen table staring into his tea. The amber water pulsed with the beat of an upstairs disturbance.
They’re so fucking loud, he thought, it’s 6:30 in the morning. He finished his tea and rose quickly to grab his bag and head out. The train ride was brief, at least to him. One transfer and he was at campus.
The six-story building used to be owned by Queens County but was sold for pennies on the dollar to charter schools. Since the city refused to negotiate with teachers or stop making children fight for resources decided by test scores, they farmed out the job of public education to private companies. Sure, the new schools looked good on paper, but the owners were not educators. Lesson plans weren’t much more than flashy brochures in the mailbox promising quality education to parents with little other choice.
Taking two steps at a time up to the main office, he was early as usual. He waved to the secretary and retrieved his mail. Circular, discount offer, letter from the union… letter from the union! Martin tore open the envelope and unfolded a single piece of paper to disappointingly skim a series of platitudes.
“We regret to inform you that your current employment as a charter school instructor makes you ineligible for union protections under our bylaws. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.”
“Fuck,” Martin said with a sigh.
He crumbled up the letter and tossed it in the nearest bin.
“Hey Mr. LaSalle!” shouted a chipper student on their way to class.
Martin threw the kid a pained smile and kept walking. When he got to his empty classroom, he closed the door and sighed deeply before slumping down into his stiff office chair.
“There has got to be something better than this.”
“Okay, kids. Let’s go through this again. When you are conjugating the verb, you must pay attention to the object of the action. Rashad! Now I know you’re not sleeping right now.”
The boy’s head shot up and he quickly scanned the textbook on his desk. He rubbed the crust off the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Martin with glossy eyes. “I’m good. Sorry.”
“Homie, pull yourself together,” a boy at the back of the class said. Laughter rose through the class.
“Don’t worry about him, worry about yourself,” Cariann said. Rashad looked over at her and nodded gratefully. A few gleeful and surprised cheers erupted.
“Alright, settle down. Let’s look at the example on page 47.” Martin looked in Rashad’s direction to make sure he was following the lesson before continuing. “Julissa, please read the first paragraph.”
Over the years, he had gotten good at his job. There was a flow and ease to his teaching that made him well liked. Martin was easygoing and knew a battle of wills wouldn’t work with these kids, who’d rather fight back and risk suspension than allow themselves to be reprimanded in front of their peers. Sometimes compliance took a bit of coaxing.
After class was dismissed, Rashad stayed behind. “You know I don’t do you like that, Mr. LaSalle, I just been working late.”
“I know. It’s hard. But this is important too. Go to the nurse’s office. Sleep it off there. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow sometime.”
“I will. I’ll see you at the Spirit Week assembly Friday, though. Can’t miss it.”
“That’s good, Rashad, I’m glad.” He dismissed the boy and found himself alone once more and exhausted in his cramped classroom. The dream was all but dead. His job required him to play so many roles. Babysitter, counselor, peacemaker, role model… imagine one person sliced into so many parts. How could anyone shoulder the weight of so much responsibility?
Martin had a free period next. He was lucky to have one right at lunch time. Then again, he was lucky to be there at all. His old public school had cut foreign language classes so he was laid off three years ago. He’d briefly weighed other options before striking out and finding a job at Baylor Charter School. He often felt guilty for being so critical. His old work buddies had not been as lucky. One moved to Georgia and got a job in a packaging factory. One had eased himself into a bottle of liquor and never managed to climb back out. Another suffered a string of financial issues before losing contact with everyone in their social circle.
It was more than the bureaucracy; it was the loss of purpose that drove each man in a separate direction. Rediscovering that commitment to purpose with a chance at Baylor got Martin clean-shaven and on the mend. It had kept him from his own lows.
Martin was determined to be more grateful. Then he opened up his backpack and took out his sandwich and fruit.
“Heeeey Mr. LaSalle…!” Cariann called out from down the hall. The stretch of hallway had no doorways, so Martin could not duck out of her way. Cariann took far too familiar a tone with him. She made him uneasy.
“I got a question,” she said, gum popping in her mouth.
“Miss Lail, I do not have office hours today. You can see me before class tomorrow,” Martin said. He didn’t break his stride and turned toward the exit when she called out again.
“I know someone who could hook you up, make you some money.” He paused at the door and cocked his head around, shocked she’d make such a proposal.
Cariann came slowly down the stairs. “My cousin does some side work. Pays more than what you makin’, for sure.”
She smiled widely, almost daring him to respond. Martin turned toward the door and pushed it open.
“How was it today, babe?” Lena said.
“Fine, fine. Same ole,” Martin said.
“Well, I have news!” She wrapped her arms around Martin’s neck and kissed him sweetly. “I have a meeting with my publisher tomorrow. I think they’ll take my children’s book!”
“Nice. Proud of you, babe,” Martin said with little emotion.
“Thanks hun! Nothings certain yet though.” Then she cocked her head to the side. “What’s up? Something on your mind?”
“Caught Rashad sleeping in class again. Says he was working late.”
“Wow, a boy that young is already hustlin’?”
“I just want to see him do well and I think he can. He just gets pulled in a lot of directions. It’s hard for him to stay focused.” Martin took off his jacket and settled in at the table.
Lena slid into the chair across from him. “You’re not there to rescue them, you know. Do your best, but you don’t get extra for that. It's still a job.”
Martin reached out and grabbed a nickel from the odds and ends bowl on the table. He played with the coin silently, deep in thought. He spun it and watched the gray blur go round and round, before slamming his palm onto it.
“Any word from the union yet? It’s been like a month already,” Lena asked.
Martin sighed. “Yup! They won’t represent me. So this next cycle, I have to renegotiate a contract on my own. They can offer whatever they want and ask me to take it or leave it.”
“Damn,” Lena said. “I think we expected this, though. We had to try.” Martin gave her a disheartened look and half smile.
Lena stood up to get the dinner plates. “You really have to rock that negotiation, then. We can’t afford for you to make less. I’m not trying to grow old in this apartment.”
“I’ll make it work. Don’t worry.”
Just as Martin was setting up for his first period class, Cariann swooped in.
“Morniiiiing,” she said.
“Miss Lail, how can I help you?”
“Remember my cousin I told you about? He wants to talk to you. I said you were a good guy everybody liked. You would be a good fit.”
“I appreciate you thinking about me, Miss Lail, but I’m satisfied with the job I have.”
“Really? I got friends in your neighborhood. You don’t look like you’re about that life,” Cariann said. She chuckled as she sat down on the corner of his desk.
“Miss Lail, please stand up. No sitting on my desk, you know that.”
She held up her hands in surrender and drifted toward an empty desk in the front row. “It pays, Mr. LaSalle. A lot. You can’t work like this forever.” Her eyes stayed fixed on his for a long moment. Another dare.
“Take your seat, Miss Lail.”
More students streamed in as the day began. Rashad’s seat remained empty.
Friday came and the cheer squad performed to riotous applause, as well as the other school clubs marching out with their banners. Spirit Week had ended on a high with every student abuzz, no matter how jaded they’d entered the auditorium. Martin stayed behind to pack up chairs when Rashad approached.
“Hey, Mr. LaSalle!”
“Hey Rashad, how you feelin’?” They shook hands.
“Good, good. Appreciate you helpin’ me out the otha’ day. I needed that nap!”
Martin smiled and continued packing up the chairs. Rashad put down his bag and began helping.
“Rashad,” Martin said. He paused, weighing if it was even appropriate to ask, but he was curious. “What do you know about Cariann Lail and her family?”
He exhaled loudly and raised his brows. “Her dad left when she was real young. He was a finance type. White dude with a big condo. Me and my auntie get assigned to clean some of those high rises downtown. I met him when he was working late and we talked a bit. Nice guy. Told me to look out for Cariann. I know her cousins from the neighborhood and her grandma is like everybody’s grandma, with the peppermint candy and everything,” Rashad chuckled, then his face dropped slightly as he considered his next words.
They were standing still, face to face now in the silent auditorium. “Like… her mom is cool and whatever, but extra cash is coming from some place. Her dad is paying child support and a little extra, but it don’t add up. You get me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m young, but I know work. I earn and that shit is not—sorry.”
“It’s fine, Rashad. Go ahead.”
The boy nodded sharply. “It’s not easy. People ask why I go so hard and I’m like, ‘Rent is due on the first.’ It’s a lot of responsibility I take on because I have to. No choice.” Rashad was almost whispering now. “But Cariann, she got family mixed up in all kinda shit. Shit that will get you laid out.”
Martin nodded. “You better not get too close, then.”
“I don’t know,” Rashad said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think…”
“Think what?”
“That I’m mad young to even worry about bills. Can’t even get new shoes. I’ve definitely thought about hitting up Cariann’s cousin for some easy work. Just for a little while, to get out a tight spot…” Rashad trailed off, leaving his unasked question hanging in the air between them.
“C’mon now… don’t get mixed up in something you can’t get out of.”
Rashad was solemn. “Mr. LaSalle, you ever had to deal with money issues? No food in the fridge? Lights cut off?” He folded a chair and stood it next to the rest.
“I’m a big dude, smart too, maybe I can do something else besides cleaning offices.”
“You can go to college.”
“I look like the college type?” Rashad said, rolling his eyes. “Cariann’s dad is making easy money. Uptown is the other half. They got their ways too.”
Martin stiffened as he thought about his own money troubles looming. Then he quieted himself. Sometimes there’s little choice but doing what needs to be done for survival. No one could blame the boy.
Martin sat in too small a wooden chair, bouncing his leg up and down, waiting to be called into the principal’s office. They had been in negotiations for two weeks and he was having trouble concentrating. He was less focused lately and by the time this meeting was called, he’d begun to put movies on for the class in lieu of lecturing. He checked his watch again: ten minutes after the hour.
Then the secretary finally waved him in.
Inside the office was the principal, county administrator, and the secretary to take notes. The company lawyer was on speakerphone.
“Hi Martin. Have a seat,” Mr. Druthers said. He motioned to the seat across from his desk. “So, we looked over the numbers and your contract proposal. We reviewed it with the administrator and lawyer, James, who’s on the line. Unfortunately, we’re not able to meet the number in your proposal. You’ve been here for a year and…”
Martin felt like he had fallen into a pool of water. The hard smack of broken surface tension gave way to muffled sounds and disorientation. He was floating, unable to see his feet in front him.
“Martin?” All eyes were on him.
“Yes,” he replied with a jolt.
“Did you get that number? That’s going to be our final offer,” Mr. Druthers said.
The administrator handed over the redlined contract and Martin quickly flipped to the page with his salary number: $39,000 per year. He was floored. They waited expectantly as he read the number over and over. He was worth tens of thousands more at the very least. He was being played for a fool. Cost cutting to pay tenured teachers and administrators was nothing new, but this was low. A wage this low meant most could not stick around to get tenured.
“Let me discuss this with my wife,” Martin said. His eyes were vacant. He left without acknowledging anyone in the room and the door closed behind him.
Martin stopped in his classroom to gather his things. He hurriedly scooped up all the precious trinkets from students, his photos, and supplies, throwing them into an empty box. He opened a drawer to find a handwritten note he hadn’t seen before. He paused. It was a phone number with the name “Manny” at the bottom. He then recognized the bubbly lettering as Cariann’s youthful scrawl. Shoving the note in his back pocket, he headed down a back stairwell to avoid the main office.
The gentle rock of the train did little to soothe him. He pounded up the stairs to his apartment, where Lena was waiting. He unlocked the door and flung it open.
“Martin! The hell is wrong with you?!”
“Lena, we had our meeting today. Do you know what the fuck they offered me?? A rookie salary with the benefit of being employed. Not much else.”
Lena groaned and rested her hands atop her head.
“They knew! They knew when the public schools offloaded all those teachers, they’d need a place to go. The lucky ones got in early and secured tenure. Fools like me, who waited, are getting a carrot and a stick.” He threw his contract on the table.
“I am worth more than this!” He was pressing his index finger on the crumpled pages. He slumped into the couch and put his head in his hands. Then he started to cry bitter tears.
Lena let him sulk, but not for long. “We have to do something.”
“Fuck, Lena, like what?” he shouted.
She cut her eyes in his direction. “This is bad news, for sure, but now we need a plan.”
“Are you for real right now?!” Martin stood up from his chair.
Lena did not flinch. “It’s not just about you. I’m your wife. This affects me too.” She moved closer even as Martin glared at her. “I’m busting my ass to make what I do. You have to look into other work.”
Martin scoffed and turned away, pacing in the living room. “What then? Any suggestions?”
“Don’t talk to me like that. When I told you to take the buyout and get another position upstate you wanted to fight the good fight. Then they laid your ass off with no recourse. Shoulda listened back then but you have this need to go toe to toe in games you don’t understand.”
Martin’s mouth was agape.
“You stayed on principle. What did that really do for us?” Lena said, shrugging. “Maybe take a risk for once. Maybe get something that isn’t so glamorous but that pays. We need the money.”
They stood facing each other for a long time in a silent battle. Martin broke his stare and trudged to the bedroom, slamming the door shut.
No Way Home: Chapter One