Mrs. Hillbilly Mom rushed through her final bell tasks. Recorded scores from the assignments she had just graded. Grabbed some paper out of her printer tray for note-taking. Snatched up her brainstormed ideas that were required for the meeting. Looked through her desk drawer for the materials she had used last year to prepare last year’s testees (heh, heh, I said TESTEES!). Then off she went, making a quick stop by the faculty women’s restroom, and hoping she would not be the last one to arrive.
Upon entering the library, Mrs. HM encountered a colleague not summoned to the A-C-T meeting, carrying out a stack of boxes. Also the librarian. It was her lair, after all. As she rounded the corner of the counter, Mrs. HM saw that she was not the last one to arrive. Out of the seven teachers summoned, she was the FIRST to arrive.
“Oh, I’m glad to see I’m not late!” Mrs. HM said to Lib.
“The meeting. The meeting for A-C-T ideas.”
“Oh. That meeting was canceled.” Lib knows a lot for being shut away in her own peaceful lair all day.
“Canceled? Nobody told me it was canceled. I didn’t get an email. Or a call. Nobody said anything to me. Just at lunch, I asked where we were meeting, and was told the library.”
“Well, the man in charge was called away for a family matter. Sweet Alabama Beige said she was letting everybody know.”
“Oh. I guess she meant everybody but me.”
That’s right. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is an afterthought. A tagalong. Not even a fifth wheel, but one of those undersized donut spares in the bottom of the trunk. No A-C-T love for Mrs. HM. She’s out of the loop. Not a card-carrying member of the A-C-T club. And after all she does for Newmentia!
They shall rue the day Mrs. Hillbilly Mom retires. She will be sorely missed.
IF anybody notices that she’s gone.