Revenge of the Fallen
an excerpt

And it happened as it always did, the stress began to draw on our relationship, pulling us apart. There was nothing that could be done to save us. Lorraine blamed me for her inability to carry, though of course it was in no way my fault. But it is in times like these, when there is no one to blame that we blame our loved ones because, if they truly love us then they will never leave us.
I loved Lorraine. I did not leave her. But she left me.
She left me with my cattle dog, our apartment, a note on the counter, and the last eighteen dollars in the bank.
You know it is love when even after you have seen these things, the note, the emptiness of a couple’s bed, and only your meager savings to carry you through the month, you do not blame them. You know you love them with all your heart when you forgive them for not loving you back. And when you do not blame them for leaving.
I did, however, blame her for leaving me in that manner.
Without money to pay rent I moved in with my parents temporarily, just until I could find my footing. I gained enough students to tutor to help pay for groceries and my own necessities, but I felt exposed.
A student would wave to me from the lunch line.
“Who’s that?” her friend would ask her.
“That’s my English teacher, Mr. Garzon,” the student would answer.
“He’s cute, is he married?” her friend would ask.
“He was, but his wife just left him.”
And I heard it everywhere. “That’s Mr. Garzon, his wife just left him.” “That’s your English teacher? I heard his wife just ran off on him to marry someone younger.” “I heard she dropped him for someone with more money.” “I heard he was shit in bed.” “I heard he killed her and is telling everyone she left him to cover the crime.” “Did you hear about that English teacher who killed his wife because she thought he was shit in bed?”
And the rumors continued to spread.
Summer school was worse. I was teaching a catch-up class for students who had failed the previous year of English, boneheads like always, mostly jocks and cheerleaders who had let their grades slip after the end of the season, gossip hounds thirsty for fresh blood. And mine was what was in fashion.
I soldiered through summer school with as much grace as I could, viciously beating down the rumors that grew in my footsteps. My goal as a teacher was being overcome by the rumors. I no longer felt like I was helping people, I was no longer a respectable role model. All honor and dignity had left, replaced by embarrassment and defenselessness.
It seemed as though summer school would never end, but eventually it did and I was given those three blessed weeks to relax before the year began. Or so I thought.