On MONGOLIA

March 11, 2009

On MONGOLIA

Mr. Garrow jumped off his horse and wiped the sweat off his brow. He felt exhilarated. He had just ridden for thirty minutes over the steppes of Mongolia. He looked out over the hills and felt they were too beautiful for his brain to really comprehend. The green, lush, valley, with a lazily winding river, that led up to the far off peaks that looked like folds in a giant rug. This is where he felt at home, he thought. No, that’s stupid. I don’t live here. This is where Mongolians feel at home.
He looked over at his beautiful, brilliant, wife, whose idea it was to honeymoon in Mongolia. She was tall and thin with long dark, hair an impish, lopsided grin. She was Vietnamese, and they had met as undergraduates at Queen’s University.
“I love you!” he yelled through the wind.
“I love you too!” she yelled back. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could see what she was saying.
The only thing that Mr. Garrow wished was different right now was that he wished the whole thing had been his idea. Everything they had done since he and Vivian met had been her idea. And the fact was, that was the right course of action, because Vivian was always right when it came to what life-changing experience they would do next. She had shown Mr. Garrow that there was more to life than his limited imagination could conceive. He just wished that he could bring something to the table.
The couple led their horses down the hill towards the yurts where they were staying.
“I got some news I want to share with you,” said Vivian after the wind started to die down.
“Sure, what?” he said.
“I found out just before we left that I’ve been offered a job at McMaster University,” she revealed.
Mr. Garrow immediately smiled. “That’s great!” he said.
“Yeah?” she said, “Do you think I should take it?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“We’d have to move to Hamilton,” she said, “Is that okay with you?”
They were speaking in raised voices because of the wind.
“I can find a job,” he said, and he smiled again reassuringly. Inside, his heart sank a little. He wasn’t that attached to Kingston, where he was now. It was true, he would be able to find a job, he thought. He had finished teacher’s college and already got a couple of years’ experience at a school near Peterborough. He had no plan for the future, but he felt like he was passing up an opportunity he had never considered. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but it wasn’t teaching high school in Hamilton, Ontario.
They tied their horses up and went into the yurt and made love for the second time that day.
“Sounds like you’re in the wrong line of work, Garrow” said Mr. Koslowski. Mr. Koslowski, Ms. Rattigan and Mr. Hendrickson were staring at him as he gripped his mug and held his hand on his hip. He had forgotten what he was talking about. Oh yeah, he had said that the students were filling time before getting on with their lives, and said no one likes French.
“Why don’t you quit you job before you ruin your students’ lives with your attitude?” suggested Ms. Rattigan.
“You know what?” said Mr. Garrow, “You’re right. Maybe I will quit. Because ever since I became a teacher, all I’ve learned is that teachers, who I thought were so smart when I was a kid, have turned out to be dumb, lazy assholes, just like everyobody else. I’ve lost all respect for teachers ever since I learned how easy it is to be one.”
Mr. Garrow put his cup down, and left the room. He thought he would feel better, but he didn’t.