We found out what our mother did for her second job when we woke up and wanted to hear a bedtime story. We had climbed out of our beds, grabbed out respective teddy bears and walked down the hall to her door, before turning the knob and pushing open the door. There, wearing his dress shirt, tie, glasses, socks, and nothing else was our kindergarten teacher, Mr. Hansen, sweat pouring down from his high and tight hair cut, our mother on her back with her legs pulled into the air, wearing only a string of pearls and high heals. She looked at us wide-eyed, then looked back up at Mr. Hansen who did not seem to have any intention of stopping, before freezing with her eyes closed. Mr. Hansen continued to bounce up and down, up and down, the sweat dripping on our mothers face, on our parents blue sheets that covered their four post bed. Our father, who art in heaven, would look down and notice the hundred dollar bill that sat on their bedside table, near a clear glass candy dish shaped like an egg that appeared green from the cash stuffed inside of it. We didn’t know what to do, confronted by our teacher, not knowing what was going on, so we just walked away, leaving the door open. As we climbed back into our twin beds on opposite sides of our blue room, climbing under our own blue sheets, we heard Mr. Hansen make strange, alien sounds, before everything got silent. Then the subtle hint of a sob. Then a hiccup and more sobs. Then there was crying. Low and muffled, but deep and painful tears. Then out mother’s voice “It’s ok. It will all be ok.”
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