Alexa Berkofski

Alexa Berkofski arrived early at Washington Middle School.   She had recently started working as a substitute teacher.  It was good money, a fairly solid job, which she did appreciate.  But it she had never aspired to be a sub, and the work was difficult and exhausting.  Her previous subbing jobs were unsuccessful, to say the least.  The students constantly talked over her and were extremely rude.  She had tried relentlessly to earn their respect, but had never even come close. 

Today, Alexa was subbing for a sixth grade class at Washington. As she sat in the classroom alone, waiting for the students to arrive, she started to bite her nails.  It was an awful habit, she knew, and she tried not to do it as much, but she couldn’t stop when she was nervous.  Her nails were now almost non-existent, revealing red, raw skin beneath

            At 8:30 sharp, immediately after the school bell had rung, Alexa stood up.  There were at least thirty students in the room now. “Hello, my name is Ms. Berkofski,” she began.

            “Berkofski? What kind of a name is that?” snickered one student.  The boy was probably only ten or eleven, but Alexa thought he looked much older than that.  He wore a crooked baseball cap and a shirt that read, “Keep Staring, I Might Do A Trick.”  She disliked him already. 

            She laughed nervously and looked down at the classroom floor.  “Actually, it’s Russian.  Berkofski is a very common in the Moscow area.  My grandfather emigrated from there years ago, a little before World War Two broke out, but he didn’t meet my grandmother until he arrived in the United States,” she rambled.  “Funny story, actually,” she started, and looked up at the students in the class.  They were talking amongst themselves, not listening to her whatsoever.  “Umm…I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.  I’ll just take role now,” she muttered. 

            Before Alexa could begin, a student interrupted her.  “Hey, Ms. Whatever-your-name-is, what’s going on with your head?” asked a large, blonde girl seated in the front row of the classroom. 

            “It’s Berkofski,” she quickly corrected.  “What do you mean, ‘Going on with my head?’”  Was that some hip, colloquial expression the kids were using these days?  Gosh, she really needed to get out of the house more, keep up with the cool new lingo.   

            “Oh my God, there’s something growing in her hair!” exclaimed a girl.

            Alexa touched the top of her head.  At first she felt nothing, only her thin, frizzy hair.  Then, as she moved her fingers farther to the side, she felt something soft protruding through her scalp.  She moved her hand to the other side.  There was another one.  Oh my goodness, she thought to herself.  What’s going on?  This is impossible.  They couldn’t be...

            “They’re bunny ears!” called out a student. 

            The classroom erupted.  Students were talking loudly to each other, laughing, joking and yelling at each other across the room.  Alexa tried to ignore what they were saying and what was growing out of her head.

            “That’s not possible,” said Alexa, trying to abstain from biting her nails.  She was desperately trying to sound confident and superior, but she felt vulnerable and embarrassed.  “Please be quiet so I can take role!” she said more loudly. 

For a moment the classroom quieted down.   But only a few seconds later, a boy yelled, “She looks like an alien!” followed by laughter from the rest of the students. 

            Alexa began to bit her nails.  She started breathing heavily and felt faint.  What if they were right?  What if they were rabbit ears?  It was impossible, she reminded herself again.  Wasn’t it?  She knew that leaving a group of students unsupervised, especially ones who were only in elementary school, was one of the worst things a teacher could do.  But she didn’t have a choice.  She needed to see what was growing from her head.  She needed to get out of the classroom and away from these kids.

            Without looking at the students again, Alexa ran out of the room, covering the top of her head with her arms.  She hurried to the bathroom to look in the mirror.  Sure enough, Alexa had rabbit ears.  Soft, furry things that stood up in the air, completely vertical.  They were dark brown on the outside with a silky, pink interior, completely visible and contrasting with her pale blonde hair.  At least there only an inch or so long, easy to cover up with a hat.  They had seemed to stop growing.  Alexa tied the scarf she was wearing around her head and unhappily returned to the classroom.

            But, within a few days, Alexa’s ears began to grow again, at first quite slowly.  She didn’t notice at first—they grew only a millimeter or so a day in the beginning.  As they started to grow more rapidly, Alexa became more and more concerned. She called the substitute teaching organization and told them she was severely ill, which, she felt, was partially true—Alexa thought of her ears as a strange, unfortunate disease—and was unable to teach for the next few weeks.  When the ears were a foot or so long, Alexa was legitimately mortified.  By then, the ears were growing longer by the hour, even by the minute, Alexa thought.

            By the time her ears were full-grown, about a foot tall, it very was difficult for Alexa to go out in public.  Wherever she went, she could feel people watching her, staring at her ears, snickering behind her back.  She remembered one day, while she was at her favorite diner getting her weekly Sunday brunch, and she heard a little boy talking.  “Mommy!” he cried loudly.  “Why is that woman wearing a costume? It’s not Halloween!”

            And her eyes welled up with tears.  It wasn’t the little boy, Alexa thought, he didn’t mean anything by it—he was only a child.  But it hurt her, embarrassed her.  It made her dread going back to substitute teaching even more.   

            After this experience, Alexa was mortified.  She couldn’t go on ignoring it: her new ears were a serious and humiliating problem.  So she tried to cover up her ears herself in a variety of ways.  First, she bought several large, colorful hats, which she stuffed her ears into, folding and crimping them so no one could see them.  But it became difficult to hear as a result.  And, the hats became uncomfortable and unbearably itchy.  Then, she tried wearing large wigs and wrapping shawls wrapped around her head, but it was just as hopeless.

            Alexa realized there was nothing she could do.  She was stuck with these things, she assumed, for the rest of her life, and she would have to make the best of this unfortunate situation.  She hoped, more than anything in the world, that other people would accept that, too.  She called the substitute teaching organization and said she was no longer ill, and could begin working again immediately.  Still, Alexa dreaded returning and being faced with students laughing at her, talking over her, making fun of her.  But she needed the money and the security of a regular job.

            Today, Alexa was subbing for a high school Spanish class.  She wasn’t sure exactly why she had been assigned this class, because she spoke no Spanish and had almost no experience with older students.  At least the teacher had left her a fairly simple lesson plan—the students had to complete a short handout.   But she found the students somewhat intimidating, and was even more embarrassed and nervous to sub for these teenagers than she would be for elementary school kids. 

            When the students first entered the room, they completely ignored her.  They got up and talked to themselves about who knows what.  Alexa had no idea what teenagers these days were interested in.  Still, Alexa breathed a sigh of relief.  It was better to be ignored than to be harassed.

            When the bell rung for class to begin, Alexa passed out the handout to the students.  Then, she stood in the front of the room.  “Excuse me, class?” she said, somewhat quietly.  The students looked up at her, looking mildly interested.  “Everyone listen up, please.  My name is Alexa Berkofski and I will be your substitute teacher for this period.  Your teacher asks that you complete--”

            “Wait, what the hell are those things on her head?” interrupted a tall boy sitting in the back of the classroom.

            “They look like those bunny ear costumes!  Why are you wearing them?” asked a girl loudly.

            “They have to be fake, right?”  one student asked another next to her.

            “But they look so realistic, like they’re attached to her head!”

            And momentarily, the class was uncontrollably talking and joking, just like the fifth graders had been before.  The students also were completely ignoring the handout.  Two boys, who Alexa thought looked scary and thuggish, had crumpled one of them into a ball and were playing catch with it from across the room. 

            “Your teacher told me to make sure you finish this assignment.  She said it was very important,” Alexa said, desperately trying to ignore the classes’ comments and behavior.  

            They paid no attention.   Alexa began to bite her nails anxiously.

            “Listen up!”

            Not one head turned toward Alexa.

            “Will you all please get to work?” Alexa pleaded desperately.

            Alexa didn’t know what to do.  She had asked relentlessly for their attention and their respect—that was all she ever wanted.  She was on the verge of tears.  But she couldn’t leave, she couldn’t give up like she had last time.  She paused for a moment and tried to think of what to do next. 

            “Okay, I get it!” Alexa suddenly shouted.  “I have rabbit ears!  Great!  But I am still your teacher, at least for today!  And you need to listen to me, and you need to do your work!  Now!”  She had never spoken so loudly before, and it felt strangely invigorating.  Her voice reverberated across the small classroom. 

            The students instantaneously fell silent.  They stared up at Alexa in complete and utter shock and awe.  “Damn!” muttered one boy.  And soon, enough, they began work on their handouts. 

 Alexa herself was surprised, but exhilarated.  She smiled.  For the first time since her ears had grown in, and perhaps for the first time in her life, she felt respected.