“Wait for it,” he whispered, confusing me.
What more could there be?
“Now, did I hear right, or are my old ears deceiving me?” Hurst asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “There are complaints against Miss Heath about a class on an old piece of literature?”
“It fantasized about rape,” Kirkwood replied, glaring at him. “It also made it sound like it wasn’t as severe a crime as it is. What kind of teacher tells the youth of Piersville, impressionable young people, that?”
Holding a finger up, Hurst pulled his phone out of his back pocket and touched the screen. “The Rape Of The Lock, a satirical piece published by Alexander Pope, satirizes the cutting of a lock of hair from a woman and compares it to something akin to the tragedies outlined in the mythologies of the Gods. Pope used the vapid nature of society to emphasize the triviality of the situation.” Then, lifting his head, he asked, “Do you wish for me to continue what the book is about?”
“That’s not the point,” Mayor Kirkwood snapped, pointing at me. “She told them that the word meant nothing, so they now assume that rape isn’t a disgusting crime.”
“Actually, I said the opposite of that,” I told him quietly, still feeling sick over it. “I said that today rape is something horrific and that Pope managed to stress that to the society around him by comparing their reactions to a lock of hair being cut off to an atrocity like that. The only reason I even did that was to assist Miss Waite with educating them on how words have power, so they should choose their words carefully. It’s a lesson based on making them better people and not following the teachings of the internet on how to conduct yourself.”
Hurst had been watching me carefully throughout my explanation, and when I finished, he added, “I agree with that. Those two students who tried to commit suicide after following a random account who told them to do things to join up to an anonymous club could’ve done with being taught what Miss Waite and Miss Heath have been teaching. Did you hear about the attempted suicides? How about that group of kids who did whacked stuff because a guy calling himself Blue Elephant Boots online told them to?”
“That’s not what she did, though,” the mayor argued. “I have statements from parents who—”
“Well, I’d like to see those,” Hurst interrupted. “If Miss Heath is being accused of something like that, surely showing her the statements wouldn’t hurt. I mean, if this goes to court, she’ll hear them straight from the parents.”
It looked like Mayor Kirkwood recoiled into himself, like a snake about to strike. “I will do no such thing. That’s a violation of their human rights.”
“What?” Cole chuckled. “You of all people are talking about violations of human rights—which is a weird thing to just throw in at this point, by the way—when you’ve also threatened to exhume the body of Bexley’s grandpa?”
“It’s pertinent to the case,” Kirkwood sniffed.
“It’s pertinent to jack shit apart from whatever scam you’ve got running, man,” Hurst said loud enough to get people's attention.
Once he made sure we had enough people around us, he added, “Now, I’m going to personally get statements from the students and their parents about the class. I’ll make sure to be thorough, don’t you mind.” Then, he said quickly as Kirkwood opened his mouth, “No, you’ve had your say, now we’re having ours, so shut up.”
“You can’t talk to me like that—”
“Just did,” he threw back
. “Now, where was I?”
“You’re getting thorough statements from the students and their parents,” someone shouted. “I’ve got two kids who went to those classes and said they learned something big to take away with them. Never mentioned condoning rape or anything like that, so I’ll start by giving you mine now.”
“Me, too,” another voice called out. “My kid read the book and said it taught him about society today, too, and that we need to focus on what’s important. I’ve been trying to tell him that for years, so I’m happy he finally got the damn message.”
“Well, this seems like a good place to start,” Hurst mused, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “And I’m also going to get a lawyer to look at your threats toward the body and final resting place of Lawrence Heath, ‘cos that shit’s just messed up.”
“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, and your language is disgusting,” Kirkwood sneered. “Did you even go to school?”
“Yeah, it was back in the day when they had to chip away at stone to write it all down, but he went,” Cole snickered, ignoring the glares from both men. “Looks like he came away with more than you did, though.”
“And finally,” Hurst said, taking a step closer to Kirkwood. “I’m going to run for mayor. For years the people have been running this town, doing the work you wouldn’t do unless it benefited your family. I’m sick and tired of doing your job for you, so I’m going to run for the position. And I will beat you.”
“Well shit,” Cole muttered, his voice only just audible over the cheers and noise coming from our spectators and his body shaking with laughter. “I don’t think he meant to say that, but I’m glad he did.”
“You can try, but it won’t happen,” Kirkwood tried to fire back confidently, but his body language screamed he was far from it.
Then, giving us a scathing glare, he left his cart with items in it and walked away, leaving me staring at Hurst in shock.
Moving over to join Cole and me, Hurst patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, that bullshit is just that—bullshit. My daughter-in-law is on the PTA, and when they were discussing your lecture on the book, they sent out a questionnaire to parents whose kids had been in the classes. All but two of the parents said they appreciated the comparison and the use of an old piece of satirical literature.”
“And the two missing ones?”
“They came in themselves to discuss it and concluded that they wanted to establish a classical literature after school club.”