[thekremlin]

V. Willard’s Road
Daniel was drunk, and it was a problem.

He had not expected the rap on his door at eight o’clock in the evening. He had assumed widow Mueller would have considered eight to be well past curfew, or at least past the curfew for knocking on doors, but there it was, and with it an invitation to join her for a glass of wine in the dining room. On paper, it was a nice invitation, a kind gesture. In practice, it could become a disaster. He had had his first glass of whiskey almost immediately after getting back to his room after the first day of class.

He arrived in the dining room, careful to walk steady. It was the least practical room he had ever been in. The chairs around the dinner table were cushioned but not comfortable. The walls were canvassed in cupboards bearing unused silverware and plates on stands. There was a painting of an arbitrary sunset on the one free wall.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, but you didn’t have any dinner, either,” Mrs. Mueller was saying.

“I’ve just been exhausted. First day of classes and everything.”

Mrs. Mueller produced a bottle of cheap red wine, something Italian, and uncorked it. “So what did you think?”

Daniel thought about it. Thought about what the expected answer was, what he really wanted to say, where to find the ground in the middle. Considered what he would say if he hadn’t been drinking at all. “The kids in these classes, I can see it already. They’re tricky.” He waited for her to respond, but she was just listening. “You think, OK, they’re kids, they’re modern kids, your big problem is going to be apathy.” He tasted the wine she had poured. It was warm and tasted like alcohol. “It’s not apathy. They’re not bored or tired, they’re alert, they come into the classroom talking to each other and then the class starts, and they’re listening, and they’re watching you, and even more, they’re watching each other to see, I don’t know, to what extent the others are watching you—err, or me, whatever.”

“Sounds like you had their attention. Couldn’t have been the easiest thing, first day, with a new band program.”

“This wasn’t even the band class. Just a general music class. Mostly just me talking. The students that take to it will try out for the band, and that won’t start up for another month.”

“Where are you going to get instruments for all of the children?”
Daniel shrugged. “I don’t really have a budget. It’s going to be up to the students, or their parents, to come up with them. I can make some recommendations, of course, for where they could go.” He looked at his wineglass, and it was empty. Mrs. Mueller’s was full, except for a sip. She looked at his glass.

“Would you like a refill?”

“I think I better get some rest. It’s only Monday, after all.”

Daniel turned around curtly, trying to hide the stumble in his step. He set the empty wineglass on a side table on his way out of the dining room, leaving Mrs. Mueller behind. He was being rude, he knew. Rude was OK, not preferable but an acceptable casualty. Better than drunk, better than shaky.

Back in his room, he reconsidered his answer. He had expected the main challenge to be getting the students interested. It hadn’t been like that at all. He had been outnumbered the second they had entered the classroom. They had watched him and judged him, they were all awake and aware, they were not vegetables they were predators.
Daniel poured the last of the bottle of whiskey into a glass, and poured the glass into his mouth, and fell onto his bed.