The Tiger Rising

Chapter 5

The principal’s office was small and dark and smelled like pipe tobacco. The secretary looked up at Rob when he walked in. “Go right on back,” she said, nodding her big blond head of hair. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Rob,” said Mr. Phelmer when Rob stepped into his office.

“Yes, sir,” said Rob.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Phelmer said, waving his hand at the orange plastic chair in front of his desk.

Rob sat down.

Mr. Phelmer cleared his throat. He patted the piece of hair that was combed over his bald head. He cleared his throat again. “Rob, we’re a bit worried,” he finally said.

Rob nodded. This was how Mr. Phelmer began all his talks with Rob. He was always worried: worried that Rob did not interact with the other students, worried that he did not communicate, worried that he wasn’t doing well, in any way, at school.

“It’s about your, uh, legs. Yes. Your legs. Have you been putting that medicine on them?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rob. He didn’t look at Mr. Phelmer. He stared instead at the paneled wall behind the principal’s head. It was covered with an astonishing array of framed pieces of paper — certificates and diplomas and thank-you letters.

“May I, uh, look?” asked Mr. Phelmer. He got up from his chair and came halfway around his desk and stared at Rob’s legs.

“Well, sir,” he said after a minute. He went back behind his desk and sat down. He folded his hands together and cracked his knuckles. He cleared his throat.

“Here’s the situation, Rob. Some of the parents — I won’t mention any names — are worried that what you’ve got there might be contagious, contagious meaning something that the other students could possibly catch.” Mr. Phelmer cleared his throat again. He stared at Rob.

“Tell me the truth, son,” he said. “Have you been using that medicine you told me about? The stuff that doctor in Jacksonville gave you? Have you been putting that on?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rob.

“Well,” said Mr. Phelmer, “let me tell you what I think. Let me be up-front and honest with you. I think it might be a good idea if we had you stay home for a few days. What we’ll do is just give that old medicine more of a chance to kick in, let it start working its magic on you, and then we’ll have you come back to school when your legs have cleared up. What do you think about that plan?”

Rob stared down at his legs. He felt the picture of the tiger burning in his pocket. He concentrated on keeping his heart from singing out loud with joy.

“Yes, sir,” he said slowly, “that would be all right.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Phelmer. “I thought you would think it’s a good plan. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll just write your parents — I mean your father — a note, and tell him what’s what; he can give me a call if he wants. We can talk about it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rob again. He kept his head down. He was afraid to look up.

Mr. Phelmer cleared his throat and scratched his head and adjusted his piece of hair, and then he started to write.

When he was done, he handed the note to Rob; Rob took it, and when he was outside the principal’s office, he folded the piece of paper up carefully and put it in his back pocket with the drawing of the tiger.

And then, finally, he smiled. He smiled because he knew something Mr. Phelmer did not know. He knew that his legs would never clear up.

He was free.