The Ghost

Paul felt bewildered; it happened again. At the conclusion of every degree, what he expected was an illusion. It was the last class, Adolescent Behavioral Psychology, that all the teachers had to take to complete his degree. He had finished his four-month teaching internship, and it went so well that he knew he had made the right decision. Paul closed his textbook and leaned over to his classmate, Ted, and said, “I’m glad that’s over. A few more final exams, and I will start teaching.”

“That’s a laugh,” his friend said, grinning. “You’ll never be allowed to teach with this

degree.”

“It’s a teaching degree.”

“It’s a school counselor and administration degree. You can’t teach, and because of confidentiality, you won’t be able to ever publish fiction again. There will always be a suggestion that your stories are from what you heard as a counselor.”

Everything from the entry interview to the classes had gone smoothly. During the interview, they discussed teaching, school administration, and school counseling. Paul insisted that teaching was the career for him. “We will take care of you,” said the interviewer.

He had completed his Master of Arts in history and published a book with a local press.

Before he entered grad school, he had short stories published in a literary magazine, but none of this led to a clear career.

He was going to teach until he had progressed in his writing career. He was a guest speaker in several schools about his book, Canada’s Air Training Plan, about the air training during the Second World War. He knew he would love teaching. The post-degree program leading to the Bachelor of Education was a one-year program, and every course he would have to take was selected and provided on a list. Do not vary from this program of study, as you may be removed from the degree program, was written on the same slip of paper titled B.Ed.—Teaching.

“At every step, I was told that this was a teaching program,” said Paul. His friend laughed out loud.

“You never figured it out—the degree includes school counseling, which is what you do in the first step. Then, you move on to school administration as an assistant principal.”

“I’ve been lied to all along?”

“No, when you become a principal, you’re the school’s principal teacher. You’re the head teacher.”

Paul finished the degree with distinction and applied for a teaching position but was always asked if he would consider a school counseling position.

The summer days were growing shorter, and Paul and Jennifer, his wife, were in the backyard of their duplex. They were finishing the chicken and corn Paul had prepared over the open fire pit.

“You’re not taking that counseling job,” said Jennifer, who had finished her BA in psychology and was weighing graduate studies to become a clinical psychologist or a lawyer. Her LSAT result was better than she expected, and she was just accepted into the College of Law. Paul felt the space between his eyebrows furrow. “No,” said Paul.

“You’re not a counselor,” she said.

“I was blind to where the program was taking me,” said Paul.

“We both were,” said Jennifer. “I saw what their behavioral psyche course was like, and there is no way that prepares anyone for counseling.”

“It may be an introduction to counseling, and school counselors get what they need in professional development courses,” replied Paul.

“You have all of this education, and you will have to continue to lifeguard, instruct swimming, and do pool maintenance,” said Jennifer.

“I’ll continue writing,” replied Paul.

---

Gordon looked over the fence into Paul’s backyard. Paul was weeding the garden, as he did when he arrived from work. Gordon was lanky and had been in grad school with Paul, but he didn’t graduate.

“You’re in the dirt again,” said Gordon.

Paul turned around and looked at his old friend. Gordon was not grinning like usual. His face was tight and angry. He kept bringing messages about what was good for Paul. Gordon was the son of an editor on the West Coast, the offspring of his mother’s first marriage. Gordon asked for copies of Paul’s stories and his first novel for someone to check. He came back with the reviews; some of it was so good they couldn’t believe it. Some of it was so bad they didn’t know where it came from.

“You know me, I just can’t get enough dirt,” replied Paul.

“You really are a country boy,” replied Gordon.

“What’s happening?” asked Paul.

“Have you thought about the opportunity?” asked Godon.

“What opportunity?” said Paul.

“Ghost writer,” said Gordon.

“I’m not a ghostwriter,” said Paul.

“You don’t understand,” said Gordon. “It would be your stories and novel.”

“Someone wants me to give away my stories?” asked Paul, one eyebrow raised. Paul always considered ghostwriting, which is having other people’s names on his stories, the highest form of identity theft. The immorality was extreme in Paul’s mind.

“You can make a great income,” said Gordon. “With things like they are, the only way you would see your stories in print is under someone else's name.”

“I don’t think so,” said Paul; he felt sick and exhausted as Gordon spoke.

“This is the solution,” said Gordon. “You are a school counselor, by training, and you get a lot of offers for work.”

“I am not a school counselor,” replied Paul.

“You told me all about it,” replied Gordon. “But you need a secure salary, especially with Jennifer heading to law school. You take the counseling position and keep writing. You’ll see it all go to print; it will just have someone else’s name on it.” Paul shook his head. “I’m not interested.”

“People have plans for you,” continued Gordon. “The counseling was a part of the plan.”

“There was a plan?”

Gordon nodded his head. “More like an opportunity.”

“Let the planners know I have just ghosted them.”