Assume: To Make an Ass of You and Me


Patrick Keeling had worked for the U.S. Postal service for twenty seven years. His wife, Karen, had just about lost her mind with his disco days and lack of direction. All she wanted less of the financial burden on her shoulders. Her paycheck from as a telephone operator wasn’t going to hold them both, and the upcoming child. So, Patrick finally gave in and got a job delivering mail. His father had always told him to find a job with a future. Teaching, funeral preparations, and mail delivery. Patrick’s father said that people would always have children and would always die. Teaching and funeral needs would always be in demand. His father would always add at the end of his speech that people would need to know about those births and deaths, so mail carriers would be in demand as well.

So in September of 1979, Patrick went on his first mail route. Of course he got the abnormally upper middle class route of Salem Center in Westchester, New York. Twenty-seven years ago, these houses were worth less than half of their current multi-million dollar price tag, but they have always made Patrick feel inferior. He did what he could to try and avoid all people on the streets of Salem. Karen hated the graveyard shifts he worked, but he got paid more doing it. Even she had to eventually give in.

There was one house that Patrick always felt a different vibe from. It was the last house on his route, and he usually got to it at the break of dawn. 1407 Graymalkin Lane. He had never been past the gates of the long tree guarded driveway, but he had seen the building that looked like it was a mixture of a Victorian and Medieval castles. The gold plated sign that was mounted on the left side of the brink frame of the gate had changed many times over the last quarter of a century. Patrick noticed the one word that had never changed over time was the name of the family that had owned the lands for miles. Xavier.

Over the last twenty plus years at dawn, he had watched the family Xavier change dramatically. He had seen the Father and Mother of the family raise their newly teenage son. He was a shy fellow at first, but always observing. Not in a creepy way. The young lad’s vivid blue eyes seemed to be far older than his years. The stoic Father always seemed to smile when his son had grasped a new concept. From the ordinary to the extraordinary, the son always had his father’s praise. The mother had always seemed to be full of boundless energy, even when the decades had depleted from her health. Soon enough as the years went by, Patrick hadn’t seen her gather her herbs and flowers without needing to stop every few minutes. Even when the Father died, and the mother remarried that awful crook with his terrorizing son, Patrick always felt a strange tug of a warmth coming from the Xavier household.

Despite his initial feelings of dislike for wealthy people he began to like the Xavier’s. His feelings were cemented one day when he met the young man of the family. He was delivering a holiday package in early December.

Patrick could already tell that it was stale food that was in the bubbled brown box. After so many years of taking the dreaded certified packages to the receivers, he could tell that nobody ever got new ideas about their presents.

Before he could announce his presence on the intercom, the young man had already grinned at him from behind the iron gate.

“Hi Pat,” came the boy’s friendly voice.

Patrick stopped his hand that was on the button and looked a little shocked. The last thing he expected was someone from the family to be ready for him. A maid or a butler perhaps. The strangest thing was that the boy knew who he was. Nobody on his route had ever bothered asking for his name, so he knew that he hadn’t ever told anyone his name. And just for good measure, Patrick checked his uniform to make sure he didn’t have a name tag.

He looked at the boy with a raised eyebrow, and the boy looked away and bit his lip. He looked as if he had just revealed to much information.

“My name is Charles.”

“Well, hello there Charles. How on earth did you know my name?”

“Um...you look like a Patrick. So, am I right?”

“Nail on the head, young man.” Charles just beamed at him. Patrick was covering for him, and Charles knew it. The limited expose to the outside mundane world was obvious. For Charles to have said that he looked like a Patrick was a bullish load. They both knew it. But the fact that both of them were now able to converse was something that Charles was happy about. Patrick was willing to let the strange slip up go.

“Alrighty then Charles, I do believe that these belong to you.” He went to hand the cookies through the gate, but the boy, of what looked to be thirteen, stopped him.

He went behind the brick wall and opened the gate.

“Much better,” Charles said. He signed the clipboard that was held out to him, and picked up the package before Patrick could. As he turned the gift around and around in his hands, he seemed transfixed.

“Stale cookies, huh.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said, “what did you say?”

Charles looked as if he had been caught again, and stammered his reply. “Y..You...You said that you think it’s stale cookies.” He swallowed, “chocolate chip cookies.”

“I did?”

“Yea,” Charles said enthusiastically. “Wait here for a second. I think I have something that Ka...your wife might like.” He took the package and ran towards the main house as fast as he could.

Patrick was left to wait and wonder. He knew that he hadn’t spoken a word about the package nor his home life. His wedding ring was on a chain around his neck under his shirt. It almost seemed like this young man was a psychic. He snorted at the idea.

For most of his life he had thought that the two people he loved most in the world were mind readers. His father and his wife. He put his hand on his face to shield his eyes from the sun, and saw Charles running towards him with something in his hands. It looked like a tray or something.

When Charles caught up with him, he handed him a wooden tray that was longer then it was wide, and about six inches high. Inside were different plants in adorably painted clay pots. Patrick took a whiff and realized that they were different herbs.

“We figured that you and K...your wife would like them.”

“We? Your family?”

“Oh yes! My dad made the box and pots, and my mum picked them and painted the pots.”

“And what did you do?”

“It was my idea. I knew that you liked it...uhm would like it.”

Patrick ruffled the kid’s blond head and got a smile in return. That day he made up his mind. His father, Karen, and Charles actually were psychic and for some odd reason he felt that these wise people had made his life a better place somehow.

Here he was some twenty some odd years later back at the Xavier gate, when he noticed that the sign had changed yet again. This time it was larger to fit all of what it had to say. “Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.” He smiled to himself. Charles was opening his doors to the youth of tomorrow. He could imagine the young minds that would be shaped behind those doors. Patrick knew that those doors would accept any student that needed to learn. He couldn’t wait to go home and tell his wife. He laughed at that idea. She probably already knew.

Assume: To Make an Ass of You and Me
Lesson Plans


April 10th 2004

The students in the senior class majoring in Anthropology and Humanities at Rutgers tried desperately not to let their anticipation show. This was the very last class to get grades and try to weasel their way into a passing grade to graduate, before final grades were turned in. The professor had given them a bevy of choices to write their final fifty page term paper on.

Most of the students had chosen current and contemporary subjects to blab about. Ororo Monroe had gone a different route. She had chosen to write about three topics of the Hellenistic Age. Nothing at all spectacular, just basic rambling about arch building, Marcus Aurelius, and art trading. Ororo’s biggest problem was not boring herself while writing this.

Professor Evram was no slouch in the teaching department. She was amazing. Ororo remembered going to her office a few months ago to tell her how she had inspired her to be a teacher. Joy Evram had tears in her eyes. Ororo hadn’t understood that. This woman had the uncanny ability to explain the past in such vivid detail that it made her full audiences feel like they were there. Ororo hadn’t expected the rush of emotion from her hard as nails teacher. Joy seemed to be really enthusiastic about Ororo’s contribution to academics. She had given Ororo the card of a brand new private school that was currently hiring.

Ororo had really meant to look into it, but with the load of her classes, the work as a black jack dealer, and her sister needing help with her family the card had gotten lost some where along the way. Now as her classes where coming to an end, she wrote on her notebook to talk to her Professor again. Her other thoughts her paused when her teacher walked into the room.

She looked at her students and tilted her head up so that those sitting in the higher seats could see her.

“Alright class. There isn’t left to go over on the syllabus, so what I will do is allow a good friend and college of mine to speak, then I will hand out the term paper grades. Final grades will be posted after three today, so make sure you stop by for them.” She then left the podium and walked across the stage.

For a few minutes there was silence until a low buzzing could be heard. A powerchair carrying a bald man in his late thirties came to the center of the stage. Ororo automatically sat up in her chair to pay attention, as did her other classmates. Something about this man’s presence commanded attention. Maybe it was his crisp khaki suit or his patient demeanor. Whatever it was Ororo found herself captivated by his words of a progressive future. One where open minds secular ideas and conservative traditions could meet and be productive with impressionable minds. If this same speech had been given by any one else, they would not have had an interested audience. Ororo knew that there was something very special about this man.

As soon as the discussion ended, some of the more interested students stayed behind and rushed the stage to speak with the Professor. Joy had introduced him as Professor Charles Xavier.

Xavier!

Ororo slapped her own forehead. That was the name on the card. She highly doubted if that teaching position was still available. She just wasn’t that lucky. There was one way to find out. She gathered up her belonging and went to stand in the back of the eager group hackling Xavier.

Ororo actually had no intention of meeting the man until she felt his warm blue eyes bore into her; that’s when she felt compelled to stay. She was the last student left, and she felt that he was in no rush, and was very comforted by that.

“Hello Mr. Xavier. My name is Ororo.”

“Yes, I know who you are,” came the smooth slightly British deep voice. “I was slightly disappointed to not hear from you a little sooner.” He raised his brow at her in a slightly patronizing way.

Ororo just held her head down. Excuses would get her no where with this man. That much was obvious. “So, um Sir, is that position still available at your school?”

“That would depend on you, Ororo. Are you still planning on working with antiquities?”

Ororo had opened her mouth to answer when she realized that she hadn’t said anything about that. She looked back at her own Professor and she just shrugged. What she missed when she turned back around was Joy vigorously crossing her arms in a negative direction to signal Xavier to stop that line of questioning.

Ororo wanted to just shrug, but something else stopped her.

“Your fascination with the past is commendable, but how would you like to help define our future as a teacher, Ororo. That position is still available if you were still wondering.”

*Well, yes actually I was, thank you Charles,* she thought.

He gave her a friendly smile, and coughed softly in his hand. There was an awkward silently paused held by all until Charles broke it. “Go ahead, ask,” he encouraged her.

“Why me Professor?”

“First of all you may call me Charles. Second I believe in your...ability. Your not nearly as average as you think. You and I both know that. But, I fear that you don’t know what to do with your self.” He looked past her at his former colleague, and she was waving her white napkin at him as a sign of surrender. With a deep inhale he added, “I don’t think that televison meteorology is a path you should continue to consider.”

“I don’t know...I’m sorry what! How did you know? I...I haven’t told anyone about that, not even my sister knows. That’s the second time you’ve read my mind. What the he...what’s going on here,” she said as she began to back up. She turned around to look at her teacher for help and saw that she was just casually eating her late lunch of a wrapped sandwich. Ororo gave an indignant huff. “Your not here to hire me because of my academic ability are you.”

“Ororo, I do not like the idea of deceiving people. So, let me start at the beginning. I know that you are an ecopath.” She gave him a questionable look. At this time Joy had finished eating and walked up to join the conversation.

“Charles, stop with the code speak. Ororo, we know you’re empathetic to the weather. I have to admit I took advantage of that by being particularly nice to you on days I wanted to go to the shore.”

“JOY,” both Charles and Ororo exclaimed.

“What?”

“Very funny,” Charles said flatly. “Ororo, I’m not reading your mind. Your projecting your thoughts. Think of it like wearing a sign of what you’re thinking. If I tried to your thoughts I would have a fairly difficult time. The lighting that’s stored in your body makes your mind a static minefield. Relax. Your are not alone. As you guess, I am a telepath. We are...”

“Ehm ehm,” Joy interrupted.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Joy. Your professor is unique too. She has an ability just like the two of us. And very much like you, it’s a rare one indeed.”

“Yes, Ororo. Let me explain. Do you know what precognition is?”

She nodded.

“What I can do is something like reverse precognition. Instead of seeing the future. I can see the past. It’s strange, the older I get the further in the past I can see. That’s why I became a history teacher. Sure, there are plenty of things I could have done, but I wanted to teach and inspire.”

Charles wanted to finish his previous thought. “Ororo, the three of us are on the brink of evolution. We are mutants. Humans that have the ability to shape and mold themselves or their own environment. It is adaptation in its truest form. There are millions like us. Some of us have extremely powerful mutations, and others have some on a more mundane level. I need staff to help me shape and mold young mutants so that they may wield their abilities efficiently and with a code of ethics. I was hoping that you would consider it, Ororo. While you think about it, walk with me to my car, alright. I can answer more of your questions.”

She was accompanying him across the parking lot when she felt strange. She stopped and turned around. There campus was alive in normal activity. There was just something a miss.

The two men who were stalking the rich man in the wheelchair attacked the moment the tall woman turned her back. The first punk knocked the heavy chair over and clamped Xavier’s mouth shut. The second man started digging in his pockets and hit the jackpot when he got the wallet. He nodded to his friend to start to run.

They had no idea who they were messing with.

The moment Xavier felt the rush of the blow from the first man, he telepathically told Ororo to keep her back turned and to through a wind tunnel around the parking lot. When the two punks got to the edge of the parking lot, neither one could move. Both were over taken in a fit of coughing from the super humid air blanket that had been thrown around them. Soon enough both collapsed. Ororo calmly walked over and retrieved the wallet.

*Well done, Ororo. They didn’t get sixty feet.*

Ororo smiled brightly at the warm voice in her head. “So, Charles can we discuss a contract.”

Both people ignored the small but vocal crowed astonished by the crazy insane weather that overtook the would be thieves.

“My school hasn’t opened yet. No students, or curriculum. For now all I can offer is a meager salary, but free room, board and food. As well as the opportunity to create it.”

“No students yet? When do you plan on opening the classes?”

“My recruitment process is unique. And no, we won’t be charging a tuition. I’ll explain more in detail when we get there.”

“Isn’t this going to me a bit much for the two of us? I know I can’t be the only staff you’ve had in mind.”

“Your not. There is another...instructor. He may or may not be there this evening. I told him to join us for dinner. He seems to have a problem with authority and he isn’t much of a people person.”

“Are you kidding me? You want this man around children. Older children at that!”

Charles simply chuckled. “I would much rather have him on my side than anything else.” She raised her brow at him. “You’ll see what I mean. Should you decided that you want to work for me, don’t let him push you around.”

“If my sister hasn’t been able to turn me into a pop culture drone, than this man is going to be ice skating up a wall if he tries anything.”

“We’ll see.”

Ororo looked around at her room. She couldn’t believe it. Her new living room was thrice the space of her meager apartment in New Brunswick, never mind the rest of her new space. Charles was gracious enough to give her a room with half a dozen sky lights and large half circular windows that led to a beautiful terrace. This was amazing. The furniture in the room was neatly placed and optimized the space around her.

The room was designed specifically to help negate her problems.

The light blues, yellows, and white trim that the room was painted in would make her feel as if she was riding the winds right here in the room. She dashed throughout the room until she came to her giant king-sized bed with a pillow top to make the hardest of hearts melt. The green and gold bed sheets finished off the earthen theme to the studio like space and called out to her. She backed up to her couch and threw herself on the bed just like she was told never to do buy her late father. This was amazing. She was treated more like family here than by her own self absorbed sister.

She nuzzled two of her eight pillows when she felt her pocket vibrate. After flipping it up, she groaned. It was Vy, again. Whenever she called after six she was looking for a babysitter or a house cleaner.

Ororo never understood her sister’s need to have everything handed to her. When their parents had gotten a divorce Vy and her father had come to America to live in the city. David had done very well for himself as a chief photographer at the New York Times and gave the daughter that chose to go with him everything he never had growing up, which of course was everything and anything at anytime.

Even when Vy had grown up, she had attached herself to a man who would give her the world on a rope. Ororo would never forget the time when she had a fight with Vy about how her son hadn’t learned any responsibilities. Vy didn’t want to be told how to raise her own son (and had said some nasty things about Ororo’s past) and figured the fight was finished. Ororo just shook her head sadly as she watched her sister put chiffon, silk, white, dark and shrinkable dirty laundry in the washing machine.

She was about to let her phone take the call, but changed her mind. Whatever Vy wanted, it was going to have to wait. For the first time in a long time Ororo actually had plans that didn’t include taking the two hour bus ride to Atlantic City in an uncomfortable dealer’s uniform.

“Hey, there Little Sis, how are you?”

“No,” was Ororo’s noncommittal reply.

“Wait? What?”

“The answer to the question is no. I have plans.”

“You haven’t even heard me ask, yet?”

“So you will be asking me for something, again, right? Vy I cannot believe you have not realized that you call me only when you want something. Do you not have a husband? Make him do it.”

“Dang girl, don’t be so selfish. You have tonight off.”

“Wha- - what. I…I’m sorry. Did you just call *me* selfish because it’s starting to look as if you will not be having a free babysitter tonight?”

“Look Ororo, I feel safest when I know you’re around Evan.”

“What in the world is that supposed to mean,” Ororo didn’t bother to keep the rising anger out of her voice. This conversation just went from bad to shitty in under four seconds. That had to be some kind of record. She waited for an answer through the thick awkward pause.

“Well, you know.”

“No, Vivian. I really do not know. Please explain.” Ororo sat up abruptly and rubbed her temples, trying in vain to dissipate the rumbling ominous clouds that made a sudden appearance over Westchester and were making a southeast track towards New York City.

“Do you remember when I told you about Evan’s strange behavior?”

“Yes, but you’re the one with a preteen. You should have to expect things like that.”

“Peer pressure, sure. Carelessly ignoring curfew, ok. Desperate for attention from girls, fine. But the sudden consumption of gallons of milk a day? Are you kidding me? Shredded pants and clothes, with no cuts or bruises? What the hell is that? And Roro, here’s the weirdest thing, I keep finding small pieces of bones, I think.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Maurice said that it’s nothing. Then he took it some pieces to the lab today.”

“And?” Ororo held her breath and got frustrated over the sudden static. “Vy? Hello?” The line was suddenly filled with static. Ororo blew out a long slow breath to quiet her emotions.

“Ororo? Dammit. You have got to stop doing that. I’m sorry, ok. What else am I supposed to do?”

“How about being a mother whom he feels comfortable enough to talk to?” Ororo heard her sister give an angry un-lady like snort.

“You self righteous bitch. That’s rich coming from you.”

Click.

Ororo slammed her phone on her dresser and let the thunder be angry for her. She knew that she would be getting an apology in a few seconds. Vy wanted something out of her and she apparently was desperate.

Soon enough Ororo’s favorite Broadway tune could be heard coming from her phone.

“Oh, Ororo, I am so sorry about that. You know how I can get when my mouth thinks faster than the rest of me. Besides I’m scared, actually I’m damn near terrified.”

“Of what exactly?”

“Ororo, please. Just talk to my son. I mean for crying out loud sake. What am I suppose to say to him if he is a m…”

“By the Goddess. This has nothing to do with me, or Evan does it. Or too chicken to even entertain the thought that *your* son may be a MU*TANT*.”

“Alright look, I made a mistake then. I’m sorry about that.”

“Of course, your sorry about that NOW, Vy. Five years ago I wasn’t allowed in the same room as Evan. ‘Mutations are a disease.’ I will never forget that conversation. When I proved that you were paranoid and delusional, the next excuse was, ‘ I don’t want Evan exposed to your devil-in-disguise worship. I don’t care if it’s Mom’s religion. That doesn’t make it right.’ That didn’t get very far for you, so then you went to your last argument to make sure I would not go near Evan.”

“I just apologized for brining that up again. Besides you just said, it was five years ago. Things have changed. I’ve changed.” Vy sighed at Ororo’s short laugh and continued. “More importantly, Evan is changing. Think about it, please?”

“Alright.” Ororo hung up. Great just great. Vy was going to get her way again. Surprise surprise.

Not bothering to look in the mirror, she threw a simple scrunchie in her hair, and smoothed out her clothes. She wanted to appear nonplussed at the dinner. Xavier had warned her about the other teacher ruffling her feathers. The last thing she wanted to do was to make an appearance with feathers already disjointed.

~X~

Charles looked at the formal dining room table and sighed with contentment. The catering company had come in and dressed everything, polished the silver, and placed the food in an arrangement that would make the best of home makers seethe with jealousy. Everything sparkled and shone with the artfulness of a Norman Rockwell painting. He smiled at that thought. This would most likely be the last time his home would be in some kind of order.

The twelve seating table seemed to go on endlessly, but Charles pondered having the leaf put in for more room when he heard light even footsteps come through the foyer towards him. He looked down at his watch and smiled. Ororo was a big fan of punctuality.

He welcomed his new occupant with a heartfelt smile and beckoned her to a seat near him on his left.

“Charles, what is all of this. I was expecting something simple.”

“I’m sorry Ororo,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I just had to put this to an orderly use. Hopefully this room will be filled with children, quick breakfasts’, yelling over milk, and early morning homework sessions.”

Ororo and Charles both laughed at that.

Leary to break the comfortable feeling with talk of business Ororo hesitated before she inhaled to ask her questions. “Speaking of the children, how do you plan on recruiting? How many can you house here? Am I doing more than just teaching? Is it a ten month job? Should I quit my other one? You spoke of other faculty, what are the duties they perform? Am I going to fast? What kind of curriculum are we building? Is this a primary source of education or a secondary source to Bayville?”

“All in due time Ororo. I was opening to not have to explain myself twice. But of course he’s late, again.”

“Who is?”

As if on cue, the cordless phone in the other room rang. Before Charles could maneuver his chair in reverse Ororo had left and come back with the phone.

“Hello,” she asked as she sat back down again.

The answer on the phone was a crowded and highly active crowd apparently getting violet. Glass was breaking, wood was snapping, curses and insults to make sailors cry were being thrown about. There was a loud bone crushing sound near the phone followed by a terrifying scream. Ororo pulled the phone back and furrowed her brows at it in disbelief. Just as she put it to her ear again the speaker grunted. Ororo looked at Charles filled with confusion.

“Chuck?” Ororo eyebrow lifted at the warn rumbly voice that seemed calm and smooth in the surrounding chaos. Generally the people who are calmest during upheavals are the ones responsible for it. She couldn’t imagine why someone with class and integrity like Charles Xavier would associate with someone like this man. “Yo, Chuck is that you?”

“Obviously not. Who is this?”

“This is a man who’s lookin’ to talk to Wheely. Now put’im on the phone, darlin’.” Before he had even gotten to the casual endearment Ororo was white-knuckling the phone in absolute anger. This man was worse than her sister. How was that even possible in a complete stranger! “Hey, nevermind on that, tuts. Chuck must be busy if he’s got a secretary doin’ the office work already…”

CLICK.

Charles shook his head. So far so good, he thought. He watched as Ororo gave up on her death grip on the phone, put it down carefully, and continued with her dinner as if nothing was wrong. She didn’t even know that her emotional armor was made out of cellophane. It was completely transparent.

“Ororo, when he calls back, can you put it on speaker.”

“Of course. Who was that man anyway? That was the most rude and arrogant person I have ever met. On top of that it sounded as if he was in a bar fight, and enjoying it.” She shivered as if covered in ants.

Charles smirked and leaned back in his chair. It looked as if it would just be the two of them tonight.

“That would be your other associate, Logan.” Charles grinded his teeth together to keep from laughing as Ororo’s straight face was suddenly marred by the involuntary tick in nose and upper lip.

Ring ring ring.

This it was Charles who reached for the phone and put it on speaker. “Logan, where are you?”

“Listen Chuck. I ain’t gonna be able to make it tonight. Something came up. [More obscenities, louder this time were being tossed around. Now there were people screaming death threat, and more glass was being broken.] I dunno when I’m gonna be back. Ya might wanna make the new guy go after the kid. Oh, while your at it, think about firin’ that secretary of yours. She’s got some mouth.”

~X~

Logan felt the cut of a glass bottle filled with alcohol seep into the skin of his back. He turned around and threw his pool stick at the person who threw the bottle. The poor “victim” didn’t know what had hit him as the force of the stick stopped him dead in his tracks and threw him against another pool table.

Logan turned back to the phone to finish his conversation but the line had gone dead. His sensitive ears picked up on the breaking news report on the only television left in the bar that hadn’t been broken. It was about some sort of sudden thunderstorm that took out power over parts of upstate New York.

As he quietly left the devastation and hopped on his Harley, he grunted. Sure enough, angry thick black clouds were waiting for him in the direction he was headed. “Just my friggin’ luck. The last thing I need to do is to ride right into a storm.”