Definition
1 : to saw with a whipsaw
2 : to beset or victimize in two opposite ways at once, by two-phase operation, or by the collusive action of two opponents
A whipsaw is a type of hand-powered saw worked by two people, one of whom stands on or above the log being sawed and the other below it, usually in a pit. The tool dates back to the 15th century, but it was not until the 19th century that anyone thought to use the saw's name figuratively to describe situations in which someone or something is doubly "cut," or hurt. Today, the word is commonly used when discussing financial crises or losses as well as ideological changes (as in government policy) that might "cut."
The glare of the overhead lighting - that awful strip lighting that should definitely have been removed years ago but due the oh so frequent budget cuts had been deemed a 'low priority' in every finance meeting since the seventies - was starting to induce the distant rumblings of the start of a truly awful migraine.
The parents weren't helping.
They would sit across from her desk - in the students tiny little chairs, looking absurd, and tell her, in minute details, how their child was clearly an angelic early onset genius and any deviation from this on her part clearly showed that she had no idea how to do her job and then they would proceed to tell her how to do said job.
It wasn't like she told them that their child was the next Hitler or anything, but she felt duty bound to bring up any behaviour of their child that she felt could become problematic - to others or to themselves. It was her job as an educator to ensure that the children she taught had the best start in life she could possibly give them - and if it meant telling their parents some nasty home truths about their little angel so that they could grow up to not be horrid entitled little shits, then she would say them.
This did not make her popular with the parents. Oddly, however, the children loved her. Possibly because they could sense she genuinely did have their best interests at heart. Everything she did, she did for them, she would never willingly cause them harm and this they knew.
However, that did not mean it was easy.
Her next student and his parents being case in point.
Ichabod Jones and his parents sat across from her. Normally, she would not allow the child to sit in the meeting - she would rather have an honest (brutal) conversation with the parents first and then speak to the child as and when needed in class.
However, the Jones' had absolutely insisted that Ichabod sat in with them. How much of this was their idea and how much of this was Ichabod's brainwashing, she had no idea.
Ichabod grinned at her, the harsh lighting throwing sinister shadows across his face.
Well, two could play hardball she thought to herself.
"Mr and Mrs Jones." She began smoothly "Where you aware that Ichabod was, in fact, the Son of Satan?"
She was not being hyperbolic, Ichabod had proved again and again in class that he was, indeed, the anti-christ. From causing lightning and thunder to postpone PE, summoning ghosts to disturb math class and turning the entire student body's lunches into slugs and worms one day because the girl next to him had a chocolate bar and he didn't.
Plus there was the time when he had nearly burned down the entire school with blue hellfire when she had told him off for turning the hair of the girl at the desk in front of him into snakes.
Ichabod blinked.
The Jones', tellingly, sat stunned for a full three minutes before frantically denying such a ridiculous tale, accusing her of insanity and saying she was not fit to be a teacher.
As the Jones' became more and more hysterical as they fought to make her deny the obvious, the insults worse and worse and the threats to my career, future and life more and more disastrous, she sat silently and watched Ichabod to see if her suspicions about him were correct.
He was become paler and paler the more vile his parents became.
"Mum, dad." He said shakily. "Miss didn't say anything wrong. Stop it."
"Ah." She thought.
"You be quiet." His dad thundered at him, springing out of his chair and looming over his small son. "Stop making things worse, like you always do."
"Mr Jones." Her voice cracked out like a whip, freezing him in his tracks. "In no time, situation or place will I allow such a tone to be used against a child - especially one who has done nothing wrong."
She fixed him with an icy gaze. "Sit. Down."
He sat.
She contemplated the two adults, neither of which would meet her eyes and the small anti-christ, who did.
"As I said." She continued in a calmer tone, "Ichabod is clearly the anti-christ." She held up her hand. "And before you begin to foolishly protest, please bear in mind that I see Ichabod five days a week for at least six hours a day - did you really think a small child could hide what he is for that long?" She glared at them. "And he shouldn't be expected to try."
They both flinched. She sighed.
"Let me say this, I don't care if the child is the anti-christ, an angel or the boogie monster from under the bed. If they are a child and in my care, I will educate and care for them to the best of my abilities. Yes, Ichabod is the anti-christ and has access to dark, satanic energies which he does, on occasion, use for somewhat mischievous reasons."
A dark cloud passed over the father's face.
"However," She continued. "He has always apologised for any wrong doing he has committed and tries to make amends. He also is generally a very bright and amenable child and is very well liked by the rest of the students. He tries hard in most of his classes, with the possibly exception of maths which perhaps you as parents could encourage him in, and I have no complaints at all about his attendance. All in all, I am well pleased with his progress this year." She finished.
His parents looked at me, their mouths agape.
"But, but, but.." His mother stuttered.
"He's the anti-christ!" His father burst out.
"I believe we already covered that. Yes, he is. He's also a normal boy, his behaviours and tendencies not that much different that any other boy his age. I do not see a need for concern."
"He'll bring about the apocalypse! He's destined to bring an eternity of suffering and grief to humankind once he comes of age." His father snarled.
She looked at Ichabod. "Ichabod, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I'd quite like to be a fireman miss." He said shyly. "They were really cool when they came to school earlier."
"There you have it." She said firmly. "Nothing to worry about."
"Blood will out." His father said darkly.
"And Ichabod also has the blood of humans running through his veins." She said sharply. "Which means he is automatically given free will and the right to choose what he wants to be. Which means he can be any damn thing he chooses to be. It is our duty, as carers, to give him as many options as possible for him to choose from."
"MIss, you swore." Ichabod said, amazed.
"And you're not to repeat it unless you want detention for a week."
"Yes Miss."
She sighed and handed over Ichabod's report card. "Mr and Mrs Jones, if you are worried and want to discuss Ichabod's future with me further, I would be happy to set up weekly meetings where we can discuss his progress and development - but I really do think he's fine."
His father stood up, dragging his wife with him. "Thank you." He said stiffly. "I think we've heard quite enough. Come, boy."
They stalked out. His mum twisted enough in her husband's grasp to mouth the word 'sorry' as she was dragged through the door.
"See you on Monday Miss." Ichabod waved goodbye.
"Have a lovely weekend Ichabod." She responded.
The door closed behind them. She put her head on the desk, tired fingers massaging an even more tired brain. The migraine was beginning to gain traction and was thundering towards her at an alarming rate.
***
That night, as she was getting ready for bed, there was a knock at the door. She opened it. Ichabod stood there, tiny suitcase in hand, his black, whiteless eyes filled with tears.
"Dad said that if you liked me so much, you could keep me." He said, with a small sob.
"Bastards." She thought.
"Come in Ichabod." She said out loud. "It's cold out there. You can stay with me as long as you need to Would you like some warm milk?"
"Thank you Miss."
He walked into the warmth of the room in front of him. She closed the door behind him and shut the dark out.
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