The Slurpee and the Apology I Never Got

The Missing Sorry

There was one thing I needed from my husband after the affair—and he refused to give it to me: an apology. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. What I did was deeply wrong.”

I wanted a genuine apology. I waited for a long time for that apology. It never came.

Now, I wonder what might have happened if I had received it. Would we still be together? I will never know. I lived for years in the silence of that missing “sorry,” trying to maintain my dignity while my world was in ruins.

The Battle of the Slurpee

I started my teaching career in a logging community in Oregon nearly 20 years ago. As a new teacher, I was given the majority of “at-risk” students. Although they were 9-12 graders, many could hardly read or write. I learned quickly that by forming relationships and showing interest in their lives, we could form a rapport. I could usually get kids to work with me. Riley was the exception.

The first day of class, he wrote sexually inappropriate comments about me on his desk. I was horrified and humiliated. My fragile authority and years of training reduced to one word—a word more appropriate for animal behavior in a cattle yard. I felt cheapened and humiliated.

I wrote a referral; he was given a detention.

He was not really sorry.

Despite a school rule, he continued to come to class with a 32oz soda, gulping it noisily while I tried to teach grammatical structure. I was trying to pick my battles, but the anger was building. I sort of hated the kid.

My rage was building and it reached a boiling point. He brought a 64oz Slurpee to class—a drink the same size as his desk! I had to restrain myself from crashing out. Even as I tried to teach the other students, I couldn’t stop picturing his stupid face and hearing his ridiculously loud slurping while I introduced parts of speech.

I knew it for what it was: a not so subtle attack on my authority.

I had enough! I grabbed the Slurpee and threw it in the wastebasket.

“Your time to drink a Slurpee was during lunch! I’m done. I am just done!” I yelled in his face.

His anger matched my own. “You c@#t!” he screamed. “You f#$%ing c@#t!”

In my whole life, no one had ever called me the “See You Next Tuesday” word. I was stunned. He bolted from the room and the rest of the class watched in wide-eyed silence. You couldn’t have heard a pin drop.