Mister Manchego was the kind of teacher who created other teachers. His joy for the craft was contagious. Every kid left his classroom feeling like they wanted to be just like him: funny, kind, smart, full of random bits of information. He loved trivia, especially science trivia. When kids asked him where he got all his facts, he would pat his belly and say, “I store all my knowledge in here.” 

He taught at Johannes Elementary for forty-nine years. He taught generations. He taught my parents when they were in third grade, and he taught me twenty years later. When he was 65 I started working as his paraeducator. 

I’d worked for other teachers before, experienced teachers, who’d grown bitter and angry from years of mistreatment. I swore I would never be like them. Mister Manchego used to say, “It’s better to be a sucker than a cynic.” I turned that into my mantra. I don’t mind the low wages, long hours, or unruly kids. I love the work. There’s something so beautiful about teaching kids how to love learning. Watching them get excited about a lesson just lights me up. It’s such a rush. 

My dream job was to work for Mister Manchego, so when the position opened up, I dove at it. 

Mister Manchego taught every subject, but he loved science most of all. He brought in reptiles and amphibians, and during the pandemic, he put all the students on a Zoom call with a naturalist who took them on a safari. He started the tradition of Galaxy Week, where each classroom gets its own planet to study, and they decorate their rooms to look like that planet. One of his students went on to win a Nobel Prize for chemistry, and credited Mister Manchego in her acceptance speech. 

Mister Manchego was the school, and the school was Mister Manchego. 

He never married. How could he? Any partner would come second to his career. The students were his children, the school was his spouse. 

About five years ago, Mister Manchego had a heart attack. It was during the Halloween dance-a-thon, and he went just a little bit too hard. At first, the kids thought he was just doing a funny dance move. He started beating at his chest like a gorilla, then fell to his knees. 

The doctors said it was a miracle he survived. He got a pacemaker put in. According to his doctor, his first words upon waking were “I thought I could handle the boogie…” 

The pacemaker worked for a while. That’s around when I started working for him. We told him to be careful, but he would laugh and say, “I’m unstoppable, baby! I’m the Energizer Bunny! I just keep on going and going and going!” 

On April Fools’ Day, little Roddy Mendes wanted to prank him with one of those shocker gum sticks. You pull the gum and it gives you a little buzz. I don’t know how Mister Manchego fell for it. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Maybe he forgot that electricity shorts out pacemakers, I don’t know. But he turned to me, winked, and pulled the stick of gum. 

I think of that moment every day. His smile, his nod, the slow wink. It was all so deliberate. What was he thinking? Did he think the voltage was too low to have an effect? 

He got very dizzy, almost drunk. He sat down fast, and I was dialing 911 before he even reached the floor. I rode in the ambulance with him to the hospital. He was having trouble catching his breath and was hiccuping. 

“Jenny,” he said. “Make sure Roddy knows it’s not his fault.” 

I said, “I know. He didn’t know.” 

“You have to do one last thing for me.” 

“Don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make it.” 

“I’m not. I know this is it. So you have to promise me this.” 

"Anything.” 

Then he vomited in my lap, and I saw blood like coffee grounds in it. His nose was bleeding, too. 

“It’s okay,” I said, before he could apologize. “It’s fine.” 

He spoke in small gasps. 

“I’m going. To be. At the school.” 

“Yes, Mr. Manchego, you’ll be there. You’re going to be okay.” 

He said, “No, no. You need to. Do this. For me. I need. To be there.” His breathing started to become easier as whatever relaxants he was given began to take effect. “The kids need to learn.” 

“I promise,” I said. 

He said, “It’s all. In the will. My last. Lesson plan. I’m relying. On you. You must.” 

“I will do anything, Mister Manchego, I love you.” 

“I will never. Leave. The school.” His grip suddenly tightened on my hand and I leaned in. “Promise. I will never leave the school.” 

“I promise.” 

He died on April second, at four in the morning. We read the will that same day. Everything was left to the school. 

The doctor assured us all that the cardiac arrest was inevitable. He looked at Roddy Mendes’s little shocking device, and said it wasn’t dangerous on its own. It would’ve happened either way, and the shocker just sped it along. 

“Honestly, it's a miracle that he lived as long as he did.” 

That’s what we told Roddy. We assured him over and over. It wasn’t the prank that killed him. It was inevitable. Still, it’s been a month now and Roddy still hasn’t come back to school. His parents are talking about leaving town. Nobody is mad at the kid, but still, in a small town like this, you can’t get over something like that. He's always gonna be the guy who murdered Mister Manchego. 

Mister Manchego’s will was very clear. It had been written out as a lesson plan, complete with assessments, materials, and learning objectives. 

So this is our morning routine now. Before the kids arrive, I go to the cafeteria and grab three big bags of ice. Mister Manchego’s body is in the tank where we used to keep the turtles. I drain the melted ice from the night before, and I repack the fresh ice around his body. His will was very specific: he didn’t want any sort of embalming. He wanted the kids to see the natural process. That was learning objective one: Observe and understand the natural process of decomposition. 

Once the kids arrive, we start each day by logging our observations of Mr. Manchego. We write down lividity, presence of insects, and bloating. The kids write and share three I Wonder statements, which they then put on the board. I wonder if his fingernails will keep growing. I wonder why does he fart? I wonder why is he purple on his back but not on top? This fulfills learning objective two: Encourage creative questioning. 

Then they put their I Wonder statements on the board, and the kids can pick whichever statement they want to research; it doesn’t have to be their own. Then we take out our Chromebooks and do some research. This fulfills learning objective three: Practice curiosity-driven research. 

We share what we’ve learned, and new words go on the New Word Board: livor mortis, microorganism, cadaverine. This fulfills learning objective four: Explore new vocabulary and learn about latin roots. 

Then we go back to our standard lesson. Right now we’re working on long division. 

Unfortunately by the time lunch comes, the ice has melted significantly, and it’s time to drain the tank again. He excretes quite a bit, so it can be a mess. Thankfully the tank has a little plug on the bottom for easy drainage into a bucket. It doesn’t bother me too much. Dealing with bodily secretions is all part of working with kids. I have the kids bring back bags of ice and help me pack the body. 

I understand that it’s unconventional, but it was his last wish, and I made a promise. The kids love it. They think it’s pretty funny when he farts. We have to keep the windows open for the smell, although third graders smell pretty bad anyway, so it doesn’t make that much of a difference in my opinion. There’s only one student who seems to have a problem with it, and that’s little Suzie Lombard. She can’t stop crying, and she says she’s scared of him. Her parents say Mister Manchego is giving her nightmares. I told them that it’s the natural process of life, and nothing to be afraid of. I think Suzie might be having some emotional issues. Until recently she was a very happy kid, and has never been bullied. I may send her to the school counselor. There must be something happening at home.

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Sophie Aust (she/her) is a fiction writer based in San Jose, California, where she teaches English at San Jose State University. She previously served as chief copy editor at Reed Magazine and has been published in The White Wall Review and Radix Magazine.