Heard it through the grapevine

“I need to ask you something,” my friend said. It was a run-of-the-mill morning, many years ago, at the school where we worked. We were walking up the stairs to our respective classrooms. She stopped me and took my arm: “Is it true?”

I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. Was my contract in jeopardy? Did I miss a meeting? Had I forgotten to turn off the coffee maker in the teacher’s lounge? 

“Is what true?” I asked.

“That you’re getting a divorce,” she said. She seemed genuinely concerned. I was genuinely confused. 

“Uh, not that I know of,” I answered, “but to be honest, I didn’t have time to talk to Mark this morning. You think he’s waiting for the right time to let me in on it?“

She laughed. “I’m sorry. But I kept hearing it, so I thought I’d better come and ask you myself.”

“If we’re getting divorced, it’s news to me,” I assured her. And I thanked her for coming to me instead of stopping at every doorway in the building to further the speculation about impending changes to my marital status.

We parted ways and I took my place at the front of my classroom, prepared to start discussion on whatever topic was up for grabs that day. Then I noticed the faces of my eighth-graders. They seemed uncomfortable. Afraid to look at me. Some were shifting in their seats. This was unusual. They would normally have been talking about what they had done last night and exchanging last-minute answers on some assignment they’d put off until that moment.

Then it hit me.

“Have you been hearing rumors about me?” I asked. A couple of them nodded yes, but didn’t look up.

“OK, let me set you straight. I am not getting divorced,” I explained. A few of them made eye contact. “What else have you heard?” I asked.

“That you were selling your house,” one of them offered. “And moving to Missouri,” another added. “And that you were taking your kids with you, and leaving right away,” someone else said. 

Wow. What an oddly specific rumor. That was a fair amount of detail for something that had zero basis in fact. I was, in a word, flabbergasted. I laughed. They were relieved. I guess I was too, having come so close to a dramatic, fictional separation from the love of my life.

We talked for a few more minutes about the ridiculousness of rumors and the wisdom of doing what my friend had done—coming directly to me and asking whether the stories she’d heard were true.

I think of that day every now and then, when confronted by a wild story. My husband— the one who did not divorce me, despite public pressure—worked much of his career in law enforcement. We understand epic rumors. If alcohol, assault and arrest are involved, nobody gets the story straight. If it’s a traffic stop, the rumor mill can make speeding ticket into a saga worthy of its own season on “Yellowstone,” complete with supporting characters and a convincing subtext.

But in my opinion, it’s the gentler rumors that do the most damage. The ones that assign motives to people’s actions, based solely on guesswork. The ones that involve our friends and colleagues. The ones we all exchange, far too easily.

I appreciate creative storytelling, but I tip my hat to the person who decided, in a flight of fancy, to move me to Missouri with my kids. To construct a drama in three acts about my future in the Ozarks. To be an irresponsible catalyst for misinformation that made my friends and my students uncomfortable.

We can do better.