“You know how to work this kinda thing?” Halona asks.
I snicker, then shrug my shoulders as she moves the mouse from side to side.
“Scuse me, sir,” Halona shouts back to the smoker.
’What’s up, guys?” he says, strolling toward us, puffing out a large smoke cloud.
“How do we search for things on the internet?”
“Ah,” he says, leaning over us and moving the mouse himself. Then he hovers his fingers over the keyboard, with the cigarette pinched between his lips, and pauses for a couple of seconds, before he begins to type quicker than I’ve ever seen anybody type before. “We go on this website page called AskJeeves and then you can type anything you want in this search bar here.” He points his finger at the screen. ‘“So uh... what is it you guys wanna search for?”
I look at Halona and her eyes eventually meet mine.
“Oh, it’s okay, we can take it from here,” she says, waving him off.
The smoker holds his palms up to us as if we’ve just offended him. and then backs away.
“Whatever dude and dudette,” he says.
Halona and I watch him sit back down behind his huge computer screen, and when he is fully out of sight, she turns around and hovers her fingers over the keyboard.
“I’m so grateful for you being here with me,” I whisper to her, leaning my cheek onto her shoulder.
Then she begins to type.
How does a boy become a girl?
MERIC MILLER
It’s so exciting that she has a psychic reading tomorrow night. If I can get my hands on a hundurd dollars, then that crazy psycho psychic bitch who works outta the grocery store will finally make Caoimhe fall in love with me.
I’m so giddy about this. Even though I was feeling the opposite of giddy just a few minutes ago because Caoimhe didn’t seem to be showing any interest in my newspaper. I asked her if she wanted to be in it, but she shook her head really fast and said, “No.” I don’t understand that. Why wouldn’t somebody want to be in a newspaper? Instead, she came up with some stoopid idea about me writing an article on men’s depression or somethin’ crazy like that. That’s not what I do. I just report on what changes are being made at the school; updates to the school rosters; changes in the lunch menus; latest updates on the school football team. I mean, it’s sad that Kai wanted to kill himself. But it’s not the first time something like this has happened around here. When we were in middle school, I heard about a boy who killed himself at Median High. It was actually all over the local newspapers back then. I even remember Sarah-Jane Zdanski talking about it on the TV.
“Any idea where I can get my hands on a quick hundurd bucks?” I ask Caoimhe, just as she’s throwing her bag over her shoulder and getting ready to leave.
“A hundred? Jeez,” she says. “Think you’ll need to get a part-time job, Meric.”
Then she hits me on the side of my shoulder and spins around.
“I better go, bell is gonna ring in one minute.”
“Okay, cool,” I reply. Even though I don’t think it’s cool. I was hoping she might wanna help me deliver these newspapers around the school hallways.
Instead, she floats out of my tiny office without saying goodbye before I pick up the three hundred newsletters and follow after her—her walking about twenty feet in front of me, and in total silence, until the bell screeches.
I leave a bundle of newspapers on the main corridor and then spread some out at the bottom of the stairs as I usually do before leaving the biggest box on the edge of the desk in the reception area near the principal’s assistant. She glances up at me every time I leave the newsletters on her desk, then back down at her computer screen without ever saying a word. After dropping off the last of the newspapers and with the hallways now packed with students, I decide to stand under the stairs that lead to the science rooms, just to see if any students pick up a newspaper. It’s a good main headline today... all about the tenth graders’ trip to Europe. Even though I’m not going, it was still cool to write about it. I got a quote from Principal Klay, too. He said more news is gonna come out about the trip soon and that he couldn’t tell me everything just yet. But I’m hoping it’s a story a lot of the students will want to read about once they see the headline.
I watch as two seniors pick up a paper each, and as they climb the stairs and out of sight, I begin to follow them. The boy in the yellow T-shirt balls up the paper then throws it at a kid walking in the opposite direction. The one in the red shirt waits a while and I stare at him wondering if he’s gonna read the front page. But then he balls his newspaper up too and throws it back at the student in the yellow T-shirt.
Assholes!
I turn around and walk back down the stairs where I watch student after student walk by the bundle of papers I had dropped on the bottom step without even noticing them. Then I sniffle, swipe my sleeve across my nose and make my way to class, hoping Momma has a hundurd bucks in her oversized pink purse when I get home this evening.
LUCY DECKER
“C’mon, in you come, take your seat,” I say to Meric as he, as per usual, arrives slightly late for class. He told me he’d be late on Fridays because he has to print off his little school newspapers and deliver them around the hallways. I used to read his newspaper, when he first started writing them. But I just don’t have the time anymore.
“Okay class,” I say, “There is only two more weeks until we go to Europe.”
A wave of “whoooos” echoes through the classroom and it offers me my first genuine smile of the day. I’ve been so low. So very low. Lower than I’ve ever felt before.
Trying to get pregnant has taken a toll on me before, but not like this. Maybe I’m just being overly self-absorbed because I’ve finally realized I’m going to have to lay out ten grand to get pregnant. But I know there has to be more to my depression than just feeling wounded because I can’t get pregnant. On top of that stress, one of my students tried to kill himself last weekend. Kai hasn’t been in all week. But I phoned his mother last night and she says they’ve talked everything through and are coming to terms with what their son has revealed. I’m glad he has finally come out to his folks. The worst of it is over for him now. At least I hope it is. Still, knowing Kai had finally taken such a brave step didn’t stop me from spending all last night crying into a large glass of red. I even muted the TV, just so I could cry in silence. Added to all of that is the whole mess with Johnny looping around my head. I need to nip that in the bud pretty soon. I shouldn’t have gone to The Shamrock to meet him during the week. I was only leading him on. My life is too complicated right now for me to be dating somebody; certainly somebody who has opposite views on the world to the ones I have.
“Miss Decker, what lessons will we be learning in Europe?” Nicole asks after shooting her hand in the air.
“Well, you won’t be doing any lessons per se, but what you will be doing is broadening your mind.”
“Huh?” Brody says.
“Put your hand in the air if you wanna talk, Brody,” I say.
And for some reason, instead of mouthing “I’m sorry,” like one usually would, he winks at me. A bizarre slow, sultry wink.
“I mean, it’ll broaden your mind in terms of richness. We all learn when we take steps outside the zones we are used to living inside. It’ll be interesting to notice all of the cultures France and Italy and England have to offer that are so different to ours. We are such an insular nation that we Americans don’t expand our minds enough. Well, you guys are going to have an amazing opportunity to open your minds in two weeks’ time.”
Hawkins shoots up his hand and I nod at him.
“What do you mean by insular?”
“Well,” I say, sighing, because I’m really not in the mood of teaching today. I shoulda just let them continue their assignment on Walter Fellowes so I could sit at my desk wallowing in my own self-pity again. “For example, if you watch TV you will only see shows about America, right? Our news even… we are
only concerned about news that occurs inside America. We don’t know much about what goes on outside our own country. In fact, here’s an interesting question… wanna take a guess at how many American people even have a passport to travel outside the country?”
I point at Stevie.
“Half. Fifty percent?”
“Nope,” I say.
“Forty percent?” Hawkins says.
“Nope. Lower.”
“Twenty-five percent?” Nicole offers.
And when I shake my head and point downward, the class erupts into a chorus of “Whaaats?”
“Sixteen percent,” I tell them. Audible gasps hiss through the room. “I told you we are an insular nation. Thankfully, though, the passport numbers are rising and our younger people — which is you guys,” I say, pointing around the room, “are getting your passports readily. So hopefully this sixteen percent continues to rise. But that’s quite something... huh?”
All heads around the classroom nod, which is always a great sign to me. I know they’re engaged. I know I’m doing a great job. Even if I do feel like shit.
“But anyway, moving on with the class. The big Sarah-Jane Zdanski interviews are taking place next Thursday night so I want to prepare you for what we might see.”
“Do we know who she is interviewing yet?” Caoimhe says, after putting her hand up.
“It’s still a big secret,” I say. “It’s not likely to be a big deal, and those of you hoping it’s Jason Priestly or the Backstreet Boys will end up disappointed. But it’s not the people she is interviewing that I want you to study. It’s Sarah-Jane herself. I want you to study what she says, how she says it.”
When the school bell chimes, right on time, I dismiss the class with a wave of my hand. And when I sit back down in my chair, I bend forward and rest my forehead on my desk. That period exhausted me. Though I guess it stopped me from feeling sorry for myself for forty-minutes.
“Hey, Miss Decker.”
I look up to see Brody grinning at me, a bundle of bills in his fist.
“Ahhh… you’re coming with us to Europe?”
“I am. My Dad coughed up. So… strap yourself in,” he says.
I look at him funny. And he swivels his head to stare around the room; pausing until the last student — Meric, as usual — leaves my classroom.
“Miss Decker,” Brody says, turning back to me, “I think you and me have something going on between us. What do you think of us maybe... I dunno... getting to know each other better when we’re in Europe.”
I look him up and down; taking in his cheesy grin; his broad shoulders; his stupid-ass Nike Air Jordan sneakers with the laces open. Brody is a perfect stereotype of a fifteen-year-old high school football player. Young. Dumb. Full of cum. I’ve taught a hundred of these guys over the years.
“Why wait till Europe?” I say, winking at him. “Come back. See me after school today.”
His eyes widen, and when he goes to say something he is interrupted by the voice of Principal Klay heading our way.
“I... I... Okay, Miss Decker. You mean come here, to… to your classroom? After school?” he asks.
“You bet,” I say.
And then he backs away, almost bumping into Klay as he rushes out to the hallway.
“Good morning, Miss Decker,” Klay calls out, approaching my desk. “Ah. More money for the trip to Europe, I see. Places must be almost all taken by now, huh?”
I open my drawer, brush away the notes and flick through the acceptance sheets.
“I’ve ten now, including this one from Brody Edwards.”
“Ah yes. I’ve heard his father returned from Iraq two weeks ago. Perhaps he gave him the money for the trip.”
“Probably,” I say, shrugging.
“Ahhh,” Klay says, rubbing his hands together. “I see you have Sarah-Jane Zdanski’s name written on your chalkboard. Doing some media lessons are we?”
“We are indeed.”
“Goodie,” he says. “You talking about her secret interviews next week?”
“We were actually,” I reply. “I’m going to have the tenth graders study the interviews as homework.”
He chuckles, a light chuckle that turns up in volume as if he’s begging for me to ask what he’s chuckling about. Then he taps at his nose with his index finger before bending down to get nearer my face; his beard almost brushing against my cheek.
“I’m not supposed to say,” he whispers, “But ah… I know who she’s interviewing.”
Then he taps his nose again.
“Huh?”
He leans closer to me, awkwardly close... so close I can feel his warm breath inside my ear as he whispers.
“I’m one of the people she’s interviewing next week,” he says.
“Huh?”
He winks at me, then spins on his heels and disappears into the crowded hallway.
WENDY CAMPBELL
The walls and the floors and the beds and the curtains might look cold around here — ’cause they all pale — but it feels kinda warm, I guess. I’m so happy; much happier than I’ve been feeling these past months. Or grateful. Yeah... that’s the word. That’s actually how I’m feeling. Grateful more than anything. Caoimhe is so lucky to have parents like Mr. and Mrs. Larkin. They’re superheroes; superheroes to me and Sally and Momma anyway. Ain’t nobody ever done so much for us our whole lives.
Momma looks more awake than she has done in weeks. I never thought I’d see her sitting upright again. And there’s a twinkle back in her eyes that I thought had died long before she had. I wink at her as Mr. Larkin talks to the doctor in the doorway, and then I reach out my hand so she can grasp it.
“You gonna be just fine,” I whisper, so I don’t disturb Mr. Larkin and the doctor talking.
Then, as soon as they say their goodbyes, I stand up and bear-hug Mr. Larkin, a bit like football players do when they score a touchdown.
“Thank you so much, sir. I mean... I don’t... I can’t…”
“You don’t have to thank me, Wendy,” he says, patting me on the back while I squeeze him. “Thank the nurses and staff here who will care for your mother.”
“They wouldn’t be taking care of me if it wasn’t for you,” Momma says. It’s so good to hear her voice again. Her full voice. She’s not whispering. Not trying to talk in between wheezes of breaths. “And we do need to thank you. You and your lovely wife. Ain’t nobody ever done anything so nice for me befo’.”
Mr. Larkin crinkles the corners of his Irish eyes and then let’s me go before walking over to Momma so he can place his hand on top of hers.
“It’s just human decency,” he says.
Then he lets go and as he turns, he taps me on the shoulder.
“Wendy, can I have a quick word outside?” he says.
I nod, then look at Momma to offer her a wide smile before blowing her a little kiss.
Mr. Larkin walks out to the all-white, brightly lit hallway, and as soon as I waddle to catch up to him, he turns to me and crosses his arms.
“Wendy, I know your mother looks as if she has picked up, but truth be known, that is solely down to the drugs the doctors have given her this afternoon. Unfortunately, her current state is not sustainable. You know what sustainable means, don’t you, Wendy?”
“Sure,” I say, nodding.
“I’ve spoken to the lead oncologist and he says… well he says… he says…”
Mr. Larkin scratches his chin and I feel my bottom lip beginning to tremble. It does this when I know there’s bad news comin’.
“What is it Mr. Larkin?” I ask, before sniffling.
“Well, your mother’s cancer is particularly aggressive and well… she doesn’t have much time left, Wendy.”
I look down at my shoes, then back up at Mr. Larkin because I know the tears will just spill outta ma eyes if I stay lookin’ down.
“I know,” I say. And soon as I say it, the tears begin to fall anyway.
“Do you understand what a hospi
ce is?” he asks. I try to bite down on my bottom lip, so that it stops trembling, and then I shake my head. “It’s not a hospital, it’s not somewhere for patients to seek treatment and get better. Hospices are well… they are places people come to die, Wendy.”
He holds my shoulder, but that doesn’t help. In fact, it just makes me cry even more. I sob; sobs that make my whole body and not just my bottom lip tremble. Mr. Larkin pulls me to him. Oh boy, I wish I had a Poppa to hug like this my whole life. Caoimhe is so lucky.
As I am squeezing her Poppa under one of the all-white, bright lights in the hallway, I hear Caoimhe and her Momma walking toward us.
“How did you get on?” Mr. Larkin whispers over my shoulder.
“Good,” Mrs. Larkin replies. “Wendy… we have decided that while your mother is in the hospice that we will take Sally into our home.” I release my squeeze on Mr. Larkin and turn to face my new best friend and her angel of a Momma. “She’s in school right now and we will continue to ensure she goes to school every day… well, as much as possible. You, too. We’d like you to continue going to school as often as you can. We’re trying to get more and more answers for you both for what’ll happen when... when…”
“She understands,” Mr. Larkin says as he squeezes my shoulder.
Then Mrs. Larkin does what Mr. Larkin did earlier and hugs me as tight as she can.
Only this time it doesn’t make me cry more. In fact it makes me smile through my tears.
“You guys are angels,” I say.
And then Caoimhe joins in on the hug and we all stand there under the bright lights, resting our chins on each other’s shoulders, rubbing circular patterns into each other’s backs.
“How long is it until Momma passes?” I ask, as I sniffle my tears.
The pause is long before Mr. Larkin finally answers.
“The doctors think it may be just a matter of days,” he says.
BRODY EDWARDS
In The Middle of Middle America Page 19