Thorns of Rosewood

by G M Barlean

  No please. No thank you. Just an order.

  Poor Tanya. Working with Naomi must be a nightmare. I reminded myself I had my own nightmare to deal with, and she was sitting right in front of me.

  Tanya trudged over and plucked the envelope from Naomi’s hands. She said nothing, but I’m sure it was because the only thing she could think of to say would have been something foulmouthed.

  Naomi settled into the chair and crossed her legs. “So, I see you still run with Tanya like you did in high school. I assume you still hang out with the whole gang—Betty, Debbie… Mari too?”

  I smiled. “Yes, I’m proud to say we’ve all stayed pretty close.” I wasn’t about to let Naomi knock me from my footing. “Now, where is Doug Junior? He should be here for our visit.”

  “Why on earth would he need to be here? Just tell me his grades so I can be on my way. I’m a busy woman, late for an appointment as it is.” Naomi brushed her skirt as though it were dirty from being in a public school. She looked around with haughty eyes at the other parents and children.

  “Well, in seventh grade the children are supposed to come to conference with their parents. Is he coming?” I glanced around the auditorium. Doug Junior was nowhere to be seen.

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s obviously not here, and I don’t know that his whereabouts is any of your business. I’m the parent. I’m the one who’s important. I’m the one paying the taxes that pay your wages. Let’s get on with it.” She scooted her chair closer to the table and reached for the papers on my desk.

  I snatched them up.

  “Doug Junior is a smart boy,” I began, the papers tight in my hands. “His grades are above average, yet not the highest in his class. He could be achieving higher scores, but I wouldn’t say there is anything for us to be concerned with in that regard.”

  “Great.” Naomi began to stand.

  “Wait.” I selected a paper from the bottom of the pile.

  Naomi rolled her eyes and sat back down. “If his grades are fine, what more is there to discuss?”

  “I wanted to show you this. It’s a poem Doug wrote in class.” I handed her the paper. “He’s so quiet and solitary. I guess I worry about him. Is everything okay… at home?” I held my breath. I felt like I had to ask but doubted I’d get an answer so much as start a war.

  Naomi glanced at the lines on the page, shrugged, and tossed the paper back onto my table. “So? It’s a poem. You gave it an A. What’s the problem? He’s quiet? Good. He’s in school. He’s supposed to be quiet. You want him running around and yelling? What kind of teacher are you?”

  I stared at Naomi, then looked down at the paper. “But Naomi… did you read this? I began to read the young man’s poem aloud.

  I’m alone again.

  Homework’s done. Night’s begun.

  In my quiet room.

  Four walls make my space. My place.

  No one else.

  I’m all alone.

  Don’t make a mess.

  Don’t disappoint.

  Don’t raise my voice.

  Alone.

  I looked up into Naomi’s eyes, hoping the mother would hear the loneliness in her son’s words. I handed the poem back to her. “Don’t you want to keep this?” I asked.

  She gripped the paper in a tight fist. Anger boiled behind her eyes.

  “So it didn’t rhyme. My kid’s not good at poetry. Give him a B. And for your information, he likes being alone. What of it?”

  Naomi clearly didn’t have time to bother with a son. I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. “I guess I worry if Doug Junior is happy. This poem sounds like a cry for help, Naomi.”

  Naomi threw back her head and laughed from deep in her throat. “Happy? Cry for help? So you’re a psychologist now? Give me a break.” She stood and glared down at me. “Josie, seriously. Doug Junior has more money in his trust fund than you make in a year. He has everything most kids can only dream of. The only thing possibly troubling him is having a bad teacher.”

  She stood up, turned, and stormed away.

  Part of me wanted to rush after Naomi, grab her by the arm, and give her a scolding. But I couldn’t actually see myself doing such a thing. I couldn’t even imagine what I would say if I did. That Naomi was a bad mother? Was it my job to declare parents good or bad? No. It was only my job to teach their children. I rubbed my fingers across my forehead, trying to push the headache away.

  But if I didn’t do something, who would? If someone didn’t reach out to the poor young man… who knows what would become of him?

  I jumped up and ran out of the auditorium and into the hallway to find Naomi. The hall seemed so long as I ran up and down, searching, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  I ran out the front door and scanned the parking lot for her car. The bright red Buick Wildcat caught my eye. There sat Doug Junior. Naomi held the poem in her fist and shook it at her son as she yelled.

  I couldn’t tell what she said, but I could see Doug Junior’s hopeless eyes. He stared out the window as Tanya and Rusty followed their three children to an old beat-up truck. They were all holding hands and laughing. Doug Junior looked as though he’d trade places with them any day of the week.

  I watched Naomi yell at her son and the sadness in Doug Junior’s expression. Someone had to help him, and I was that someone. When I returned to the school building, I went directly to the principal.

  “Mr. Berry, I need to speak with you.” I interrupted his visit with another teacher. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sorry I interrupted. It’s urgent.” I pleaded with my eyes.

  He and I walked away from the front door of the gym and to a quiet alcove. “What is it, Miss Townsend?” Principal Berry wore a taut smile.

  I straightened my spine. “Mr. Berry, we have a problem.” I paused. A flash of reality hit me. It was no secret Doug Talbot played golf with the principal, and Naomi played bridge with his wife. Flying into accusations about the Talbots wouldn’t be acceptable. I had to say what was on my mind in a professional way. “I’m concerned about parents not bringing their children to conference. I believe if we allow one parent to do it, others will follow. It interferes with good communication about the education of their children.” I held my breath and waited to see Mr. Berry’s reaction.

  “Well, I can’t disagree. Did many parents come without their children?” He glanced toward the entry of the auditorium as if searching for the culprits.

  “Only one, actually. I visited with the mother about the need to have her child there, and she was… belligerent.”

  “Belligerent? Who are we talking about?”

  I took a deep breath. “Naomi Talbot. She left Doug Junior in the car. I know because I walked outside after the session and saw him there. I’m… concerned about the boy and his family life. I think he may be… neglected.”

  Principal Berry cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I see.” His eyes grew vacant. “Well, this is thin ice we’re skating on. The Talbots have always been so generous to the school. You know they donated a good sum toward the new uniforms for the football team. They’re pillars of the community, Miss Townsend. We can’t accuse them of anything without foundation. Neglect. You’re making a strong claim. What do you base it on?” Mr. Berry narrowed his eyes.

  “Well, sir, he’s written a poem and it makes me think he’s… lonely. I don’t think his mother spends much time with him… or encourages him.”

  Mr. Berry’s expression became more disinterested.

  I began to talk faster. “I guess I worry as he’s such a quiet boy… a loner, even.” I still didn’t see the reaction in Mr. Berry’s eyes I had hoped for. I had to sway him.

  “And I saw Naomi yell at him in the car. I’m so concerned about the child, Mr. Berry.” I twisted my hands together.

  The principal’s face dropped and he smiled ever so slightly. I knew I had babbled on like a little girl tattling on a playmate. The more I talked, the more I could see t
he principal dismiss everything I said.

  “I see.” His words sounded hollow. “You know, Miss Townsend, my mother yelled at me on occasion. My father didn’t think much when he took a switch to my hide, either. I think I turned out all right.”

  His smirk unnerved me.

  “But Naomi trivialized Doug’s poem. She didn’t even show any concern for her son. And when she yelled at him… he looked so… so… sad.”

  Principal Berry chuckled. “Well, I assure you, every time my father bent me across his knee I also felt incredibly sad. Some boys need more discipline than others. You know this, Miss Townsend. But, if it will make you feel better, I can visit with Naomi if you’d like.”

  I nodded. He’s thinks I’m a raving lunatic.

  Mr. Berry added, “My wife and I are their dinner guests tomorrow evening. I’ll chat with them.”

  I visualized the Berrys and the Talbots. They would laugh about my silly ideas over a cup of coffee and as their spoons clinked against fine crystal while eating sorbet.

  As the principal walked back to the door of the gym, I knew in my gut nothing would be accomplished if I relied on his visit with the Talbots. Something else would need to be done. Monday morning I would visit with the school nurse, Mrs. Georgia Clearwater.

  First thing Monday morning, I knocked on the door of the nurse’s office. Mrs. Clearwater, the horror of every child under eighth grade, opened the door.

  Nurse Clearwater stood as straight as a board and gleamed in sterile white from head to toe, the only color on the woman her piercing blue eyes. If I could get her behind my cause, she’d personally scare the bejeezus out of Naomi Talbot.

  “What do you need, Miss Townsend?” the nurse barked. She wasn’t about to give out any smiles.

  I didn’t expect any.

  “I need a moment of your time.” I began to step forward to make my way into the nurse’s office, but she stepped in front of me and blocked the entry.

  “What’s this about? I have a busy morning. No time for chitchat.”

  Georgia Clearwater was always busy. She moved like a freight train through the hallways, her white shoes squeaking on the shiny linoleum. When she arrived at the door of a classroom, children froze solid and began to pray.

  “I have a concern about one of our students, and I need your advice.” I met her cold stare and dug deep for courage.

  Mrs. Clearwater stared into my eyes without blinking. She stepped aside enough to let me pass. “I can give you,” she said and glanced down at her watch, “five minutes. I give polio shots today.”

  I entered and closed the door behind me, then felt like I’d been committed to a hospital room. Every pile of papers in the sanitized room sat neatly stacked, every pen and pencil in rows.

  Mrs. Clearwater looked at her watch and began to tap her sensible white shoe.

  “Well, I’m worried about Doug Talbot Jr. I believe he’s being neglected at home. I know he spends a great deal of time alone in his room and unsupervised.”

  The statement hung between us in the quiet room. It seemed like minutes before the nurse’s expression cracked and she snorted.

  She shook her head and sneered at me.

  “Mrs. Clearwater, I’ve brought a serious matter to your attention and you look at me as though I’ve suggested something ridiculous? I’m confused.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  The nurse straightened up and gave me a threatening glare. “Oh, you’re confused, are you, Miss Townsend? Well, let me help you see things from a different perspective. A more mature perspective, perhaps. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

  The nurse went to her desk and sat down, then pulled a thick file from a drawer. She laid it open on her desk, selected the top paper, and began to read. “Bruce Gardner. Second grade. Came to school this winter without a coat. Said his family couldn’t afford one. I know it’s because his dad spends most of his paycheck at the tracks. I gave Bruce a coat.” Without looking up she pointed to the clothing rack, which contained a variety of sizes of jackets, pants, and shirts.

  She licked her finger and picked up the next paper. “Evelyn Pieper, fifth grade. Bruises on her arms which look like finger marks. Her mom’s nervous as a cat, and I’ve seen her jerk the child around. Talked to the mom about it. She denied everything.”

  Lick. Next paper. “Grady Handratty. Eighth grade. Weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet and is at least five foot eight. An unnaturally skinny boy in my opinion. I know darn well he only gets one meal a day and it’s right here in our lunch room. He probably spends the weekend hungry.”

  Lick. The next paper. “Oh. Here’s a sad one. This is about little Penny Lexington. Kindergarten. She throws up almost every day. The child is so nervous she shakes and gets headaches and a stiff neck. She’s in the office every noon to ask the secretary if she can call home to check on her mama. I saw her mother in the grocery store last week. The woman sported a black eye and a cut lip. Said she fell down the stairs. I know damn well the child has a nightly front-row seat to a boxing match where her mother always loses. That’s a hard thing to watch, Miss Townsend… when you’re only five.” Mrs. Clearwater stood and walked over to me, squared off, and stared right through me.

  I fought the knot in my throat and the tears in my eyes. I knew all those kids. I knew the truth. So many children fell through the cracks.

  “You don’t think I know what’s going on with all these children.” Her voice had a hard, cold edge. She continued to glare at me. Then she raised her voice enough to make me jump. “You don’t think I’ve confronted all these parents over the years? Talked to principals and teachers and even the damn Department of Public Welfare until I’m blue in the face, Miss Townsend?”

  I backed up until my back pressed against the door. Mrs. Clearwater loomed closer with each move I made backward. Heat rose to my face and a pit formed in my stomach.

  “I have done everything I can for these children, and I assure you, Doug Talbot Jr. is the least of my worries. Neglected? Quite probably. But abused? Not fed? Cold in the winter? Those things take precedence over a little rich boy who spends too much time alone in his room. Forgive me if I don’t go scold little miss hot pants, Naomi Talbot. Besides, she has the school board and administration wound so tight around her finger, there’s nothing an old school nurse like me could say to sway her anyway.”

  Mrs. Clearwater stepped back and shook her head, then marched back to her desk. She put away the file and sat down in her creaking oak chair with her back to me. Her angry words hung heavy in the air.

  I’d been dismissed. The weight of ugly knowledge perched securely on my shoulders. No wonder Mrs. Clearwater never smiled.

  As I trudged back to my class, I realized the nurse was right. There were bigger problems than the loneliness of a little rich boy. Maybe Naomi did know her own child. It could just be his personality.

  And even when children truly were in harm’s way, the state rarely took them from their homes. The lesser of two evils… the roll of the dice of foster care versus a child in a home he’d always known.

  My watch showed seven forty-five. The kids would charge into the school any second. About to turn the knob of my door, I heard the voice of Principal Berry behind me. He stood outside his office, four doors down from my room.

  “Miss Townsend. Would you come into my office, please?”

  I glanced down at my watch again, then looked up to see the first bus arrive. I hurried to Mr. Berry’s door and rounded the corner, only to find Naomi Waterman Talbot in a chair by Mr. Berry’s desk. The glare in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. Talking to Mr. Berry had been a huge mistake.

  Mr. Berry took a seat behind his desk. A conceited smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  Naomi sat, her legs crossed at the knee and her hands resting casually on the arms of her chair. Her face gleamed in triumph like a cat with one paw on a half-dead mouse.

  As I took the seat Mr. Berry pointed to, Douglas Junior walked past
me and stood beside his mother. He had the look you see on so many rich kids’ faces. Apathetic. Superior. Bored.

  “Mr. Berry, children are arriving in the classroom. Is this the best time?” I sat on the edge of the chair.

  “I’ve arranged for an aide to watch your class until you get there.”

  Great. He thought of everything.

  My back stiffened and I met Naomi’s eyes.

  She licked her lips.

  Dear God. She’s going to eat me alive.

  Naomi reached out and took her son’s limp fingers into her own. “Douglas. Tell Miss Townsend what you wanted to say.”

  Douglas looked half asleep. Not an uncommon look for kids first thing in the morning, yet this seemed to be something else. Something like defeat.

  “I like being alone,” he mumbled. “My mom is a good mom.” He showed absolutely no enthusiasm. The opposite, even. His expression was one of absolute indifference. The words had been fed to him like pureed carrots from a baby-food jar and he had given up struggling against the meal long ago. I could feel every ounce of his hopelessness.

  “Well, there you have it, Miss Townsend. You can put your worries to rest.” Mr. Berry’s voice drew my attention from Douglas’s blank stare. The principal’s palms were up and his eyebrow rose as if to say apparently you are crazy after all.

  What a spineless man, willing to set up a farce like this before he would confront Naomi Talbot. He couldn’t risk the loss of Naomi’s friendship and what it might do to his and his wife’s social standing. It made my skin crawl. Naomi I expected as much from, but it would have been nice to think the principal of the school cared about the kids and his teachers.

  Naomi shifted in her chair, then looked up at her son with what sufficed for a motherly smile. “Douglas, you can go back to your classroom now.”

  The boy rolled his eyes, then shuffled out of the office, head down. He seemed exhausted from the performance.