Between Now and Forever

by Margaret Duarte

  ***

  Luke’s mother showed up the following afternoon, hefting a cardboard box with shredded newspaper spilling over its sides. “Hi. I’m Jenny. Heard you could use a little help with your ceramics project.” Her hair was the color of pumpkin spice, her skin flecked parchment. She spotted her son and waved. The sudden flush of Luke’s cheeks reminded me of ripe pomegranates, blending nicely with his copper-colored hair.

  “Then let’s get started,” I said.

  Jenny presented the students with scraps of greenware on which to practice until they felt ready to tackle their own casted clay. There were plenty of cleaning tools, sponges, and water bowls from the stock room to go around, and I marveled at how each student took to the task of sanding and cleaning. Fingers, faces, and hair covered in ceramic dust and smeared with murky water, they scraped and sponged with the absorption of plastic surgeons. What was it about Indigos refusing to follow directions and being easily distracted? There was no sign of this now.

  I held my breath, fearing a breakage and the resulting bad behavior Charles Lacoste had warned me about. Then, of course, there was one. Jason’s German shepherd lost its paw.

  “Damn,” he said, eyeing the severed foot with the intensity of a nurse in triage.

  Jenny rushed over. “No problem. I brought ceramic glue.” She moistened the broken tips with water, brushed on the glue, and pieced the dog and paw back together.

  Jason stared at his dog for several seconds before responding. “Thought Ralph would end up a misfit like me.”

  “Wait for it to dry, then sand around the seam,” Jenny said, sounding like a veterinarian discussing an injured pet. “Once fired, he’ll be as good as new.”

  My throat swelled when I saw pink light sweep over Jason like the pulsating blush of a winter sunrise. How could he feel such attachment to a piece of clay? In fact, all seven students seemed to feel the same, the entire force of their concentration aimed at the molded pieces in their hands. Not a single impatient, resistant, tuned-out brat among them.

  ***

  It took one more class session for Jenny to instruct the kids on how to load the greenware into the kiln and fire it, then another for them to glaze the bisque pieces for re-fire. It didn’t matter that it rained and the wind blew at twenty miles an hour. It didn’t matter that the room was often dark and dreary, lit only by votive candles and fluorescent lighting. I sensed no pressure to hurry on to other lessons. The experience wasn’t over until it was over, and a lot was going on here.

  For one thing, the kids weren’t complaining or condemning. They were also handling Jenny’s corrective criticism without a trace of resistance. In fact, they seemed to thrive on her gentle evaluations of their work. They fettled away the seam scars of their pieces with cleaning knives and wiped them smooth with damp sponges as if they were fettling away their own scars and wiping them smooth. “Help, Ms. Quin, I think I’ve messed up. Ms. Quin, how come this side looks weird?”

  “Mistakes are part of the process,” she told them. “Some of the best discoveries and inventions come from failures.”

  I wanted to hug her and say, hear, hear, for depicting stumbles and screwups as simple and natural parts of learning.

  Another advantage of this lesson was that the students were being creative—testing out various decorating techniques and experimenting with color, while bringing their creations to life. Though not perfect, the animals and vase turned out remarkably well.

  On her last day, Jenny showed a reluctance to leave. She blotted her eyes with the tail of her T-shirt. “Thanks for letting me help. I haven’t seen Luke this involved in anything outside a book for a long time. In fact, I haven’t felt this involved in a while either.”

  I gave her two thumbs up. “You saved the day, and you have my sincere gratitude.”

  ***

  All but Ethan chose to display their creations on shelves and windowsills throughout the classroom after we unloaded them from the kiln the next day. He opted instead to keep his owl on the table in front of him where he could handle it at any time. “You’ll have to move your owl sooner or later,” I told him. “Someone could accidently knock it over, and it would meet an early demise.”

  His eyes shone like copper pennies, reminding me of my soon-to-be-adoptive-son, Joshua. Upsetting him had not been my intention. I searched for a solution and noticed a display case on the west wall. “How about putting it up there?” I said, pointing at the glass-fronted cabinet. “It’ll be safe and open to view.”

  The creases on his forehead eased, but he made no move to release his owl.

  “Your totem,” I said.

  “Totem?” A spark of interest at last.

  “Yes,” I said, making a sudden decision, “the subject of tomorrow’s lesson.”

  Ethan picked up his owl and handed it to me. My chest expanded at this sign of trust. Before he could change his mind, I placed his treasure in the display case and secured the doors. He smiled, and I smiled back, feeling as if I’d crossed a great divide. Lord, he was intense.

  Though all my students were labeled Indigos, each was unique in his or her own way. How had they been selected and by whom? Jason, Shawn, and Codi had telekinetic and telepathic powers, but what distinguished the other four? They all seemed perfectly normal to me. “So, what have you learned in the past few days?” I asked.

  Jason laughed. “That you’re trying to brainwash us.”

  “True,” I said, “though I consider my methods a rewiring rather than brainwashing. All I ask is that you think about what I say before you accept or reject it.”

  “Can you fit that on a bumper sticker?” Jason asked.

  Smartass.

  Codi, with her black and red hair standing on end like a surprise, raised her hand. “I still don’t get how our thoughts mold reality?” She had a teacher’s nightmare face, minus the nose ring and tattoo, testimony to the deep currents running below the surface—currents that were my responsibility to tap into and understand. In six months! Ron Ardis was right. I needed a miracle.

  “Does anyone have an answer for Codi?”

  Shawn was the first to respond. “It’s like the day you taught in our remedial class. Ms. Goldsberry is one of our favorite teachers, and we’re always upset when she’s gone. So, things didn’t go too well.”

  “It was a disaster,” I agreed.

  “Nah. You kept your cool instead of freaking out. That’s why we’re here. So, I guess your thoughts molded reality.”

  As had theirs, with some powerful results.

  “You mean our thoughts can affect others?” Codi asked, as if she didn’t know.

  “That’s one meaning, yes. Your thoughts are like well-ordered light.”

  This pulled red-headed and bespectacled Luke back into the fray. “They’re like cosmic lighthouses, so beware of what you think.”

  “We all have control over our experiences,” I said. “And therefore—”

  “We control our happiness,” Luke finished for me.

  “Success and failure, my fellow classmates, exist only in your mind,” Jason The Wolf Ardis imparted like a self-elected sage.

  Codi booed. Jason shrugged.

  “It has to do with biophotons and light,” Luke said, “our body’s communication system.”

  Jason rubbed his forehead. “Unbelievable.”

  “So are your powers, Harry Potter,” Codi said.

  “Our powers, Hermione,” he reminded her.

  Finally, we had approached the subject of what set us apart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE PLAN WAS TO discuss totems; I had promised Ethan we would. But within minutes after our class session started on this last day of January, the plan veered off course.

  “Ms. V,” Jason said from his seat at the table. “What happens if this after-school class sets us apart, I mean, really sets us apart? Being in a remedial class is one thing. Even top students need a kick in the rear
once in a while. But this…”

  “I would discuss the situation with Dr. Matt.” I was still at my desk, performing the logistical tasks that better be finished before the office aide arrived, or class would come to a complete halt while he or she waited with impatient sighs. “From what I understand, you’re free to be here or not. You have a choice.”

  “Yeah right,” Codi said.

  I glanced up in time to catch her eyes orbiting in their sockets. Her way of telling me to “kiss off” in that passive-aggressive manner common to thirteen-year-old girls—upped to the nth degree! Our gazes met and held. Kohl eyes. Woodpecker eyes. Apparently, my opinion carried about as much weight as the school dress code no one bothered to enforce. Except for her slightly flushed face, she didn’t appear the least bit apologetic about her remark. In fact, the tilt of her chin and tightness of her jaw gave the impression she was begging for a fight.

  “You’re not a victim,” I said.

  I’d known from day one that she had an attitude. Her clothes alone were a dead giveaway. Dress code be darned, her T-shirts often spoke for her. Today, emblazoned across her chest was the message, Rock Me! If something got in her way, she’d whack her way past it, no apologies. So, what was it with the anger? She bit her lip but remained silent.

  After attaching the attendance form to the clip next to the corridor door, I stood in front of the class and continued my exchange with Codi. “Unless, of course, you insist on sabotaging your life. Your mind can do so easily enough. If you let it.”

  Her response, a deep, shaky sigh.

  She was suffering. I glanced at the flickering votive candles spaced along the tables and took in their honey scent. God give me strength.

  “Um… Ms. Veil?”

  All attention focused on the speaker, and rightly so. Angelina, like Shawn, seldom spoke. Everything about her said “angel,” from her porcelain-doll skin to her shiny brown hair, with bangs feathered around perfectly arched brows. In contrast to Codi’s punk style, Angelina was all lace and embroidery and pastel flowers. “Can you give an example of choosing in an impossible situation? Like, what if you know someone who’s sick and might die? What choices does he or she have?”

  My sister Maya’s face filled all the space in my mind, her blue eyes brilliant with inner fire. She’d known she was going to die yet had remained serene, even joyful, until the end. I now drew from a lesson I’d learned from her. “The idea is to send this person your love and—”

  A blast of cold air struck me from somewhere in the room before Luke cut in. “People who’ve died and lived to talk about it say they passed through a tunnel leading to a warm white light. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Omigod,” Codi said, aiming her eyes toward the ceiling.

  Angelina licked her lips and gave Luke a wobbly smile.

  “How about we send out our—” I began, only to be cut off by Luke again.

  “And then there’s the life review. When you see your whole lifetime flashing in front of your eyes. It’s important to do good deeds before you die so your life review won’t be too incriminating.”

  I was missing something here. What had prompted Angelina’s question about choice during an impossible situation, and why was Luke blocking my replies? If she was sick, the school would surely have informed me.

  Jason, King of Hearts, stared out the window, his eyes fixed on something stationary and far away. Codi, Queen of Spades, fiddled with the skeleton-face ring perched on her hand like a bloated bug. Ethan, Ace of Spades, frowned at his ceramic owl in the trophy case, and Shawn, Jack of Diamonds, shook his head. Only Angelina, Ten of Clubs, and Luke, Nine of Diamonds, met my gaze; Angelina with her doe brown eyes and Luke with eyes a fathomless green.

  I’m going to die.

  If I hadn’t already been familiar with the disembodied messages coming from my mother and sister, this eerie whisper would have frightened me. Still, the words caused shivers to swell over me like a starling flock maneuver wave.

  Interference followed—the fret buzz of a four-string guitar.

  A blackbird smacked into the window with a painful thud that rattled the glass. The ancient classroom clock started to tick.

  “Ms. Veil?” Ethan said after a short silence, which by middle school standards marks a lifetime. “What about the totems?”

  It took me a moment to answer, I’m going to die echoing in my head like a cruel commercial jingle. “You’re right. Time for a change of pace. Let’s get our ceramic pieces and bring them to the tables.”

  All but Ethan were slow to comply—lethargic, wary.

  Codi mumbled, “What the hell?” loud enough for me to hear.

  Ethan slid a chair up to the trophy case and reclaimed his owl.

  After the students had gathered their ceramic projects and settled back into their seats, I said, “Now, ask yourself why you picked the particular mold you did. Why, for instance, did Ethan pick an owl and Jason a dog?”

  “German shepherd,” Jason corrected. “Thought equals form, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” My tone suggested he was a smart aleck, but I liked him anyway. The students looked at me, eyes blank. The wind blew; the clock ticked; the heater kicked in, forcing warm air smelling of mildew through the vents along the east wall. Why were they so slow on the uptake?

  “Codi,” I said. “Any idea why you picked the crow mold?”

  Another eye roll, a gesture I was getting used to and beginning to like. “Because you didn’t have a woodpecker mold.”

  The class laughed.

  “No seriously. I like woodpeckers.”

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  “I’ve liked them since I was a kid. Wanted one for Christmas but got a parakeet instead.”

  “So, for now, we’ll call the woodpecker your lifelong animal totem.”

  “Holy crap.” She poked her crow with the blackened tip of her index finger.

  “I don’t care much for German shepherds,” Jason injected into the discussion. He scratched his jaw and furrowed his brow. “But I do like coyotes. I hear them yowling when we’re on camping trips. They scare the crap out of me but get me interested just the same.”

  “The first time we met, you reminded me of a wolf,” I said.

  He snorted and gazed out the window with dog-like stillness.

  Beware of stillness, I thought, unable to decide if his intent stare and outward calm resulted from inner tranquility or a tense emotional state.

  “What about me?” Codi asked.

  “You reminded me of a woodpecker, still do.”

  She poked her crow again as if to elicit some kind of response. “You’re just saying that.”

  “Those with the woodpecker totem don’t always conform to society’s standards.”

  “Cool,” she said, with a now-we’re-talking grin.

  “The woodpecker is also one of my animal spirit totems,” I said.

  Her grin turned into a frown.

  “Can you have more than one totem?” Ethan wanted to know.

  I nodded. “Jason, for example, said coyotes scare him during camping trips. That could mean the coyote is his shadow totem, which will test him until he overcomes his fear.”

  “Of coyotes?” Ethan asked.

  I laughed. Couldn’t help it. At times Ethan looked exactly like the thirteen-year-old he was, brow furrowed with curiosity rather than internal demons. “More likely something he’s not aware of. The shadow totem forces you to bring this fear to light and overcome it.”

  “Jason’s not afraid of anything,” Angelina said.

  “Wanna bet.” Jason threw me a look of challenge. “What’s your shadow totem, Ms. V?”

  I thought of Gabriel, my backyard stray. Could he be my shadow totem? If so, what fear could an abandoned cat force me to bring to light and overcome? “Okay, I think you might be getting the message.”

  “But I picked a vase!” Angelina cried. “
Does that mean I don’t have a totem?”

  “I was only using your mold choices as an example. A totem can be any animal, plant, or natural object you believe has spiritual significance. There are many ways to discover the totems in your life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Have you noticed an animal or natural object lately that you’ve never noticed before?”

  She fingered the beads and charms on her Pandora bracelet, her face contorted as if she were about to cry.

  “Have you dreamed of a special bird, plant, or animal?”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “I have,” Luke called out.

  “Good, Luke. Hold that thought.” Besides signifying Nine of Diamonds in my mind, he was also taking on the persona of Mr. Detail. He had something interesting and over-the-top to contribute on just about any subject, quite an asset in a group situation but of limited value in his personal life. Back to Angelina. “How about something that startled or entranced you lately?”

  She shook her head, but then her face brightened. “On the way to school today, a vulture almost hit the windshield of Mom’s car.”

  Jason’s laugh was mocking. “You mean a buzzard?”

  Angelina’s bottom lip trembled.

  “No worse than Jason’s coyotes.” To Angelina, this wasn’t a laughing matter.

  “Is it my shadow totem?” she asked, now toying with the rainbow of silk flowers clipped to her hair.

  “Actually, it may be your message totem. The vulture is resourceful and patient and teaches us to use all our senses to pursue our highest goals. It also symbolizes renewal.”

  “You think it was trying to tell me something?”

  “Possibly.”

  Ethan gazed at his owl, his lips puckered like a toothless old man.

  “If you’ve been attracted to a new animal lately or are dreaming or thinking about one, it might be your journey animal totem.” I clapped my hands, startling some of the students out of their blank-faced stares. “Time for some research.” I pointed at the set of encyclopedias in the bookshelf on the west wall.

  Ethan sneered. “People don’t use encyclopedias anymore.”