by Bella Knight
“Inputs?” asked Grace, snagging a fry.
“Like programming,” said Hu. “Computers are stupid. Right input, good, bad input, bad.”
“Yes,” said Callie, “but it’s more than that. What is the most important thing in front of you?”
“You, Mama,” said Grace. Callie teared up.
“The food,” said Hu. “We must eat.”
“What about the coffee cup, or the salt shaker, or the sugar shaker?”
“Um, not important,” said Grace.
“What if your brain didn’t know what was important and what wasn’t important? A coffee shop like this, with all the talking and clinking, drives these kids into meltdowns. Too many inputs they can’t decide what’s important or not,” said Callie.
“No switching station,” said Ivy. “No traffic cop or streetlight directing traffic.”
“That would hurt,” said Grace.
“That’s why we are very quiet,” said Hu. “Only a little input.”
“Exactly,” said Ivy.
They finished, cleaned up, and headed to the car. “Great explanation, Teach,” said Ivy.
“Not yet,” said Callie. “But I’m getting there, one class at a time.”
They headed out to the school. They parked and went in.
Gary was there, a guy so silent that every word seemed to be dragged out of him. He walked on little cat feet, too. He had everyone sign in and showed a picture animation about the rules. Ivy, Callie and the girls walked single file down the hallway to the occupational room.
Damia and Yan were the only kids in the room. They were making a large hook rug, a tiger in black and gold with golden eyes. Damia kept stopping to pet the already-completed tiger head. Her golden hair shone in the LED light of the room. She was concentrating very hard on putting the hook through the hole, wrapping around the yarn, and pulling it back through. Next she remained tugging on the yarn to be sure it was secure. Yan was sitting next to her, working on a black segment farther down.
Ivy came in silently and sat down at the other table. Callie and the girls followed suit. Ivy started teaching Callie and the girl's sign language, mouthing the words, not saying them aloud. They picked up on it, and practiced, being the little linguists that they were.
“Transition time,” said Leah, the occupational therapist. “Finish your row.”
The children kept concentrating on their row. They each reached the end, put the yarn and their hooks in the box, and folded the rug and put it away.
Damia stood up, and so did Yan. They put the box on a shelf.
Damia shuffled closer to Ivy. “Mom,” she signed. “Come.”
Ivy struggled not to cry. Tears were bad, and tears of joy would not be understood. Callie patted her hand.
“Mom comes,” signed Ivy, “with Callie and Grace and Hu.”
“No,” signed Damia, “Mom come.”
Callie gave a hint of a nod that she understood. Ivy rose and followed her daughter’s slow steps. The occupational therapist followed them, and caught the eye of a staff member, came back in the room, and silently shut the door.
“My name is Leah. I’m the occupational therapist here at the school. You’re Grace and Hu?” The girls nodded. “Nice to see you here, and so well-behaved. It’s hard to sit still, isn’t it?” They nodded. “You can move around in here. The other two in the pod are sick, and two with the flu is plenty, believe me.” Callie nodded in understanding. “You can use your electronics in here, too, but no sound can get out, not even headphones. Sorry.”
The girls nodded. “We understand,” said Hu, in the soft voice of the therapist.
The girls took out their tablets, and they both downloaded a sign language program.
“And you’re Callie?” the occupational therapist said. Callie nodded. “Ivy’s never brought anyone before. You must be extremely important to Ivy.”
“We’re getting married,” said Callie, “in a few months.”
The girls looked up, startled. Both girls beamed, and Grace put her hands over her mouth, trying not to scream. She waved her hands and settled for running over and hugging her mom.
“Flower girls,” she said, pointing to herself and Hu.
“Absolutely,” said Callie, “Yes.” Hu’s hug had an impact.
The girls sat back down again, and abandoned their sign language lessons, as Grace explained flower girls and their wedding duties to Hu.
Leah beamed. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations. How much do you know about Damia’s autism?”
“I’m working on my degree in early childhood education,” said Callie. “From what Ivy’s said, I’m stunned at her progress. This school is amazing.”
Leah grinned. “We like to think so. Were you going to take her out of school?”
“Although it breaks Ivy’s heart that she must be separate from her daughter, she’s absolutely committed to her well-being,” said Callie. “Damia’s progress here is fantastic.”
“What about Ivy visiting more?”
“We’re in a much better position for that,” said Callie. “I can keep things running at home, and work is, well, she has a bookkeeper now named Lily. Then Ace, her best friend, runs the bar too. I know she’s got a plan to come up more.”
“Excellent,” said Leah. “Let me get a brochure. Then, let’s learn some sign language, shall we?”
Ivy followed her daughter and Yan down the hallway. She walked better, more deliberately; less on tippy-toes. She didn’t always seem to be ready to overbalance.
They entered the room where they normally ate. Kim, the special education teacher, sat quietly at a table, doing nothing. Callie sat down next to her.
Ivy was stunned when Damia and Yan didn’t just eat their snack but prepared it first. They both washed their hands, scrubbing like surgeons, then dried them. Damia pulled grapes off the vine, put them in a strainer, and washed them, then put them in a bowl. Yan cut soft cheese with a soft blade, probably Brie, into manageable chunks. Yan took out two small packets of wheat crackers and put them on a plate. Damia took out pieces of ham, and cut them with a square biscuit cutter into small squares, and put them on a plate with the crackers. She then put the ham and what was left of the cheese away. She took out two 100% juice drink boxes, and carefully closed the refrigerator door. They sat, and quietly ate, making little towers of crackers, cheese, and ham while they ate.
“Wow!” said Ivy, mouthing the word without sound, to the teacher. Kim nodded very slowly, smiling.
The kids finished eating, and Yan rinsed while Damia put the bowls and plates in the sink, then Damia threw away their juice boxes, and Yan wiped down the table. They washed their hands again.
“Wow!” said Ivy, in sign language.
“Mom,” said Damia, also in Sign, “Yan,” she said, finger-spelling. Then she spelled, “This.”
“Yan,” Ivy spelled back.
Damia turned more toward Yan. “Mom,” she signed, then finger-spelled, “Ivy,” and “this.”
Yan finger-spelled Ivy, then Damia’s name, then “Mom.”
Ivy nodded her hand, which was a “yes” in sign language.
“Mom come,” said Damia.
They went down the hall to the exercise room, with calm blue walls and thick blue pads on the floor. The physical therapist did nothing as both children stretched. Ivy did the same, in knots after the car. She sat, and watched Damia bite her shirt, tuck her head, then roll, and stand up. She stepped to the side, then turned around. Yan did the same thing. Damia did the tuck and roll again, and so did Yan. They stopped tumbling after a while, then they moved to a very low and wide balance beam, almost directly on the floor. They practiced walking, single file, and jumping off, then doing it again and again.
“Mom do,” signed Damia, from across the room. Ivy bit her shirt, tucked, and rolled. Then, she did it back the other way. She then went to the balance beam, walked it, jumped off, and went back the other way, graceful as a cat.
“Mom good,�
�� signed Damia.
Glad I meet your approval, kiddo, thought Ivy. She smiled, and signed, “Damia and Yan also good.”
“Mom better,” said Damia.
Once again, Ivy had to fight back tears. “Okay,” signed Ivy.
They tumbled and walked the balance beam some more, then they drank water from the water cooler in the corner. All of them wiped off their faces with towels they threw in a hamper, and they went off to the showers.
Damia washed her own hair and soaped herself, using a scrubby, while Ivy sat in a corner. An attendant sat in the other corner. On guard against slips and falls, soap in the eyes, or other childhood catastrophes. Damia got out, dried, and dressed in clothes from a shelf with clean underwear and shorts, and blow-dried her own hair.
Ivy asked if Damia wanted her hair braided. She signed, “Yes, Mom do.”
Ivy combed her daughter’s hair and braided it in pigtails. She put clips in a dull metal on the ends, unlike the shiny yellow Grace preferred, or the fire-engine-red Hu liked.
Reading involved more complex sentences, spelled out on giant cards, creating a story. The same story was read in Sign by the teacher. For math, the children used manipulatives to add and subtract, multiply and divide. Ivy was shocked when her daughter correctly used a decimal during division.
History was the story of Paul Revere’s ride in America, delivering the message that the Regulars (the British) were coming, on April 18, 1775. The children liked the lanterns (one if by land, two if by water) and the horse.
They went out to the stables, where Callie, Hu, and Grace were watching the horses. Ivy watched her daughter put on her helmet and riding boots, then bridle and saddle her pony, and go out for a therapy walk. The stable hand asked Ivy if she wanted to ride, and she nodded eagerly. She met with a mare called Star and bridled and saddled her. She was given a helmet, and she mounted the horse. She rode it out, and kept pace with her daughter’s ride, carefully following the instructor’s directions.
They dismounted, leading their horses in a walk, then removed the tack and groomed the horse and pony. Damia used sure strokes, grooming now a body memory, not something she had to actively think about. They shoveled out the stalls, put down fresh hay, put the horses back, cleaned the tack, gave back their helmets, and washed up. Damia showed her mom how to wash up like a doctor.
“Mom go home,” signed Damia. “Come back in two weeks.”
“Okay,” signed Ivy. “Two weeks.”
“Good,” said Damia. “Mom good.”
“Damia good,” said Ivy.
She stood close to her daughter, breathing in the scents of pony and strawberry shampoo. She bent her knees, lowering herself to her daughter. She touched her daughter’s braid. Damia touched one of Ivy’s twists. Then, Damia turned and was gone.
Callie walked up and held her, helping Ivy stave off the tears. They all went to the director’s office.
Dr. Hiot was all smiles. “I am so happy to see you, Ivy, and to meet you, Callie, Grace, and Hu. She asked Hu a question in Mandarin Chinese, and Hu answered first, then Grace.
“Wow. I hope Hu’s mother can visit her daughter soon.”
“It’s going to probably take a very, very long time,” said Ivy, “but we’re working on it.” Hu’s face lit up.
“Well,” said Doctor Hiot. “Your daughter has made remarkable progress. She’s not reading at grade level yet, but we expect that soon. And she understands decimals, her writing has improved, and her balance is much better since we instituted the tumbling program.”
“She can feed herself, and shower, and saddle her own pony,” said Ivy. “I’m astonished.”
“I’m afraid history is a problem,” said Doctor Hiot. “They’re very here-and-now kids. We do it in terms of stories, preferably ones with animals. Luckily, history has a lot of them.”
“Have you ever thought about therapy dogs? My best friend, other than Callie here, and his brothers, they both have programs. They’ll take at least a year to train, probably two. The purebred ones are more expensive, the ones without papers are cheaper.”
Doctor Hiot leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
They were all exhausted and hungry after the visit. They found a pizza place and inhaled. Ivy drank a can of cola and bought sugary coffee to go, and drove them all back. Callie, Hu, and Grace slept. Ivy put on her head-banging rock at a much lower decibel than she normally enjoyed, and drove them all home. She smiled at her daughter’s progress and the day they’d shared.
“The love of a real home.”
6
Dirty Vegas
Callie’s First Day
“A time for everything.”
When Callie could get through an interval training video without gasping like a fish, and when she had graduated to 2-pound weights and could hold a plank position, Ivy pronounced Callie ready to work. Callie grabbed and kissed her. She put on some Katy Perry, and they all danced through the house. Callie was ready to enter the real world at last.
Ivy dressed in black sparkly jeans, motorcycle boots, and an Aerosmith T-shirt. Callie loved the look, and wore black jeans and sneakers, and stole Ivy’s Guns N’ Roses T-shirt. They took Callie’s car to work for her first day at Dirty Vegas, because Callie had to pick up Grace after work.
Ivy unlocked the back door and flipped on the lights. Callie squealed and ran around like a kid in a candy store, staring at the rock posters on the walls. She ogled everything including: the replicas of gold records, the actual instruments hanging on the stage walls, the plinths for the dancers, the two bars, the glittery silver wash over the black walls, and all the blue neon.
“This is SO COOL!” she said.
“Glad you think so,” said Ivy.
Ace was right behind her, Nina Whitehorse behind him, with the cart containing a beer delivery.
“They told me they forgot the address, not delivering here for ten days,” she said, heading back to the cooler. She ran off before Callie could introduce herself.
Callie rushed to help Ace. “Show me where everything goes!” she said.
“I think she wants my job,” said Ace, as Callie pushed the cart back toward the walk-in refrigerator.
“Means more rides for you,” said Ivy.
“Nope, said Ace, heading over to the bar to open the ice chests and to figure out what he needed to stock. “Lily and I just bought the house. Ours sold in less than a day, for more than I thought possible. One of our neighbors has a daughter with a kid, and was willing to buy it for her so he could live next door.”
“Shut. Up!” said Ivy. She went over and hugged him.
“We’re going into the doggy training business,” said Ace. “Have more money now since I was able to pay off my contractors. Except the boys. Love violating child labor laws!” Ivy snorted.
Ivy came up behind him and started counting out change for Callie’s apron from the till.
“I would ask you to train ours, but she’s such a sweet thing,” Ivy said. “Daisy sits, and lays down, and stays, and shakes her paw. She’s a real lady.”
“Cool,” said Ace, going back for ice.
Bella showed up and did the same inventory for her own bar, the one across the room on the other side of the dance floor.
“How’s Baby?” asked Callie, wheeling a cart filled with clean rubber trays of ice to Bella’s station.
“Thanks,” said Bella, dumping the trays. “Last I heard, she was bringing in the dough at the Palomino. You a bar back or a server?” Bella asked Callie.
Ivy came over with Callie’s apron. “She’s following Raven tonight,” said Ivy, handing her the apron. “Change apron,” she said.
She explained the duties of a cocktail server and handed Callie a pad and several pencils. She showed Callie her own shorthand for drinks.
“Mostly beers, whiskey, bourbon. We’ve got good and premium for both. Anything behind the bar is available until it isn’t; ask l. You have her tonight.”
She went over the table nu
mbers and showed her how to walk the station.
“You get no tips for two weeks,” she said, “Raven gets them for training you. Okay, now it’s time to get your W-2s done.”
“Paperwork torture,” said Bella, cheerfully.
Bella used the bar back cart to fill up the ice chest with bottles of premium beer. Ivy dragged Callie back for her paper torture.
Lily arrived, Yancy in tow. The dancer headed to the back. Lily said a hello, and smooched Ace. She rushed back to the dressing room to change out of her filthy shorts and shirt and wash up. The dancing girls came out to their plinths and started stretching. The band arrived and began warming up. The cooks did a deep clean and got the griddle warm and the frying oil hot. The servers arrived and got their change aprons out of their lockers.
Ivy and Callie came back out from the paperwork torture. Ivy introduced Callie to Raven, their Goth server. She was ice-white and wore magenta lipstick and nails.
“Be nice to have some help,” Raven said. “I bet we’re gonna be slammed, after being closed for so long.” She showed Callie a beer bottle with a pink label on the side. “Smell it,” she said.
“Apple juice,” said Callie, smelling it and handing it back.
“Bingo,” said Raven. “This is Ivy’s bottle. Don’t touch it unless she asks for it, and never throw it away. Bella keeps it super-clean for her. Get one for yourself if you want, but don’t touch mine. Mine has a black and silver label, and it has cherry water in it with a little ginger ale. Bella’s got stickers.”
“Three dollars,” said Bella, taking out a bottle of beer and holding up some stickers.
Callie pulled out three dollars from her apron and forked it over. “Blue or purple?” she asked. “Mine’s red.”
“Blue,” said Callie, as Bella popped the top, drained the bottle, and rinsed it out.