Why Do Only White People Get Abducted by Aliens?

by Ilana Garon

  “Smell it, Miss. It’s mad nice,” she offered politely when I asked her if it was really necessary to bring a security blanket to tenth-grade English.

  To be completely honest, I loved first period. As I did not feel much more energetic than they did at 8 a.m., I privately thanked God for their complacency. I would generally start the period by teaching a brief lesson—writing on the board, calling on a couple of students, Socratic style—and then break them into pairs for group work. The kids, happy not to have anything too challenging demanded of them, would work cooperatively until the bell rang. Though half their class could never be bothered to show up, the best grades I gave were inevitably to the first-period kids; since they didn’t have the energy to goof off, like the later classes, they actually paid attention.

  Destiny was one of the lone exceptions to this rule. She was in class most days, but instead of just looking sleepy or mystified by her surroundings like the rest of her peers, she just seemed miserable. Her head would be down on the desk from the moment I entered the room until the bell rang; then, she would wearily gather her books and leave. More often than not, I would see tears running down her cheeks.

  In the first few days of class, I tried by the usual means to find out what was going on. “Destiny, is everything okay?” I asked her, squatting beside her desk. The girls within earshot looked towards us with glances of sympathy and confusion; the boys did not appear to be paying any attention.

  Destiny nodded.

  “Okay, that’s good . . . is there anything you want to talk to me about?”

  She shook her head.

  “Girl, level with me: Are you in ‘that time of the month’? Do you need to go to the nurse?” Cramps were often the culprit when I found girls with their heads down, although I suspected that if the answer were so simple, I would already have heard about it. They tended not to be shy about that sort of thing.

  Destiny shook her head again emphatically and then put it back down on her desk.

  After repeating this nonconversation several days in a row, I gave up and called her home. Destiny’s mother answered.

  “Who is this?” The question was flat, bored.

  “Hi, this is Ms. Garon, Destiny’s English teacher . . . she might have mentioned the essay for my class . . . no? Anyway, I’m concerned . . . she always seems very tired in my class, like she hasn’t slept. I know it’s first period, but she never takes her head off the desk. And she just seems sad. . . .”

  The mother didn’t respond.

  “Ms. . . . Rodriguez?”

  “It’s her boyfriend, Anthony,” her mother finally said. She seemed to think this needed no further explanation. I could hear the TV on in the background.

  “Um . . . what about Anthony? Have they just broken up?”

  “No, they talk on the phone all night.”

  “Oh. Well, could you tell her to go to bed earlier?”

  “Yeah, Okay, I’ll tell her.” Same bored tone. Then, with a click, and she hung up.

  ______

  I went to see the social worker, Alice. Her office was comfortable—well air-conditioned, with a rug and colorful beanbag chairs. My first instinct was to be jealous of her accommodations until it dawned on me that she had brought in all these amenities herself in an effort to make the office inviting for the kids.

  “This is a great office,” I told her.

  Alice smiled. “Thanks! I wish we could get rid of the mice though. . . .”

  “Mice?” I jumped in alarm. I noticed there were traps in the corners. “Ugh! I’m so sorry you have to deal with that—I’m terrified of those suckers,” I admitted.

  “Yeah, so gross! I hear them skittering around sometimes when I’m here alone late in the afternoon.” She shivered. “So what’s going on?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what you can tell me about this,” I said. “But I have this student . . . Destiny. . . .”

  Alice sighed.

  “So you’ve met her,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s her deal? Why is she always sad?”

  She appeared to think for a second. “Well, she has lots of problems . . . but mostly it’s her boyfriend. Do you know Anthony Hall?”

  The last name cued my memory. I vaguely knew the face that belonged with it, though I had never taught him—he was a tall, bulky football player with dark skin and a close-cropped Caesar haircut. I had seen him in the principal’s office before, when he and another kid had been suspended for fighting. “I think I know him. He’s a senior, right? Football player?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. She’s been dating him for a while. They have a very . . . co-dependent relationship. It’s really unhealthy.”

  “Doesn’t seem like she’s very happy with him,” I said.

  “I know.” Alice sighed again. “The hard part is making Destiny see that.”

  Just then a kid came running in to her office, looking anxious. “Miss! Can I talk to you now?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” she said, beckoning him in as I exited the office. “We’ll talk later?”

  ______

  I was teaching Animal Farm. It was first period, and the kids were completely out of it. They were all working quietly, when Destiny raised her hand.

  “Miss,” she said, in a barely audible voice. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

  “Sure, here’s the pass.” I handed it to her unquestioningly. I was just surprised to see her speaking.

  She left the room. I broke the kids into groups, and was in the process of circling between them when Jessica said, “Miss, I really have to go to the bathroom.”

  “You have to wait until Destiny gets back—she has the pass.”

  “Uh, Miss, I don’t know if you noticed, but Destiny’s been gone for fifteen minutes,” said another student, Ronald, pointing to his watch.

  Shoot. Had it been that long? I peered through the glass window in the door, but I didn’t see anyone. So I opened it and stuck my head outside.

  There was Destiny. She was leaning against the cinderblock wall, looking up at her boyfriend Anthony. I hadn’t considered the aesthetics of her appearance until that moment, and as I looked at her in profile it suddenly struck me that she was a pretty girl—she had honey-blond ringlets tied back in a long pony-tail, fair skin, and light hazel eyes.

  Anthony had both palms pressed just above her head on the wall against which she was leaning.

  “Destiny,” I called to her. She didn’t pay attention. “Destiny!”

  She turned her face towards me, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Miss.”

  “Come back to class! Jessica has to use the bathroom . . . she’s been waiting for you!”

  Languidly, Destiny ducked under Anthony’s arms. She walked unhurriedly back into my classroom. From her back pocket, she removed the laminated pass, which was now in the shape of a fruit-rollup. She handed it to Jessica, who ran past me through the doorway.

  I cast one more look at Anthony. He narrowed his eyes at me, then turned and sauntered off.

  ______

  Around that time, Anthony started visiting our classroom. I would look up and catch him staring through the glass window in our door. He was clearly looking at Destiny. Sometimes she would look up to see him, and then ask if she could use the bathroom.

  “No, you can’t go see Anthony,” I would tell her. She never argued or reacted much one way or another.

  Then sometimes he would stare at her and she would not acknowledge him. I was never sure whether she was unaware of him, then, or if she was intentionally ignoring him.

  If he didn’t get the desired response, Anthony would wait outside the class until the bell rang, and then squire Destiny off to wherever she went next.

  After a few times of this happening, I was already sick of it. I crept over to the door and opened it very quickly. Anthony had not seen me coming, and he looked surprised.

  “Step away from the door,” I told him. He complied. I stood in the hallway and stared him i
n the eyes. He was several inches taller than I was. “What class are you supposed to be in right now, Anthony?”

  “None—I got a free period.”

  “Well, that’s fine. But I don’t like you standing around the door to my classroom like this. Go find something else to do with your time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re distracting the students.”

  “I’m just here for Destiny.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Next time I see you here, I’m calling security. Now scram.”

  He turned and walked off with that unmistakably cocky swagger. I watched him go. Then, when he was at the end of the hallway, he turned and said to me, “She better not be talking to any other guys, or I’m coming back.”

  She can talk to whomever she wants, I thought to myself, angry. But he was already around the corner.

  I came back into the classroom. Destiny was staring at me, expressionless. I pulled up a chair next to her desk.

  “Can we talk for a minute?” I quietly asked her.

  She nodded.

  “So, I guess you know who I just had a conversation with in the hallway?”

  “Anthony,” she whispered.

  “Yes. He keeps coming around here.”

  “I know.”

  “Um . . .” I stalled for a minute, not knowing how to proceed. “Uh, do you really like this guy?”

  She shrugged.

  “Not really?” I asked hopefully.

  She shrugged again.

  “Okay, I have to tell you something,” I said. “Based on my years and years of expertise with all things boy-related, I have judged your boyfriend to be . . . how can I say this delicately . . . an asshole.”

  This time, she flashed a small grin.

  “You agree.”

  She nodded.

  “Destiny, why are you with him? You could have any other boy you wanted—trust me, they all like you. Anthony—not a good boyfriend. He’s way too controlling.”

  “I know.” She looked down at her desk.

  “Honey . . . you’re too good for this. Why don’t you break up with him?”

  She appraised me with her big, hazel eyes. “Miss,” she said quietly, “I don’t feel comfortable doing that right now.”

  I assumed she meant she wanted to break up with him, but was afraid of the repercussions. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need help—anything at all.” It was later that night when it occurred to me what she had actually meant: She didn’t want to leave the relationship.

  ______

  “How are the mice?” I asked Alice, peering through her open door.

  She grimaced. “Not so great. I found a dead one right in front of the mini-fridge this morning . . . yuck.”

  “Ew. You’re braver than I am.” I was chronically unable to remove the little corpses of the ones that died in the traps in my apartment, which despite my best attempts at housekeeping, was constantly under siege from vermin; I would call my next-door neighbor, who did experiments on mice in a lab, to get rid of them for me.

  “Eh. Peter wouldn’t do it for me,” she said, referring to the dean of security. “I wasn’t going to sit there working with it in my office.” She paused, then gestured towards a beanbag chair. “Wanna come in?”

  “Sure.” I came in and sat down. She swiveled her computer chair to look at me. I waited a beat and said, “So. Destiny.”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s one of the ones you see regularly, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Her boyfriend Anthony is ridiculous,” I said. “He’s got all the signs of being a future spousal abuser. He cruises by my class every day to make sure she’s not talking to any boys. So controlling . . .”

  “I know. It’s awful,” Alice sighed.

  “Can’t her parents do anything about it? Or his?”

  “You would think so, right?” she rolled her eyes. “His mother won’t admit there’s a problem—according to her, Anthony’s a perfect angel. As for Destiny, I think her parents want her to get out of it, but they’re pretty . . . Ineffectual. You know how that is.”

  I nodded. “But why does she stay with him? Doesn’t Destiny get what a jerk he is?”

  Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. “She’s starting to understand, I think. I’m working on it.”

  Instantly I felt bad. “I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best. . . .”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said. “It’s frustrating to have the situation so out of your control.”

  It was only a short while later that Destiny started coming in with bruises. When I saw them, I smiled ruefully to myself—I had seen this one coming a mile away.

  “Destiny. What’s going on here?” She was sitting alone again. I touched the bruise on her arm, delicately.

  She pulled her arm away. “I fell. In gym.”

  I wanted to say, “You know that excuse has been used by battered women since biblical times, right?”

  Instead I said, “Honey. Please let someone help you. Me, the social worker, any other teacher you trust. You don’t deserve this. . . .” I pointed to her arm again.

  She made some noncommittal gesture.

  Later, I saw her with Anthony in the hallway, their arms wrapped around each other, the very picture of romantic bliss. I could have sworn that he gave me a smug look as I passed by them.

  ______

  “Can’t we just arrest him? Or kick him out of school? Anything!” I cried, pacing around Alice’s office.

  She smiled. “Based on what? Destiny won’t admit that he did it. And it’s happening off-campus anyway . . . our reach isn’t that far.”

  Later in the week, I came down a corridor to find Anthony, Destiny, and two school safety officers. They were holding Anthony back, clearly considering arresting him. I turned and went back the way I had come; much as I wanted to see what was happening, I didn’t want to get in the way.

  “Is Anthony Hall suspended?” I asked Mr. Carver, the principal, later that day.

  “Yeah, for a few days . . . it would be better if it were longer,” he admitted.

  “Seriously. He won’t leave Destiny alone.”

  “Ilana, there’s two sides to that story,” he told me, looking up from his computer. “I’m not justifying it, what he does to her—but she won’t make the choice to leave him either. They’re completely co-dependent, and she always goes back to him.”

  Anthony was gone for a few days, and then, as if to ensure that his girlfriend hadn’t cheated on him during his absence, he was back at my door again, peering through the glass.

  I looked at Destiny; she was ignoring him.

  So I went to the door and stepped into the hall. I looked for security, but couldn’t see anyone. Rats.

  “Anthony. Get away from my door this instant, or I’m calling security.”

  He smirked at me and looked around the hallway. He knew just as well as I did that even if I called, he still had plenty of time to disappear. “I’m not doing anything,” he said.

  “Except looking in my door. Go away.”

  He sneered at me. “I don’t like you talking to my girl,” he said.

  I felt my cheeks getting hot. I wanted for all the world to punch him in the face. Hard. I had never in my life wanted so badly to inflict violence on a student.

  I took a deep breath, and then said, in a low voice, “Anthony, you leave here now. And if I have any inkling that you’re hitting Destiny again, I will personally make your life a living hell . . . so help me God.”

  He looked surprised for a moment. Then he said, “You’re crazy. You’re really crazy.” He turned and walked off.

  “You bet I am,” I said to his back. I came back into the class. Destiny looked at me. I thought I saw her smile.

  ______

  “It’s not worth it. Don’t risk your teaching career on a kid like that,” Alice told me. I had just recounted my interaction with Anthony.

  “I just hate him so much,” I said, p
unching the beanbag chair. “You know this isn’t just some phase he’s going through. He’s going to grow up to be an abusive husband, an abusive father, and basically ruin the lives of everyone around him.”

  “I know. He’s despicable. And the sad thing is, he’s probably learned all this at home—from his own dad, or some other male relative. Kids don’t just come up with this stuff by themselves.” She looked at me, and said sternly, “You can’t start threatening him, though. That won’t help anything, and it will only result in your getting in trouble. Like it or not, he’s still a seventeen-year-old. You can’t go head-to-head with him.”

  “So what do I do?” I asked, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “You play by the rules. Try to deal with Destiny, rather than with him. You’re a good teacher, Ilana. Just keep showing you care—that you will help her, even if she doesn’t end up leaving him.”

  I spent a good month or two following Alice’s advice. In first period, I paired Destiny with one of the nicest, smartest girls in the class, Martha. I felt Martha was a perfect choice, because despite her academic savvy, she had come to me with a pregnancy scare earlier that year—she wasn’t too goody two-shoes for Destiny to have anything in common with. Privately, I instructed Martha to try and help Destiny as much as she could and to befriend her if possible.

  It worked wonderfully. Martha was tremendously patient, a born teacher herself: As soon as I gave an assignment, Martha would scoot her desk up next to Destiny’s, explain everything, and then they would work companionably, if quietly, side by side. I would watch them from afar. One time I even saw Destiny giggling at something Martha had said. After a few successive good marks, Destiny’s grades started going up, and I could tell she was gaining more confidence. To top it off, my ill-advised threat to Anthony seemed to have done its job—he hadn’t been cruising around the hallway by my classroom in a while.