He scooped out a lump of cottage cheese from a container he purchased at the grocery store.
“The curd is separated from a thin, watery residue known as whey.”
Mr. Battle produced a picture of a caveman making cheese over a fire in the scoop of a large stone.
“Now, this was the earliest method of producing cheese and I imagine it wasn't the most flavorful. Julio, take a guess. How many varieties of cheese are there today?”
“American, Swiss and Velveeta.”
The Tadpoles laughed.
“Come on, guys. Guess.”
“Okay. I’ll say twenty,” Julio said.
“Fifty?” Marie guessed.
“More than we know?” Matt presumed.
“Closer to two thousand,” Mr. Battle said with excitement. “Including variations of the original types such as Julio’s Velveeta. There are two - count my fingers - two categories of cheese - Natural and Processed.”
“Now we’re talking Velveeta!” Julio understood.
“Correct, Julio! Now let's take a snapshot with our minds.”
“Like a photographic memory?” Amber said.
“What’s a photographic memory?” Marie asked.
Julio laughed at her. “Geez, girl. What cave you been in all your life?”
Marie brandished her notebook at him. “I'm out of the cave now, stupid.”
Amber’s voice sounded protective. “Leave her alone, you idiot.”
“You want a piece of me?” Julio challenged.
“I don't eat whale blubber.”
The other kids laughed with Julio. He pointed a warning finger at Amber.
“You better watch your back, girlie girlie. Judgment day's acomin'!”
“I do believe I was interrupted,” Mr. Battle said politely.
“Sorry, Mr. B,” Julio said with respect. “Just taking care of some personal business.”
Battle addressed Marie. “To answer your question, Marie. A photographic memory is a gift for some, a curse for many that have it. There are individuals on this planet that can see a page and remember everything they saw on that page. Like a snapshot. Others can remember every smell, others can remember every detail of every place they have ever been.”
“For how long?”
“Their entire life.”
“That would suck,” said Toby. “There are some things I already want to forget. Like a sour milkshake.”
“I think I have a photographic memory,” Marie decided. “But with the wrong picture sometimes.”
“Like trees?” Matt poked her in the side.
“Deciduous and coniferous,” Marie blurted out.
All the kids looked at her with amazement.
“Was she right this time?” Julio asked Matt.
Matt winked at Marie. “Girl’s got it!”
The kids clapped their hands. “Right on, Marie!”
Battle continued. “Imagine storing all that information into a human brain that is no larger than a pair of combined fists! Okay, let's see who among you has a photographic memory about cheese. Everybody, close your eyes.”
The Tadpoles closed their eyes.
“Ready?” Mr. Battle pulled a list from his sport coat. “You got your Cheddar, Monterrey Jack, Gouda and Edam, Camembert, Muenster, Brick, Swiss, Limburger, Blue, Gorgonzola, Provolone, Romano, Parmesan, Mozzarella, Scamorze, Cottage Cheese and Cream Cheese. Repeat please...”
The kids tried. “You got your…” They butchered the list. Julio added, “cheese for pizza and grilled cheese.” Matt added, “mashed potatoes with a hint of Limburger...” “What’s Limburger?” Amber said.
“The smelliest cheese on earth,” Mr. Battle said. “You don’t want to try it.”
The kids were getting into it big time.
The teacher produced baked potatoes in Styrofoam containers from a fast food sack and distributed them. “Let’s move on to a new food. The potato. One for each, please. I took the liberty of adding sour cream and bacon bits on them. Now, let me explain… Potatoes are edible starchy tubers produced by certain plants of the genus solanum of the family solanaceae. The white potato tuber is a food staple in most countries of the temperate regions of the world...”
“Wait!” Toby said. “What's a temperate region?”
“A place where potatoes can grow.”
“Oh!” the kids hummed.
“Some say po tah toe, I say po tay toe,” said Battle. “Some American potatoes for you to remember; Rose, Idaho, Cobbler, Early Ohio, Green Mountain, Henron, Rural and Burbank. Freshly dug potatoes contain an average of water, starch, protein and even ash. Three fourths of a dry potato is carbohydrates. We also use potatoes to make adhesives, glues and alcohol!”
“Now I'm starting to relate!” Julio smacked his lips. “Moonshine.”
“So,” Battle asked. “What have we learned so far?”
“I’m feeling really hungry,” Toby said.
“Me, too,” said Matt.
“Let’s eat,” said Battle as he passed out forks.
Word spread quickly among the day students that there was a new teacher at Garfield – a man with imagination that taught without textbooks and tests.
Mr. Wirtz spied on the small class every so often before he went home, surprised that the Tadpoles were still attending.
“What’s your secret?” he asked Mr. Battle.
“Food bribes and conversation,” the new man replied.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was a Wednesday night.
Mr. Battle loaded up the car and drove his class down Academy Boulevard towards the Denny's restaurant where Marie’s mother worked. The teacher said the restaurant trip was a reward for perfect attendance, but the truth was that he wanted to share an early Thanksgiving dinner with them. America’s Thanksgiving, always on the last Thursday of November, was the next day.
Sitting in the cargo area of the SUV, Matt wrestled for a good position. He pulled out an ice scraper and an envelope from under him. At the next stoplight he held up the envelope. It was a pay stub envelope from the school. He read the label.
“You live in the old Loomis House, Mr. Battle?”
“That’s personal property, Mr. Golden,” Battle said with an eye on traffic.
“Sorry, Teach. So you must be kinda rich, huh?”
Julio asked, “Are you rich, Mr. Battle?”
“Rich enough to buy dinner,” he smiled at them from the rearview mirror.
The Toyota pulled into the restaurant parking lot. As the Tadpoles climbed out of the SUV, Matt handed Mr. Battle the envelope.
“Sorry about that.”
Mr. Battle nodded and followed the kids into the restaurant. He waited in the lobby with his students while Marie sought out her mother. She was working in the non-smoking section.
“What are you doing skipping school?” Lolly asked her daughter.
“I’m not skipping. We're on a field trip,” Marie boasted.
“What? They don’t take you to the zoo no more?”
“The zoo is closed at night, mama.” She winked. “But I am with my new teacher.”
Lolly pulled her daughter into a service station cubicle where they kept the coffee. “I look a mess,” she fussed. “Look at my uniform. I have stains on me.”
“He won’t care,” Marie pleaded. “You’ll see.” She dragged her mother by the arm to the lobby. “Mama, this is Mr. Battle.”
“Hello, Mrs. Fuentes,” he said with a bright voice.
“It’s Miss Fuentes now,” said Marie. “She’s single. You can call her if Lolly if you want.”
Lolly pulled her hair back from her face. “Marie says you are a good teacher.”
“I try,” smiled Battle. He could read the stress in her voice and face. “Long day?”
“People gotta eat, I guess.”
“Us included.”
Lolly smiled now. “Marie never liked school before. You must be doin’ something right.”
She grabbed a stack of
menus and led the teacher and students to a big oval booth in the back of the restaurant.
“Hello, Mrs. Fuentes,” Julio said as he slid into the booth. “Ain’t seen you since last year.”
“I’m glad you’re not in jail,” she said.
“Me too, Mrs. Fuentes,” Julio laughed.
“Marie, can I see you for a minute?” she asked. She led her daughter back to the coffee cubicle and smiled. “He is cute. How old is he?”
“I don’t know, mama. How old do you want him to be?”
Lolly pinched her daughter’s arm and pushed her back to the booth. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
When Lolly returned to take their orders her hair was combed better and she seemed to have a fresh application of makeup on.
Mr. Battle and the students all agreed on the same meal. The turkey dinner special with mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans and cranberries.
“Since you're a teacher, you get a discount,” Lolly Fuentes said after writing down the order.
There was something special and unforgettable for John Battle that night as he sat at the table eating with the teenagers. He watched with small pleasure at the way Julio chewed and mishandled his fork like a toilet plunger. He noticed Matt’s displeasure at the sight of green beans too close to the mashed potatoes. He caught Marie instinctively putting a napkin on her lap. Toby stirred his coffee cup so many times it drove everybody nuts.
After dinner, Mr. Battle ordered hot apple pie for everyone at the table. As they dove in, he declared, “The food was delicious! I can't remember the last time I ate at Denny's.”
“Rich guys like you probably don’t eat at Denny’s much,” Matt said.
“I hate that word,” Amber said.
“What word?” Mr. Battle said.
“'Remember.’ I don’t want to remember anything from the
past.” Battle mused the meaning of the word. “'Remember' means to return to a memory, to think of something again that stays in the mind. Psychologists say there are four different types of remembering: recollection, recall, recognition and relearning. Recollection is the reconstruction of events or facts on the basis of partial cues that serve as reminders. Recall is an active, unaided remembering of something from the past. Recognition refers to the ability to connect and identify previously encountered stimuli as familiar.”
“Like recognizing a dog's bark from far away?” Marie guessed. “Yes. Relearning may show evidence of the effects of memory – familiar material is often easier to learn a second time around than it would be if it were unfamiliar.”
“I don't want to remember. I want to forget,” Amber said cynically.
Toby was curious about the teacher’s comments. “So what exactly is a memory?”
“A mental faculty that gives us the ability to remember. Like an instinct.”
“Okay, then,” Amber said as a challenge. “Is the mind real or imagined?”
“It’s real.”
“How is it real?” she pressed.
“The mind is human consciousness. It originates in the brain and manifests itself through our thoughts, perceptions, feelings, memory, and even imagination. Like an invisible hard drive in the brain.”
“But a hard drive operates because it has real data to play with,” Toby said.
“The mind is far more complex than a computer,” Mr. Battle argued.
“So, let me get this right,” Amber figured. “A memory can be real or imagined? Is that why we think some people are crazy? Because we can't get into their head to find out how something to them might be real?”
“Give me an example.”
“Okay. My childhood.”
“What about it?”
“Sometimes, I think I can remember things from when I was a baby. Like I see a dad and a mom and a brother... then it all went away for some reason. But it seemed real, not imagined.”
Battle listened with extreme interest.
“Come on, Baby Beulah,” Julio said. “It’s all made up.”
“That’s enough, Julio,” Battle said sternly. He took a sip of his coffee and leaned towards Amber. “You were never told what happened to your family, Amber?”
“If she ever had a damned family,” Julio remarked coldly. “Amber, maybe you were given up at birth because you were sick or ugly. Maybe you were illegitimate.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” Amber tugged on a lick of her hair. She looked to Battle for an answer. “All the courts tell me is that my records were sealed and nobody is allowed by law to let me see them until I turn eighteen.”
“Do you want to know the truth about who you are and where you came from?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Julio shook his head. “What if it turns out your mama was a crack whore or that your daddy was a serial killer?”
“At least I'd know.”
“I wouldn't want to know the answer,” Matt gargled as he chewed his food.
“Me neither. Hell, no. I'd rather just move on down the road. Not for me. Uh-uh.” Toby was adamant.
Battle kept his focus on Amber. “Would you want the whole truth or just a glimpse?”
“The whole truth... but not for me... For my...” She stopped talking, looked at her small belly and suddenly blurted out; “For my baby.”
“Baby?” the other teenagers rose from their seats.
“Yep, my baby.” Amber grabbed her chocolate shake and sipped it down, staring at the other kids for further responses.
“How long have you been pregnant?” Matt finally asked.
“I’m almost four months.”
“Who did it?” Toby asked.
“He’s not important.”
“Can you have an abortion?” Julio asked.
“Why would I?”
“Because you live in a halfway house for stupid girls.”
Amber tossed her milk shake on him and screamed, “Shut up!”
She climbed out of the booth and ran out of the restaurant.
None of the kids knew what to say.
Mr. Battle was caught short too, stuck in his seat just like the rest of them.
“What lesson you gonna teach us about this?” Julio snapped.
“Kids get pregnant every day,” Mr. Battle said.
“Not our Amber! Not our Baby Beulah!” Marie said frantically. “She doesn’t even sleep with boys.”
“Somehow, I guess we missed it.” Matt sounded disgusted.
He stabbed at his last bite of pie.
Julio grabbed some paper napkins from the table dispenser and wiped himself off.
“Little bitch is lucky I didn't knock her ugly ass down.”
He jammed his way out of the booth and left for the men’s room.
Lolly arrived at the table with a large washcloth and the dinner tab. “What happened?”
“We just hit a little speed bump on the road of life, Mrs. Fuentes,” Matt said.
Marie poked at the lip of the table with a toothpick. “How could Amber be so stupid? She has her whole life ahead of her! Why did she have to go and get pregnant?”
She tearfully excused herself and ran to the bathroom followed by her worried mother.
“You two have anything to add?” Battle asked Matt and Toby.
“No, sir,” said the boys.
“I guess we're done for the evening.” Battle pulled out a wad of cash, paid the bill and left a generous tip. “What did we learn tonight guys?”
“That we’re not the friend we thought we were,” Toby said.
It seemed like a long drive back to the school for the tired teacher and his silent students. The Toyota pulled up to the curb. Mr. Battle left the engine running.
“This small school is only a stepping stone in your lives,” he said. “For some of you, in just a few years it will only be a vague, insignificant memory. Can I drop anybody at home?”
“Me,” Amber said. “I live on North Nevada.”
The other Tadpoles excused themselve
s from the car and wandered off into the night.
The SUV rolled down the street carrying Mr. Battle and the sullen pregnant girl. Amber needed to talk some more.
“About what we discussed in the restaurant… maybe I’d like to know who my parents are or at least who they were,” she pondered. “But like the boys said, not if it’s something tragic that would only make my life more screwed up than it already is. You know, like if I was abandoned because I was an inconvenience. Or maybe I have some exotic fatal disease or genetic flaw.”
The SUV stopped at a red light.
Amber studied the teacher’s profile. The dark interior of the car hid his wrinkles, darkened his complexion, making him look years younger. Amber imagined he was quite handsome once.
“What about you Mr. Battle? None of us knows anything about you.”
“My life is not all that interesting.” He tried changing the subject. “Do you think our class is going well?”
“I think you’re a good teacher, if that’s what you mean. Look at the five of us. We’re actually showing up. This is very untypical for me, Mr. Battle. I don’t listen to anybody. Not ever.”
“Why not?”
“Because I never believe what I’m told.”
“And yet I’ve noticed you’re curious about everything.”
“I just want to grow up overnight and get my life over with.”
“Someday, when I have enough time, I’ll tell you all about myself,” he said. “Maybe then you won’t be in such a hurry to race through these precious days that are your life.”
“Promise, Mr. Battle?”
“For you Amber? I’d give you the world.”
She gave him the address of the group home ahead and he pulled up to the house.
“Am I your favorite student?” She had to ask.
“Promise you won’t tell the others?”
“I’m not immature in all areas.”
Mr. Battle laughed. “Who is helping you with the baby?”
“You’re looking at her.”
“Oh, Amber,” he frowned.
“I’m cool with it, Mr. B. There’s plenty of options for a girl my age.”
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