She dumped in a measure of leaves, covering them to steep. “What about the kids, what’ll happen to them…” She couldn’t finish the thought. Her throat refused to carry the sounds, her tongue refused to form the words.
“What, if I’m canned? I don’t kid myself. I’m easily replaced. Somebody once told me, stick your fist in a bucket of water, pull it out and see what kind of hole you leave.” He smiled. “The good kids’ll do okay, they always do. The others will be glad to see my back.” He looked down and far away. “I’ll miss some of them, though.”
She watched him, lead in the pit of her stomach. This was her doing.
Suddenly, he laughed, breathed deep. “It’s pleasant, this ritual, this steeping of leaves,” he said, toying again with the lid of the sugar. “It’s really the culmination of human culture, isn’t it? Hasn’t changed in what…five, ten thousand years?”
She shrugged, pouring out the tea. “What’s to change? It works. Care for yak butter with that?”
He smiled, warming his hands over the steaming cup, eyes focused somewhere far away. “You know, it’d be hard to give up. When it’s done right, it’s the most challenging job in the world, addictive as any drug. So much happens at once, so many decisions to make, so many lives in your hands, minds too. Anything else would be sensory deprivation. I’d miss it, I really would.”
She remembered, and went to get a carton of milk and he watched her, thinking.
“Do you? miss it, I mean?”
She shut the refrigerator door, sat down across from him, looking thoughtful. At last a smile came into her eyes. “You know, I do.”
She watched him as he added a dollop of milk to his tea. “You expected to hear that.”
It was obvious she would be a great teacher. He nodded, shrugged. “Had a feeling is all.” He noticed her watching him stir his tea. “I know it looks awful, doesn’t it. Like mud. Grandma was Welsh, mother too. Da was Irish. They taught me to like it this way. That’s how I ended up with a name like Dai O’Connel. Sort of leaves me straddling St. George’s Channel, doesn’t it?”
“What’s it mean—Dai?”
“Oh.” He laughed. “Short for Dewi—David, makes it Dave, I guess. And it’s not die, it’s a softer D than that, like a cross between thigh and die, maybe—more like Dthai.”
“Dai—” She tried it. “Dai— Like that?”
“Yeah, that’s more like it, sure. Ah, djou, djou, but you’re a natural, you are.”
“Oh, right,” she said, face reddening. She topped off their cups, propping her chin on her hands. “What will you do?”
There it was: The question. He laughed under his breath. “Oh, uh… I don’t know, raise some cattle, some lambs, maybe do some selective logging off the mountain, I don’t know.”
It was quiet in the apartment now but for the patter of rain outside. He couldn’t look too long at her. There was magnetism in her eyes that pulled so hard at him it almost hurt. How stupid was that? He looked around the apartment. “You know what this reminds me of? My Aunt Jesse’s apartment in Portland. Used to watch me after school. She’d bring out one of those boxes of fancy cookies, you know, and let me choose one. I think those were the hardest decisions of my life. Those chocolate ones, and the ones with jam and pecans— Man! They all looked so good, I mean, good grief— how’s a kid to choose?” She was smiling at him. “What’s so funny?”
She went to reach high up into a cabinet and her blouse pulled free of her skirt as she stretched, exposing flesh at her hip.
• • •
Turning back, she caught him watching and he lowered his gaze. Not like the men she caught looking at her breasts. She felt an upwelling of compassion for this man at her table, and nearly reached out a hand to smooth his hair. Shaking off the yen, she lay a box of cookies on the table before him. “Like these?”
He laughed and she realized how much she enjoyed hearing it.
“Ah, I wasn’t begging.”
Slitting the cellophane with her nail, she unwrapped it, folding back the lid. “I know you weren’t. Choose.”
He leaned close, inhaled deeply. “Mercy, what a smell! Can I finger them all while I decide?”
“No!” She snatched the box away, enjoying teasing him. “Just the one you want. Touch it and it’s yours.”
“Boy, you’re as tough as Aunt Jesse. Just one? Come on, I’m bigger now.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, giving her his teacher look. “I think maybe two or three would be more appropriate, don’t you?”
She drew the box out of his reach once more. “Nope. One. That’s all.”
“Holy Moses! They ought to put you in charge of the district’s money.” She clamped down the lid, giving him a stern frown.
He raised his arms in surrender. “Okay, okay, I give up, madam assistant superintendent. I’ll take the shortbread.”
She laughed, appalled. “The shortbread? Not the chocolate? Not the one with the raspberry jam in the middle? But it’s so plain, so… ordinary.”
“Ordinary, huh? Yeah, well, that’s me. I always used to pick the shortbread. I just liked to drool over the fancy ones first.” He dunked it in his tea, and for a while neither spoke and she suddenly realized how much she enjoyed having him here. The thought frightened her.
Neither spoke for a long moment as the rain pattered.
“It’s really pouring out there,” she said. Was that really the best she could do?
He nodded.
She wanted to talk about it, but didn’t know how—or even if she should. But she had to. “You’re not making this week easy for me, you know.”
He smiled out the window, not looking at her. “Good, I don’t see why I should be.”
She took a deep breath, warming her hands on her cup. “Easy or not, I’ve got to do my job, you know that.”
He met her eye, nodded. “We both do.”
Now she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “In spite of how I may feel, or what I think of your talents as a teacher, I’ve got to do what the superintendent directs me to do. You understand that.”
“I understand.”
Well, she would be damned if she did. She slapped the table top hard enough to hurt her hand. “How can you be so damned understanding about the whole thing?”
He shrugged.
“Why don’t you get mad, yell, do something?”
He looked at her, eyes maddeningly calm. “I am doing something…I’m teaching.”
She looked down at her hands, feeling sick. It was true. He was.
He pushed away from the table, picked up his jacket. “Look, I’ve been thinking— You’ve got all you need, why waste any more time out there? Just forget the deal we talked about.”
Fear pricked at her insides. He wasn’t doing this to her, not now. She realized that was the last thing she wanted. “What? You’re reneging on me? No way, a deal’s a deal.” She wasn’t sure what she saw in his eyes—relief, disappointment, or something else? “And I’m not missing this feast.” She went for her purse. “How much do I owe you, two dollars?”
He waved the money away, laughing that low key way of his, mostly with his eyes, “Na, my treat.”
“You’re sure?” This was too much.
“Yeah, I’m sure, okay?” He went to the door. “I got to go. “
She remembered. “Wait! My car, how do I get to school?”
“I’ll phone Helvey have her pick you up on her way out. That okay?”
She did her best to smile. “That will be fine.”
And he was gone. She watched from the window as he pulled away. It was snowing again. After her shower, she dropped into the deep leather chair to read, but her book held no interest for her tonight. For a long time she stared at the pendulum on her clock, ignoring the book held before her. She felt his arms sheltering her in the hall where she’d fallen and imagined herself reading what she’d written at Thursday’s dismissal hearing. The thought made her squirm in the chair’s embrace.
The floor heater clicked on, ignited, sputtered, ticked.
The apartment had always been quiet. As long as she’d lived here she’d liked it, needed it that way.
But not tonight. Tonight it was too quiet.
• • •
Aurora picked her up at six a.m., Honda wagon smelling of roast turkey and oatmeal cookies. Mouth watering, Solange wished she hadn’t skipped breakfast. They rode in silence until they were out of the city, the only sound wipers and heavy rain against the windshield.
She could tell Aurora had something to say. Whatever it was, she wished she would say it.
“Lordy, if this rain keeps up we’ll need an ark! River Road’s already under a foot of water.”
Solange waited—there was something else.
“This is Dai’s last week, isn’t it?” Aurora said.
That was it. “It might be.”
Aurora drove as if considering whether or not to say more. At last she sighed, turning to look at Solange. “He’s a very special person. I can’t imagine Elk River without him. There are only a few of us left who don’t take it all so seriously. So many of the new teachers, like those clucks at the other end of the table, think every new philosophy that comes down the pike is going to save the world. They get so excited about everything, you’d think they thought of it.”
Solange wondered where this was heading.
“After the accident I think he just decided not to lie any more.”
The wipers worked as they drove past sodden forest and pasture.
“I’m with him, but let’s face it, where would we all be if we stopped playing along? We’re not ready for that much honesty, are we? It scares us, that much truth all at once. The lies are so comfortable, so soft and cozy.”
Solange frowned. “What is the truth, then?”
Aurora, gripping the wheel tightly, leaned forward to peer out the fogged window, then laughed her goofy laugh. “That it’s all flimflam.”
She didn’t understand. “Flimflam?”
“All that about meeting every child’s needs. The truth is that some kids can be educated, and others can’t, period. That it’s nine parts what the kid will do—can do—to one part teacher and school. That’s it, that’s the ugly truth we don’t want anybody to know.” Aurora raised a hand, palm up between them. “Well? Isn’t It? That’s why we spend all our time running around muddying the waters with new programs, new acronyms, new code words. By the time anyone’s figured out the alphabet soup, we’re on to the next one.”
Solange smiled to hear truth so simply put.
“Hmm?” Aurora said. “Isn’t that right?”
Solange couldn’t resist a laugh. Of course it was right.
Aurora turned to look at her. “Now I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you think Dai’s a bad teacher.”
Solange saw she was perfectly serious, and looked away, furious at herself for being suckered in. She couldn’t and Aurora knew it.
Aurora nodded, biting her lip. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought. Well, at least you’re that honest.”
• • •
Solange found O’Connel in his room upstairs.
He met her at the door.
“Come on, we’re late.” She checked her watch. “Late? It’s seven to seven.”
“I’ve got a meeting with my pod this morning at seven.” She dropped her bag on a desk, confused. “Isn’t it a little late to find religion?”
“It’s never too late, at least that’s what I hear. Come on, I want you to see why I stopped going.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
• • •
They met in Karl’s room. Sid, Karl, the VP and two other teachers had pulled desks into a circle.
Parnell, spotting O’Connel, dropped his jaw. “You lost?” Calandra made a place for them. “Ms. Gonsalvas must have dragged him here.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” O’Connel said, impatient with the ribbing. “I’m here, okay? Let’s get on with it.”
Parnell handed each of them a paper listing student’s names, and their infractions for the quarter.
O’Connel groaned under his breath. Already the novelty was wearing thin. He remembered now why it was he hadn’t been to a meeting in over a year. Although well intentioned, they were a supreme waste of time. Calling a parent for the 10th time, scheduling another meeting, none of it changed anything. If the parents could do anything, they would have done it.
He smiled, remembering a mother he’d asked for help with her son’s behavior during a conference. She said she hadn’t called him for help all summer, so why was he bothering her during the school year. What could be more fair? First up was a boy classified special ed. His offenses took up three inches single-spaced. No serious mayhem, just little things, things that made teaching a chore and kept anyone else from learning.
“He doesn’t belong in our classrooms,” Calandra said, tapping his pencil on the desktop.
Olivia, a petite woman with large brown eyes, opened a file. She was the pod’s special ed teacher. “As you know, he’s entitled to be taught in the least restrictive environment.”
“Entitled by law to make sure no one else learns, either,” Lott said.
Karen, a first year teacher, shook a pencil for their attention, and O’Connel hid his eyes. Sententious and overbearing, her pontification was something to be endured.
“His Individual Educational Program says he’s to be taught on his level and given individual instruction.”
“How are we supposed to teach him one-on-one when we’ve got thirty other kids in here?” Karl said. “He can’t read, let alone do the math I give him.”
“It’s your responsibility to find a way to do it,” Karen said. “He’s got the right to be there.”
“His parents are very up on their rights,” Olivia said. “I’ve tried to suggest to them that he stay in my classroom, but they want him mainstreamed. They’re very positive about that.”
“Are they the ones who threatened to sue?” Karl said.
She nodded. “They want him in the regular classroom. They won’t even listen to anything else.”
“Ah, yes, the least restrictive environment,” Sid said. “Dear Lord, we wouldn’t want to restrict anybody.”
“Oh, hell, no,” Karl said.
“I don’t know what else to suggest,” Olivia said. “I’m already offering him a pizza and soda every Friday if he can stay out of trouble during the week and remember to take around his progress report for all his teachers to sign.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Karl said.
Olivia shrugged. “He’s never brought me a completed report, but then he hasn’t been able to stay out of trouble, either.”
“So, what,” Sid said, through a mouthful of carrot, “Is there anything we can do about this kid?” He sat up straight, taking off his glasses. “I mean, he’s not a bad kid, he just needs somebody to sit there with him and hold his hand. We can’t do that—not and teach too.”
Olivia shook her head, looking hopeless. “I’ll call Mom again and see if I can meet with her. We’ll see.” With nothing solved, they went on to the next in line. It was Lyle Walker, the boy he’d put up against the wall. O’Connel scanned down the rap sheet. He had been thrown out of class a half dozen times this quarter. They’d met with his parents, both of them teachers, three times. Lyle had signed a behavior contract. The counselor had counseled him. The psychologist had analyzed him. He’d been assigned lunch detention, kept after school, suspended—none of it had worked.
“Well,” Olivia said, “I don’t know where we can go from here with Lyle.”
“What’d he do now?” O’Connel asked. “I heard some kids talking about him this morning in the hall but didn’t catch what they said.”
“That’s right,” Olivia said. “You don’t have him in your class any more, do you?”
“Yesterday,” Parnell said, “after he left your class, he called Olivia a bitch, threatened to blow her head off.�
�� O’Connel waited for him to go on. The faces around him were blank. “Well?”
“I sent him home for the rest of the day.” O’Connel was sure he’d misunderstood. “You sent him home? For the day?” Parnell kept up his doodling, eyes on his legal pad. “His parents are both teachers in the district.”
“You know,” Olivia said, “I kind of wonder if it wasn’t my fault the whole thing happened.”
“What do you mean, your fault?” O’Connel said, not believing.
“I may have pushed him too hard. Maybe if I’d handled it differently—”
He slapped the desktop. “Will you listen to yourself?” O’Connel said, wanting to throw something. “You’re a smart, tough, caring teacher, and he threatened to kill you in front of your class. That’s not your fault, it’s his! That’s assault, he should be in jail. So what, he gets a couple hours at home watching the tube?”
“Judy says he may be O.D.D., and that may be why—”
“Oh, come off it! This kid’s been around the pike so many times he knows he can do whatever he wants and get away with it.” O’Connel held up the list. “Look at this rap sheet— spitting on a student, profanity, bullying, disrespect, obscene behavior, open defiance, on and on.” Calandra spoke up, “I heard you threw him out of your class yesterday. “ O’Connel nodded.
Parnell leaned forward, tapping his eraser on the desk. “You never should have touched him.”
“I’d had it, Dean.”
“Well, all this is beside the point anyway,” Karl said. “Next week starts the second quarter. Now we wipe the slate clean and start fresh.” Sid leaned back in his chair, crossing long legs out in front of him. “Hey, what a system, huh?” O’Connel clamped his jaw, glancing at Solange, who seemed relieved he hadn’t exploded.
Next on the list was Burl, a boy with an insolent smile and a smart mouth. His mother made sure they all knew he had epilepsy, and that whatever he did, it was because of his medical condition. If he sat and stared in class, it was because he was having a seizure.
When he did nothing but talk and shoot rubber bands, it was because of epilepsy. When he turned in sloppy, incomplete work, or forgot to turn it in at all, that was epilepsy, too.
A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room Page 12