City Kid

by Mary MacCracken

  Thank God.

  I handed the sheet to Mrs. Oliphant.

  She read it and then handed it back. “You are correct, Ms. MacCracken. Proceed.”

  I finished the first bar and started on the second. My breath must have become uncontrolled because the note slid away into shrillness. I tried several times to get it back, but no luck. Coughs and giggles filled the room.

  “All right, Ms. MacCracken. You may sit down.”

  I looked at Mrs. Oliphant desperately. I could not fail Methods and Materials for Teaching Music. Without it, I couldn’t graduate or get certification. I took a deep breath.

  “I would like to try it one more time,” I said.

  Mrs. Oliphant looked at me steadily.

  “All right. Permission granted,” she said. I never understood whether she imagined herself in kindergarten or the army.

  I blew out and then raised the recorder to my lips and began again, remembering to blow down over my lower lip rather than directly into the hole. I closed my eyes; blocked out Mrs. Oliphant and Lewis and the other sixteen kids.

  I played it straight through without a mistake.

  The class clapped when I finished and I smiled my thanks, but never, ever will I sing or play that song again.

  My father was supposed to arrive on the morning of Christmas Eve, but somehow he got confused and arrived two days early. Nan was home from college and was making his Christmas present, a felt banner, on the floor of the living room when he rang the doorbell.

  We had decided to stay at the apartment for the holidays because many of our children were flying in and then out at odd hours of day and night and from the apartment we could get to all three airports, Newark, La Guardia, and Kennedy. There was no airfield near our house in the country.

  It was a crowded, confusing time. Happiness and sorrow mixed together. Sue was there and Nan and Steve and his wife, Margie, and Cal’s Karen and Mark. Michael and his family were in California, Joan was in medical school in Colorado.

  We put up the tree on Christmas Eve afternoon and it looked beautiful against the glass doors to the terrace, the New York skyline a perfect backdrop. Silently, I wondered if anyone else could hear my mother’s voice saying as she did each year, “You know, I think it’s the prettiest tree we’ve ever had.”

  Chapter 27

  January 5. The first day of the last term of my senior year! My marks had come over vacation and I’d passed everything with respectable grades, even music. My undergraduate days were almost over. I was going to make it! Come June, I’d be a certified teacher.

  I stopped by Professor Foster’s office for a final briefing on student teaching. He went over the various reports that Mrs. Karras and I were required to write and said that he’d be down from college once or twice.

  “You understand, Mary, that your student teaching experience will be for twelve weeks rather than the usual six.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I know. It’s because I’ll only be at School Twenty-three in the mornings so that I can take History, School in Contemporary American Society, and Philosophy of Education in the afternoon.”

  “That’s right. Usually our seniors have finished all their three-credit courses by spring term so that they only have a seminar or two to go along with their student teaching. Of course, they also spend a good bit of time interviewing.

  “Which brings us to your plans for next year. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  “Teach,” I said, smiling at him. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “We’ll need to get you lined up for campus interviews then. Also you should complete your resumé and bring it in for me to go over. I guess that’s it for now. Good luck at Twenty-three.”

  Mrs. Karras was waiting for me by the front door when I arrived at nine o’clock.

  “Ah. Good, Mary. I was worried you weren’t coming.”

  I smiled at her. “Not a chance.” But I heard what she was saying and resolved to get there earlier the next day.

  I followed her into the music room and she spread a sheet of paper in front of me.

  I studied the list. “It’s fine. Except for Harold. I have to be back at college for a one o’clock History course. Professor Foster arranged it so I’ll student teach mornings for twelve weeks instead of six and take the last required courses in the afternoon. I’m sorry. I assumed he’d checked it out with you.”

  Mrs. Karras nodded. “I guess I knew that. I guess I was just hoping. Harold needs help so badly. Now, shall we get the children?”

  I looked at her. “I don’t know them.”

  “I know, Mary,” she said. “Before, for the mental health project, the psychologist tested the children and there was a file of sorts for each one. Well, there’s no time or money for that now. Besides, there’s no better way to get to know them than to see them. And I’d be interested in hearing what you think about each one, without having read anybody else’s opinion.”

  Mrs. Karras brought Louisa to the music room, introduced us, and left. Louisa had glossy dark brown skin, round cheeks, and four or five pigtails that stuck out all over her head in different directions. She wore a bright pink dress and looked like some kind of ice cream sundae. What could be the matter with Louisa?

  “Louisa,” I said. “Let me help you wriggle up here onto this chair. It’s kind of big.”

  Louisa’s feet swung back and forth six inches off the floor. I’d have to see about getting some smaller furniture.

  “Louisa, can you tell me your last name?”

  “Uh-huh. Hit Louisa Mae.”

  Hit Louisa Mae? Who would hit her? Then I realized what she was saying. I was going to have to listen carefully.

  “Louisa Mae what?” I asked gently.

  “That hit. Louisa Mae.”

  “Do you know where you live?”

  “Falls City.”

  “Good, Louisa. Should I call you Louisa or Louisa Mae?”

  “Louisa Mae. That my name. Nobody call hit right.”

  “Do you know what street you live on?”

  Silence.

  “How about your telephone number? Do you know that?”

  “Hain’t got no tefone.”

  “Do you know your daddy’s name?”

  “Hain’t got no daddy, neither.”

  These questions were for the birds. At least they weren’t for Louisa Mae. I put my pad and pencil down and went and got some crayons and unlined paper.

  “Louisa Mae, let’s pretend we’ve got a million dollars.”

  “Hoowee.” Louisa Mae’s eyes were round as silver dollars themselves.

  “You can buy anything you want. Draw me a picture of what you’ll buy.”

  Louisa Mae knelt on the chair and drew a large round circle and then a smaller one and then put her pencil down and looked at the ceiling. I was beginning to realize she never looked directly at me. Always a little to the side.

  I waited. She continued to look at the ceiling. Finally, she looked back at the paper. “That hit,” she said.

  “Okay. Can you tell me about it?”

  “Hit Baby Hug Me. Seen hit on TV. Kin I go?”

  “In just a minute, okay? Draw me one more picture first. Draw me a picture of your best, best friend.”

  Another circle. Two lines, A smaller circle between the lines. Down went the crayon. Eyes to the ceiling.

  Again I waited.

  Slam! Louisa Mae hit the table with her hand. “That hit! I mean hit!”

  “Okay. Fine. Just tell me who it is.”

  “That Clara. That her legs and that her pee-pee ’tween urn.”

  “Okay. I see. Thank you, Louisa Mae, I’ll walk back to class with you now.”

  Maybe Clara was a boy or a hermaphrodite, I thought as I walked beside Louisa Mae. Or maybe she meant Clarence.

  Luke was sitting in the music room waiting for me when I got back from Louisa Mae’s classroom. I was not proud of my first interview. Oh, well, at least I’d see her again tomorrow and the next
day and the next. I loved the fact that we had so much time.

  “You’re late,” Luke said, eyes on the clock.

  “I’m sorry.” I smiled at him. “How are you? Did you have a good Christmas?”

  “Yeah. Okay. It was a long time ago. How come you’re here in the morning? How long’ve you been here anyway?” Luke looked at me suspiciously.

  “Since nine. Remember, I told you that I’d be here every day after Christmas. Well, here I am.” I pulled Mrs. Karras’s sheet of paper over in front of me. “And I’m going to work with you every day, every school day from nine-forty-five to ten-twenty-five. See?” I pointed to the time written by his name on the paper.

  Luke studied it. “Nine-forty-five to ten-twenty-five. Forty-five. Fifty. Ten o’clock. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five.” Luke counted on his fingers. “That’s not as long as before,” he said.

  “No. Not quite. But it’s every day. That’s five times instead of three.” I paused. It was not like Luke to be cranky. “Is anything the matter?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, then do you have a best or a worst thing?” I got down the plastic dishpan with his name on it that had replaced the worn carton. I took out his notebook. The last entry was for the day before Christmas vacation. I had not made a plan for today, it had seemed too far off. We’d just have to make it up as we went along.

  Luke was still staring at the sheet of paper Mrs. Karras had given me. “Who’s Louisa?”

  “A little girl from first grade. I don’t know her last name.”

  “Oh, I know her. Louisa Mae West. She lives in the cellar of the house across the street from the project.”

  “In the cellar?” I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yup. Her grandma and uncles live upstairs.”

  “Oh. Well, never mind Louisa Mae. Tell me about you. Your best and worst.”

  Luke was not to be diverted. “Who’s Bobby?”

  “Luke,” I said, “we talked about this before Christmas. Remember? I explained about student teaching, how everybody that wants to be a teacher has to do it and that I was lucky because my student teaching was going to be here at Twenty-three. Usually you do student teaching in a classroom, but instead I’m going to work here in the music room with four children, and you’re one of the four.”

  “Who’re the others?”

  I read from the sheet: “Louisa, Bobby, Maureen.”

  “Maureen Barber? She’s the biggest baby.”

  “I don’t know her last name. Mrs. Karras forgot to write it down, but I’ll let you know. And maybe later there will be a Harold somebody.” I figured I’d better tell him about all of them at the beginning.

  Luke flicked his thumbnail against the green plastic dishpan, “How come you gotta see so many kids?”

  “That’s the only way it will count for student teaching.” I tried to think while I talked. Luke’s jealous. Finally I understood. I should have thought of this. I’d promised myself to make this room a safe place for Luke. A place where he could grow. And now, without warning.

  I’d dumped three kids on him, plus Harold, whatever we were going to do about Harold. Luke had a right to be jealous. I remembered how carefully I’d prepared Susan, my oldest child, for the new baby.

  What had I told Sue? I couldn’t remember what I’d said. Only her delight when I’d had twins, Nan and Steve. At two and a half, she was sure I’d done it just for her so we’d each have a baby of our own to “salt” (read powder) at bathtime. I suppose what I’d done unconsciously was to make her feel special, let her know that her place was unique, hers for all time. Also tried to include her in, not out, as much as I could, while I cared for two new babies.

  I sat looking at Luke, trying to think how to tell him he’d always be special. No one in the world could ever take his place. How could I translate that into the right words for Falls City and Luke?

  Luke scratched at the table, his head down so I could hardly hear him when he spoke. “You gonna take all those kids up to the country, too? So they can all see the deer an’ everything?”

  I wanted to put my arms around him. But instead I took the handwriting paper out of his dishpan. “No, I won’t take them there. The house is closed for the year now, anyway. I guess you’re the only one from School Twenty-three who’ll ever see that house.”

  Luke pushed the handwriting paper aside and picked up the crayons I’d had out for Louisa. He pulled an unlined piece of paper toward him. “I remember what it looked like,” he said, beginning to draw. “It’s made out of stones, great big stones, see, like this. And it’s got this funny kind of green roof. I forget what it’s called. And then here’s the chimiley.”

  “That’s exactly right, Luke. That’s just the way it looks.”

  “And then, see, out here’s the meadow,” Luke drew a long rectangle in front of the house. “And here’s the wall. Unit’s stones too, and here’s the woods.” He drew lots of spiky trees beside the rectangle. “And right here in the middle of the meadow is an apple tree.”

  Luke drew a round bushy apple tree and then, of course, under the apple tree he drew a deer with antlers sticking up from his head. “And here’s the deer I saw under the apple tree. And that’s the way it is.”

  Luke pushed the drawing over in front of me. I smiled at him. “Yes,” I said. “That’s just the way it is. Let’s tape the picture up here so that the others can see what it looks like and maybe sometime you can even tell them about it.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. And maybe sometime I can help you with that Louisa Mae. She lives right across the street, you know.”

  Mrs. Karras put her head in the door. “How are things going?” It was clear that when the project belonged to Mrs. Karras, she made sure she knew what was going on.

  “Okay.” I hoped she wouldn’t bring the next child until Luke was gone.

  Somehow she understood what I was saying and answered, “Fine. You’re on your own now.”

  I finished with Luke and walked back to Lisa’s class with him. I waved to Lisa and touched Luke’s shoulder before he went in the door. Lisa called out, “Luke’s earning stars in here now.” I signaled back an A-OK, impressed once again with the resiliency of these city kids.

  Mrs. Novak’s third-grade class was on the second floor and the list said that was where my next child, Bobby, was. I watched through the door for a second to be sure I wasn’t entering at the wrong moment and then introduced myself to Mrs. Novak and asked if I could take Bobby.

  “Bobby who?”

  I wished she would talk a little more quietly.

  “It doesn’t say. I’m sorry. I’ll find out. Be right back.” I should have known better.

  “Wait. Never mind. Any Bobby that needs special help has got to be Bobby Ferraro. The two other Bobbys I got are both good.”

  Her voice boomed through the classroom while I cringed. “Bobby Ferraro. Go with this lady. Take your pencil.” She peered at me. “How long will you keep him?”

  “Till eleven-ten.”

  “All right. But be sure he comes straight back here. No wandering into the lavatory. You know what goes on in there.”

  I didn’t. But then I was beginning to see that there was a lot I didn’t know about School 23. I walked straight to the door, opened it, aware of another small body in front of me, and I didn’t look down until I had closed the door and we were in the hall.

  Bobby looked like a little rat. He was very thin, with a sharp pointed face and dark blond hair that was slicked down tight to his head. He followed me obediently down the stairs and through the halls to the music room.

  Once there, I introduced myself.

  Bobby came over and pumped my hand. “Glad to meet-cha. You the one that’s going to be my tutor. Mrs. Karras told me I was getting a tutor yesterday when I was in the office.”

  “How come you were in the office?”

  Bobby shrugged. “I got sent there.”

  “For what?”

  “I don
’t know. For talkin’. Or gettin’ out of my seat. Something like that. I get sent down most every day. What are we gonna do in here, anyway?”

  I was beginning to feel tired and the day wasn’t half over. I shrugged myself. “We can do whatever you’d like to do today. Tomorrow we’ll have a plan.”

  “Anything I want? You got some cards?”

  “Yes.” I went and got them out of the drawer in the file cabinet. I remembered reading about “non-directive therapy,” letting the child lead the way. That’s what I’ll tell myself I’m doing, I thought.

  “You know how to play any games like Black Jack and Poker, War?”

  “I know Poker and Black Jack.”

  “You do?” Surprise tinged Bobby’s voice. “I’ll deal. Black Jack.”

  “We don’t have poker chips,” I said.

  “We’ll tear up paper and use the pieces for chips.” Bobby was resourceful. I could see that.

  Five minutes into the game and I caught Bobby palming first one ace and then another. I called him on it, forgetting to be non-directive, and he cheerfully put the aces back. Bobby’s approach seemed to be take all you can get. If you’re dumb enough to be cheated, you deserve it.

  We played six hands before Bobby lost the deal. I took the cards and shuffled them idly back and forth. Suddenly I realized that Bobby was fascinated. I flipped a little faster, showing off, dividing the pack in two, letting the cards fall together alternately, arcing them upwards with my fingers, then pressing my thumbs downward, making the cards flutter back into place.

  “Where’d you learn how to do that?” Bobby wanted to know.

  “I used to play cards with my cousins on rainy days in the summer when we couldn’t swim or fish.”

  “You know how to fish?” Evidently in Bobby’s eyes women didn’t fish. “What kinda fish you catch?”

  “Perch, small-mouth bass, pickerel. Once a muskie.”

  “Trolling or still fishing?”

  “Mostly trolling. But sometimes we’d anchor off a shoal.”