I’ll Become the Sea

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  “When’s the last time you ate?”

  “I had breakfast when I woke up.”

  “It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “So?”

  “Are you a hobbit?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  Morning rush was over at the diner. They pushed through the heavy door and headed for their favorite vinyl booth.

  Sarah picked up a menu. “I don’t know why we bother looking. We always get the same thing.”

  The waitress brought their coffee, and Jane smiled her thanks.

  Sarah watched her pour a stream of cream into her cup. “You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “And how is Ben?”

  “He’s good. Probably halfway to L.A. by now.”

  “So he didn’t let you go with him to the airport.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, Sarah. He needed to focus on what’s to come.”

  “When are you going to visit?”

  “I’m not. I mean, I don’t plan to. Not anytime soon.”

  “You mean he doesn’t want you to.”

  “No. He doesn’t want me to.”

  The waitress came to take their orders. Eggs Benedict, a spinach omelet. She jotted them down on a pocket-sized pad, humming as she moved away toward the kitchen. Jane watched her go.

  “Anyway, spring assessments are coming up at school. I need to be here. And there’s no reason why two people in a relationship can’t handle some time apart.”

  “Is that you speaking or Ben?”

  “Enough, Sarah. Tell me about your date last night.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not changing the subject. I just don’t want to talk about it. We’re independent people. We don’t have to do things the traditional way.”

  She took Sarah’s discarded sugar packet, flattened it out and started folding it into even compartments.

  Sarah eyed her. “What about the wedding?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is it going to be here? In L.A.? This year? Next year?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on. Not for a long time.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Jane sighed, smoothing the sugar packet out again, starting over, bending it back into neat accordion folds. “He wants to hold off on the wedding.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just hold off. Not break up or anything, not cancel it, but just…delay it for a while. He says he needs time to focus on the film. He doesn’t want to have to keep putting me off when I bring it up, but he just can’t, I don’t know, deal with it right now. He asked for some time.”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Sarah took Jane’s hand across the table, running her thumb over the small diamond on her finger. “Mr. Frodo.”

  “Oh, stop.”

  “He’s an evil little troll.”

  “He just needs to focus on his work. Is that so bad?”

  “It kind of is, yes.”

  Chapter Two

  “Clear your desks, please.”

  Thirty-two pairs of legs swung around in their chairs. Chattering voices tumbled over each other, a flurry of movement rising and falling over the old linoleum. At the front of the room, Jane tapped her pointer against the floor. “Silence, please.”

  Several desks were cleared, chairs pushed in, students waiting with their hands clasped on the flat surface. On the walls hung neat rows of student work, page after page of writing mounted on color construction paper. Baskets of manipulatives, book genres, lab equipment, craft materials and theater props lined the walls. Behind Jane stood an easel bearing a graphic organizer and beyond that, on the blackboard, a carefully drawn chart.

  “Britney.” Jane handed her a sheet of stickers. “Please go around the room and give a star to the students who are doing what I’ve asked them to do.” She nodded toward a group of students sitting quietly at their desks. “I see a lot of students earning stickers for silence during the transition. Good work, Kayla. Very nice, Shaquan.”

  She stopped for a moment in front of a child hanging out of his chair, body half-lying on the floor. “Raymond.”

  He flinched and shot up in his seat, pushing his chair in and folding his hands on the desk. He gave her an ingratiating grin.

  “Nice, Ray.”

  She lined the students up, group by group, forming two straight lines in the hall outside their door.

  Beside them, Ms. Gibson’s class crowded in a bunch, jostling and pushing each other. With their teacher in the classroom rounding up stragglers, a few students wandered over to Jane’s class.

  “Ooh, look at the good children all lined up.”

  “Kyle.” Jane stepped out to the center of the hallway. “Back up.”

  “No, no,” another kid chimed in. “It’s the slow class, they got to walk down the hall real slow.”

  She watched her students react. Some kept still, staring straight ahead, ignoring them. Others began moving from one foot to the next, scowling.

  “Shateek, Kyle, I said back up.” Jane put her body between Ms. Gibson’s students and her own, forcing the agitators to take two steps back toward their classroom.

  Ms. Gibson stepped out to the hallway. “What is this?”

  At the sound of her voice, her students whipped themselves into their lines and faced forward, avoiding her gaze.

  Ms. Gibson turned her head to look at Jane. “You can’t leave them. Not for a minute. These children! They don’t know how to behave.” She faced her students, hands on her hips. “Shateek! Fix your face, man!” She turned again to Jane. “No home training. What are we supposed to do?” She stalked off with her class.

  Jane watched them go, then turned to her students. “Nice work. They provoked you, and you held your peace.”

  Her class looked at her.

  “They want to rile you up, but you’re not going to let them do that to you. Right?”

  Her students nodded.

  “Now how many of you actually buy what I just said?”

  Half the class raised their hands. The others looked away, shrugging.

  “Well.” Jane smiled. “It’s a start. Let’s see if the half of you who raised your hands can keep the other half from beating the crap out of Shateek and Kyle on the playground.”

  A ripple of laughter ran up the line.

  “Right. Let’s go to lunch.”

  * * *

  She was eating a sandwich in the teachers’ lounge when her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Elliott. This is David Casey, the education director at Shore Programs. Raymond Johnson’s grandmother gave us your name. You’re his teacher?”

  She set her sandwich down. “Yes. Hi! Raymond was accepted?”

  “Possibly. We’re calling on you for a reference.”

  “Oh. Great. I recommended you to his grandmother. I read about your organization online. I thought he could use some guidance outside of school. He’s a very bright kid.”

  “Well, I think so too. We had him in for an interview yesterday. He’s a good candidate for our program. It would help me to know a bit about what he’s like in the classroom, though. What made you send him our way?”

  Raymond. He interrupted her lessons every three minutes. He could barely sit still long enough to sharpen a pencil. He was her favorite student.

  “He’s a thinker.” She smiled. “Very funny and intuitive. When he started fourth grade in September, he couldn’t read at all. He’d been left back twice already, reading below kindergarten level. I don’t know how he slipped through the cracks for so long.”

  She paused. “Actually, I do. He’s very charming, and a good faker. And so capable in other ways. Strong in math. Grea
t listening comprehension, loves science. He just couldn’t sight-read. And the school, you know, everybody works hard, but it’s not the most cutting-edge place.

  “He’s doing a little better now. We do phonics every day, and I tutor him after school twice a week. He’s learning fast. I’d say he’s about early third grade by now.”

  “That’s a lot of progress.”

  “He’s bright. He just needed some decoding skills.”

  “And a teacher who cared about him.”

  “Oh, wait until you spend some time with him. He’s worth it.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to doing that. We’re accepting him into the program. He can start next week. Will that interfere with your tutoring?”

  “Oh, I didn’t think of that. Is it five days a week?”

  “Yes, from three-thirty to six. He’ll take the bus from school.” He paused. “You could tutor him here if you like. We could adjust his schedule for the days you’re here. It’s not so far from your school. Maybe ten blocks.”

  “Hmm. Let me think about that. Tuesdays and Thursdays, it would be.”

  “That sounds fine. Why don’t you stop by next Tuesday? That’ll be Raymond’s second day. You can check the place out and see if it would work for you to meet him here.”

  “Um, sure. That would be great.”

  He gave her the address and directions to his office.

  “It’s Mr. Casey, right?”

  “Yes, David Casey. Call me David.”

  “David. My name is Jane.”

  “We’ll see you Tuesday then, Jane. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

  She felt her heart jump a little and wondered why. There was something about his voice. It was quiet and kind. And she was an idiot, she thought, looking at the gold ring on her finger. “Yes, me too. Thank you for accepting Raymond. You won’t regret it.”

  Chapter Three

  The drive was long, and she knew it like a series of reflexes, automatic, from years of treading the same path. One weekend every month, for the last ten years. Except when they went on lockdown, which could happen at any time. A stabbing. Electrical repairs. She always had to call first, to make sure she wasn’t braving the trip only to be turned away at the door. They’d been lucky, though. He was only an hour away from her mother. If a visit fell through she could always go and stay with her.

  He’d been moved twice. This last place he’d been in for six years now. Long enough to establish a routine. A record of good behavior. Polite, predictable behavior. Easier for him without access to drinking.

  He used his time reading, following the daily schedule, listening to talk radio. He’d managed to get a job at the prison library after years on the waiting list. His disposition had improved a great deal since then. The boredom, the idleness, made him mean. He was gentler with her now.

  She had two hours for each visit and had to show up early. The metal detectors, the pat-downs—they took a while. She made a final mental check of her clothing as she pulled into the visitors’ lot. No metal buttons. No belt. No underwire bra. Once she had forgotten that rule, dressing quickly in her haste to get to him on time, and had set off the detector twice. They’d sent her away. The C.O. was in a foul mood that day. Sarcastic, dismissive, he’d waved his hand and told her to come back when she learned how to follow the rules.

  Clearing the security checks, she found her father waiting for her at a table in the visitors’ room. He was dressed in the prison’s standard-issue clothing, still a shock for her to see. They used to let the inmates dress in their own clothes, but that had changed a few years back. They’d sent all his things back to her mother and given him a set of uniforms instead.

  He rose when she entered. They were allowed one embrace at the start of each visit and one at the end. He hugged her. She tried not to stiffen and hoped he didn’t notice when she did.

  They took their seats on opposite sides of the table.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Janie. You look good.”

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  “Outside world treating you all right?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Did you get those books I sent you?”

  “Yeah, thanks for that. The library here stinks. I shouldn’t say that, I know, since it gets me out of the grind, but really. It’s all thrillers.”

  “You don’t like those, for an escape sometimes?”

  He shook his head. “You know me. I like history.”

  “Well, I’ll send more of that then.”

  “Thanks. So, how are you? How’s school?”

  “Oh, it’s good. My students are getting antsy. Spring fever or something.”

  “You’re not in any trouble, are you? I worry about you, with those kids. In that neighborhood.”

  “They’re just kids, Dad.”

  “Yeah, but you know what I mean. Aren’t you always telling me how they fight all the time?”

  “Not so much anymore. They’re getting better.”

  “Look. I’m glad you’re helping them. Doing your part. I always said you were a sweetheart, always worried about everyone else’s feelings. I knew you’d do something positive with your life.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Still. You have to be careful. Don’t go hanging around after dark, don’t go to anyone’s house to visit. Keep your distance.”

  “There’s only so much distance I can keep. They’re my students. I see them every day.”

  “Yeah. Well. Just don’t let them get you into a corner or anything. Them or their parents. They’re fine people, I’m sure, but you need to watch your back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He lowered his voice, leaning closer to her over the table. “You know what I mean. I’m no racist, but there’s another standard of behavior and you know it. Why do you think there are so many black guys in this place?”

  “You’re in this place too.”

  He sat back in his chair, gave her a look. “Yeah, and why is that?”

  “Dad.”

  “All right, fine. We won’t talk about that.”

  “Tell me about your month. How’s everything been?”

  “Ah. What can I say? It’s the same routine every day. One thing I can tell you, when I’m out of this place, I will never, and I mean never, wait on line for anything again.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Yeah, what do you want? No sense complaining. Doesn’t change shit.”

  “How are your meetings going?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are they helping at all?”

  “Helping? With what? Not like I could drink in here anyway.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I mean with the underlying…”

  “Oh, now don’t start with that ‘underlying’ bullshit. You sound just like them.”

  “Who’s ‘them’?”

  “You know. These people with their chips and slogans. I don’t know, Jane. It’s not for me.” He watched her face for a moment. “Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m going. I go every week, like I’m supposed to. Couple times a week.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your mom coming to visit tomorrow?”

  “As far as I know, yes.”

  “You staying with her tonight?”

  “Not staying. But I’m having dinner with her.”

  “It’s a long drive to be making twice in one day.”

  “I know. I just have a…a lot of grading to do. A lot of school work. I have to get back.”

  “Well. I appreciate you coming down here and seeing your old man. Like I said, I always knew you were a good egg.” He looked off into the distance, drumming his fingers on the table. “Listen. About that. Your mom probably mentioned it. My parole hearing? It’s coming up in a couple months, I think.”

  “I know, Dad. That’s…great.”

  “Yeah. Great. Thing is, the wife, of the…His wife. She wants to bring her kid, make some kind of a statement.
To the parole board. About how they should keep me in here. Like I’m not rehabilitated. As if she’d know. Anyway. She wants to be there, and in order to do that, she had to make this what they call an open hearing. Meaning anyone can come. Not just me and the committee, but anyone. His family. My family. So I wanted to ask…”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you come? Along with your mom. Maybe, I don’t know, put in a good word for me, if they let you do that.”

  “Dad, I…”

  “Look. You don’t need to answer now. Think about it.”

  “Okay, but…”

  “I just thought you might want to be there. I mean, you were there that night, after all. You played your part too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, Janie. Let’s not get started on that. Anyway, you don’t need to tell me one way or another now. Think about it. Next time I see you, you get back to me.”

  She looked into his eyes. He didn’t blink or look away. He sat across from her, his hands on the table, tapping a monotonous rhythm.

  She nodded.

  Chapter Four

  A brisk wind struck Jane’s face when she stepped out the school door. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and wondered when the March weather would finally get warm. She was running late. Raymond would be sitting at afterschool already, waiting for her to show up. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and trudged on against the gusts of wind. The cold cleared her mind as she made her way to the center. She took in deep breaths of it and felt her body relaxing.

  The Shore Program’s building was gritty and old, nestled in the middle of a long block spotted with burned-out houses and abandoned lots. It was hard to miss. The entrance was decorated with student artwork and bulletins announcing upcoming events.

  Garbage littered the street. In a few months, families would venture out onto the stoops and sidewalks to escape the heat, music spilling from their windows. Today all doors were shut tight against the cold. Jane peered through the glass at the center’s door. A long hall lined with framed photographs led to an aging elevator. She pressed the buzzer and waited.

  A voice squeaked through the speaker. “Shore Programs, may I help you?”