by Liane Shaw
“I’d like to speak with you before you take him, please.” The police chief ushers us into his office.
“This boy managed to get all the way here. I checked with local police. No one called them at any point to report him missing. I can’t understand how this could be?” He makes it a question, looking from Mrs. Callahan to me and back again. She puts on her professional face and sits a little straighter.
“I apologize on behalf of my school staff. The program is relatively young, and we haven’t put all the necessary protocols in place. I have instructed my staff that in future the police are to be called immediately if there is any suspicion that a child could be missing. Better to err on the side of caution.” She smiles, carefully avoiding my gaze. I’m so astonished that all I can do is stare. I can’t find a single word.
She’s trying to hang this on me. Making me look like the bad guy. She’s got skills; I have to give her that. She should be in my class. She’d fit right in.
Next she’ll try to hang me out to dry with the director, too. But she doesn’t know that I called the board office and ratted her out already. This is not going to go her way at all.
She’s going to be in trouble. The thought sings its way inside my head and gives me my first smile of the day.
Chapter 20
The red-eyed reindeer
I never did get the satisfaction of knowing how much trouble Mrs. Callahan was in for ignoring me the day Chris disappeared. She kept it to herself. The good news, though, was that the incident made the director notice my program and decide that filling it with students before actually giving me any real resources might not be such a good idea after all. He told Mrs. Callahan that she wasn’t to accept any new students without his permission and that she had to figure out a new classroom for me for next year, one that’s closer to the office so that I have more access to assistance.
This is all sounding wonderful—except for the seeming assumption by one and all that I am still going to be doing this next year.
This was supposed to be temporary. Temporary insanity.
Anyway, next year is a long time from now, and there’s still lots to be done this year. I feel like Sean and I can breathe a bit more easily knowing that Callahan isn’t going to drop kick any more kids into the room—at least not without some proper notice and maybe even some information about the next lost soul to find his way to us.
I say “his way” automatically, inside my head and out. There don’t seem to be any girls heading my way any time soon. It’s not that girls don’t have serious problems. There were several girls at the Section school. I think the problems are there, but the presentation can be different much of the time, at least in the school setting. Girls often seem quieter and less overtly physical, able to fade into the background while their male counterparts kick and scream their way onto teachers’ radars. I have a friend who works at a group home for girls, and it’s her opinion that girls are even harder to work with than boys because they often try to hide their issues, and whether they’re hurting themselves or others, it’s frequently done in a way that’s not immediately obvious to staff. All kinds of damage can happen before anyone realizes that something is going on.
My boys tend to end up with me because they’re behavior is loud, proud, and out of control in a very observable fashion. Most of the time anyway. Which is why I am totally astonished when Arthur, our shop teacher, comes to me with a proposal.
“I have some gaps in my schedule for the next couple of weeks, what with students preparing for the Winter Holiday concert,” he begins, “and I was wondering if you would like to try a project with your boys in the shop.”
“Really? In your shop?” I must look as astonished as I feel because Arthur laughs.
“I know the tools all look big and scary, but there aren’t many kids, and there are three of us. I can pull in a volunteer or two to ensure one-to-one support. We’ll use the bigger, bolted-down equipment. It’ll be good for them to do something hands-on.”
I agree fully. So long as none of them decides to cut someone’s hands off.
“Great. But I guess I’ll have to run it past Callahan…Mrs. Callahan.”
“No problem. I already did so. She seemed most pleased.”
“Seriously?” I bet if I had asked, she would have reminded me about the bus fiasco and laughed politely in my face.
“Yes. Anyway, I have a nice project—each of the boys can make a wooden reindeer decoration. It’s a simple pattern that can be cut out with a jigsaw and then sanded and painted by hand. I’ll do a lesson on all of the tools just for interest and then a safety lesson as well. I figure about three visits to the shop and then the sanding can be done in class.”
“Sounds great!” I say it too loudly, as if trying to convince both of us of the greatness of the plan. I do think it’s wonderful, awesome even, that Arthur is taking an interest. I’ve actually noticed several teachers starting to pay some positive attention to my students since the accident.
I wonder if taking my guys into the woodworking shop as a first foray into the “regular” school setting seems a tad extreme. It’s a pretty scary place.
“Super cool. They’ll love it!” Sean’s enthusiasm is unblemished by any concerns at all.
“You don’t think we’ll lose an arm or a leg in there?”
“No. It’ll be like the pet store. They’ll be so amazed that someone is letting them do something normal that they’ll be cool. My group home kids are like that when we take them out on weekends—most of the time anyway.” He smiles brightly to gloss over the last few words. I return the smile and shake my head.
“All right. I guess it’s a plan then.”
All of the kids are thrilled with the idea—even Mike looks excited for a split second until he sees me watching him. As soon as our eyes meet, his face settles back into its usual expression of bored intolerance. But it’s too late. I saw it. For the tiniest fraction of a second, I saw an interested little boy in those eyes.
Just as Sean predicted, Arthur approached the boys with the same matter-of-fact manner as the pet store owner. He acted like he simply assumed they would behave in the same way as any other student would, and for the most part, they did.
“Check it out, Ms. S! I cut out his butt and back legs!” Donny holds up a curved piece of wood with a flourish.
“That’s super.” He nods in agreement and high-fives his volunteer, Jonathan, a student from the grade eight class who seems to really enjoy being with the boys. I hadn’t thought about the idea of “reverse” integration as an option for my students before this. Bringing other students in as role models, and as a way for my guys to have connections out in the broader school population, might be a good way to start integrating them.
Every time I think about the whole integration question, I start to sweat. My program’s ultimate goal is to provide my boys with the academic and social skills to allow them to return full-time to a regular classroom—without anyone being punched, kicked, or sworn at in the process. I haven’t figured out how we’re going to do it with only two of us. I mean, I can’t send any of them unaccompanied to a classroom, at least not yet. But if Sean goes too, then I’m left on my own.
Maybe that would be easier next year if I were closer to the office.
If I’m doing this next year. The jury is so far from in on that one.
“Hey, check out Kevin! He’s like the jigsaw champion!” Cory is hopping up and down in excitement. Sean puts a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him a bit, which doesn’t really work but at least keeps him in one spot. Kevin is standing at the jigsaw, with Arthur right at his elbow, and he’s just burning that wood through the blade, twisting it when it needs to be twisted and turning it when it needs to be turned. It’s amazing to watch. It’s so much harder than it looks, as I can prove with my own slightly demented-looking
reindeer, which I cut out first to demonstrate to the boys.
Mostly I demonstrated that I am not very crafty, much to their amusement. This time, Mike didn’t even bother trying to hide that he was laughing too.
All seven reindeer were finished within our three-day window, and we retired them all back to the classroom for sanding and painting. This quickly became a favorite activity, one we could use to encourage—code for bribe—them to get their work done.
It became a favorite activity for Sean and me, too, not only because of the work aspect, but also because it seems to create a social atmosphere in the room. With their hands busy sanding and their eyes focused on the wood, the boys started having casual conversations with us and with each other.
“I really like skateboards. Do you like them, Donny?”
“Yeah. I used to have one, but it’s at my mom’s.”
“That sucks. What about you, Kev? You like skateboards?”
“Skateboards suck!” Everyone laughs. Kevin tries out new phrases on a weekly basis. Last week everything was cool. This week everything sucks. Mostly we still have no idea what he really thinks about anything.
“I have a skateboard. At least I used to. My dad took it away when he was mad. But I totally rule!” My ears perk up. I’ve never heard Chris mention his father before.
“I never had a dad,” Donny says. “Is it cool?”
“Everyone has a dad. You need one for sex or there aren’t any babies! Didn’t you know we all come from people screwing?” Chris laughs but doesn’t answer the question. Donny flushes a little. I realize I should probably say something to Chris about his choice of subject matter, but I’m too interested in listening to them have an actual conversation.
“Yes, I know that! I just mean he bailed before I met him. I think it would be cool to have a dad instead of just a mom. Is your dad cool, Kevin?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Kevin answers enigmatically to enthusiastic laughter.
“My dad’s a deadbeat!” Cory chimes in loudly.
“What’s that?” Chris asks.
“I don’t know for sure, but my mom says that’s what he is and that’s why we have to move all the time. She says he’s an asshole, too, so maybe deadbeat and asshole’s the same thing.” His voice is cheerful, and we don’t bother interrupting to clean up his language. After all, he’s really just quoting.
“Well, I don’t care about dads. I just need my mom. Soon I’m going home. I’m going to give my mom this guy for Christmas.” Donny is now convinced that his destination date for a full-time return to his home is December 25th. I have tried to reach his social worker to see what the reality is but haven’t heard back. So mostly I just listen to him endlessly planning his reunion and try not to say much.
And so it goes. Chatting together about their unimaginable lives, giving Sean and me just the slightest glimpse of their realities.
We’re sitting around sanding and chatting on a Friday afternoon when Mrs. Callahan makes a rare appearance at the door.
“I need to speak to you for a moment. Privately.” She doesn’t even look at the boys. I wish she would. They look awesome sitting there, working away, all calm and casual.
“What’s up?” I ask as soon as we get a couple of steps down the hall. She looks at me solemnly. I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Is she going to break the brand new rules and tell me there’s another kid starting in five minutes or something?
“I just had a call from Donny’s social worker. There’s been an accident. His mother is dead.” She throws the words at me in three quick pitches.
“What?” My voice rises and tears instantly pop into my eyes. He’s down there right now madly sanding a reindeer to give her when he goes back home. It’s all he talks about. How can she be dead?
“I didn’t get details. Just that it was sudden. They want you to tell him.”
“What?” This time I’m even louder. What is she talking about? I can’t tell him his mother’s dead! I don’t know the right way to do that. That’s his foster mom’s job. Or his social worker. Or someone—anyone—other than me!
“She told me the foster mom doesn’t feel she has a close enough connection with him to tell him on her own. He hasn’t been there all that long. At this moment in time, you are the person he’s been with the longest, so Children’s Services would like him told here. His foster mom and social worker will come here, and you can all tell him together.”
“And you agreed to this?” Obviously.
“I didn’t really see where I had a choice. Besides, I think it’s probably the kindest thing for him. He’s really fond of you.” She tries a small smile under somber eyes. I just shake my head.
This is a bad idea. This is not the right place for him to get this news. Nowhere would be the right place to get this news, but at school? It doesn’t matter whether he’s fond of me or not. I’m just his teacher. I shouldn’t be telling him his mother is dead!
“Did anyone call Da…Mr. Norton? He is the psychological consultant. I think he needs to be here. He knows Donny. He’ll know the right way to tell him.”
“If you think it’s necessary, I’ll try to reach him. You just need to have a normal day down here, and then we’ll keep him after school and tell him.”
She walks away, but not before I see the quick flash of sympathy in her eyes. I’m not sure whether it’s for me or Donny. Maybe it’s both. I stand there for a second rubbing my aching eyes and trying not to cry. A normal day? He’s in there painting that stupid reindeer, and I have to watch him do it, knowing what I know.
I’m going to call Daniel myself just so I know for sure that he’s going to come. I need someone here. He’s been coming around more since the accident, and the boys are actually starting to treat him like he belongs here. We have been hoping this would allow him to do some assessments later in the year.
I didn’t think we would ever need his help for something like this.
I take a second to peek into the room where everything is still going well. Sean looks at me quizzically, and I just shake my head. I point down the hall and he nods. I run down to the phone and try the board office. Of course Daniel isn’t there, but I leave an urgent message and then force myself to go back to the room.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I break all the rules and let them work on the reindeer even without doing other academics first. It’s unbearably painful to watch Donny, but at the same time I can’t stand the thought of fighting with any of them today. I manage to get Sean aside long enough to tell him what’s going on, and we both spend the rest of the day red-eyed and heavy hearted.
“Donny, your social worker is coming after school today, so you won’t be going in the cab,” I tell him gently at home time. His eyes light up.
“I bet she’s taking me to my mom’s! I had a good week, you know.” He grins excitedly, and what’s left of my heart breaks.
Sean gets the other boys off and then comes back. By the time he arrives, Donny’s social worker and foster mom are here. Daniel arrives at about the same moment, and I close my eyes in relief.
“Hey, why are you here?” Donny asks him. Daniel just smiles and sits beside Donny. He takes one of Donny’s hands in his and then he just does it. No prep. No fancy words. Just rip the bandage off and let the wound bleed out onto the floor.
“Donny, I have very sad news for you. Your mother has died.” He gathers Donny close against his chest, as if trying to keep him from coming apart. Donny looks at him in disbelief for a second, but then seems to see something in his eyes.
“No! Mommy! Mommy!” He screams the word over and over and over as Daniel rocks him gently. After about thirty seconds, Daniel looks at me and gestures for me to take over. After all, I was supposed to be the one to break the news—and his spirit.
“I’m so sorry, Donny.” I say t
he useless, empty words as I take him into my arms, rocking him back and forth in a pathetic facsimile of comfort. His grief is too painful for any of us to bear, filling the room until none of us can breathe.
His foster mother moves over, and we play pass the broken child. Daniel touches me on the arm and gestures for us to leave them alone. I don’t want to stay. It’s so terrible, I can’t stand it. But I don’t want to leave him either.
“They have to take over now,” Daniel says to me quietly. He gently ushers me out of the room where Sean is standing in the hall, openly crying and shaking his head. I give him a hug, and he holds on tightly for a couple of seconds.
“Poor little guy,” Sean says, choking a little on his own sobs.
“I know.” The tears start to pour uncontrollably, and the three of us move away from the door and the pain inside my room. We have to go home now, to our own lives, and try to put Donny somewhere into a compartment in our minds, where he will sit until work starts again next week.
I have to go home and try to be just a mom for the weekend. Try not to think about Donny. Try to erase the image of his cheerful grin as he painted Mommy on his reindeer. Try not to imagine what life would be like for my girls if something happened to me.
Try not to grieve for my little boy in front of my little girls.
Chapter 21
Smile
I didn’t think it could get any worse, but—unbelievably—it does. On Monday I receive two requests.
First, Donny asked that I attend his mother’s funeral on Wednesday. Mrs. Callahan said she could find someone to cover my class, but that I should try not to stay away too long because the other boys are likely to be upset.
As if I’m going to an afternoon tea party instead of the funeral of my student’s mother, who died while he was living in foster care because I sent him home from school one day because I couldn’t control my own students.
And now I’m taking the time to feel sorry for myself. Classy.