Ms. Zephyr's Notebook

by kc dyer

  Abbie, this is so stupid. I can’t think of anything to say. I don’t even know her, for crissakes. She’s just some stupid, skinny chick.

  Okay, I just thought of something. She didn’t give me that better-be-nice-to-the-kid-maybe-he’s-dying look. So there you go. I like her better already.

  One other thing. Did you know you’re named after a very cool car? I just pulled it off the internet this morning to add to the list of vehicles I plan to have in my garage some day. Here’s a sketch of what it looks like:

  Evergreen Hospital

  Children’s Ward – Desk 9

  Office: 101-45l6-7890

  November 7

  To: Ms. Abigail Zephyr

  Evergreen Hospital,

  Education Department Head

  Re: In-hospital school work schedule change

  Dr. Valens has requested that Logan Kemp be withdrawn from any schoolwork tomorrow morning, due to a scheduled series of blood tests. The doctor reports that the anticipated increase in medication may leave the patient moody or depressed. He asks that you report any symptoms to him directly.

  Thank you.

  Takehiko Ken, RN.

  Dr. Rob Valens

  Evergreen Family Medicine

  Office: 101-45l6-7890

  November 8

  To: Ms. Abigail Zephyr

  Evergreen Hospital,

  Education Department Head

  PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL

  Re: Your call regarding Logan Kemp

  Regarding the message you left on my voice mail earlier today, I have decided to make a change in Logan Kemp’s medications. His condition has only responded in a limited manner to treatment. I have noted your comments about his increasing despondency and displays of anger, and have adjusted his medication accordingly. Please continue to monitor and feel free to call me at any time should he begin exhibiting any further symptoms.

  Rob Valens, MD.

  November 8

  Logan K.

  After some kind of disgusting liquid breakfast.

  Okay, Abbie, I’m gonna make this quick today. My face has gone all puffy and gross, obviously from the toxic cocktail these creeps are pouring into my veins through Useless here. And I did extra math for you, remember? That’s gotta count for something. Sorry… it has got to count for something. Is that better? Because I know you’re trying to improve my grammar by giving me this freakin’ journal to write, but lady — it ain’t gonna happen. (Ha — just a joke, of course. You always have such a great sense of humour, Abbie. And nice hair, too. Did I mention the nice hair?)

  Anyway, I just looked it up and the dictionary says a paragraph can contain a minimum of three sentences. I do believe the above paragraph qualifies, and therefore, in the words of Carl Sagan, I am outta here!

  L.K.

  From the Desk of Donna-Fay Jones

  Dear Ms. Zephyr,

  It was lovely to meet you in person today at last. I’m so sorry I had to rush away — my elder daughter had a small emergency. She has a final audition for a position as a line dancer at the Starlight Dinner Theatre later this week. The dress we had lined up for her required alterations and the seamstress was only available today.

  I know my baby will work hard and do her best for you, Ms. Zephyr. I don’t know how the situation with her appetite went downhill so fast. Cleopatra and food just never have gotten along. She was a fussy eater as a baby and she still is. It has never been a problem before. I just want you to know that this child is well-loved and no one in her family has ever encouraged this sort of behaviour in the slightest. Thank you for your help with Cleopatra.

  Sincerely,

  Donna-Fay Jones

  P.S. I remember a girl from Atlanta in one of Helena’s early pageant events whose last name was Zephyr (or perhaps Zimmer). Do you have any family in Atlanta? D-F J.

  “Wow,” said Logan. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Logan stared at the notebook. “If I’d paid more attention to some of the stuff in this book, I would have clued in to some things a lot sooner.”

  Kip looked at him quizzically. “What kind of things? I never read any of the other stuff in there, Logan. It’s just a place to put my work for Abbie.”

  Logan turned back to the notebook, avoiding Kip’s eyes.

  “Just things,” he muttered, and turned to the next page.

  November 8

  Logan K.

  Back in the stinking cafeteria after all the cows have gone home.

  Okay, so I was wrong. No sense of humour whatsoever. Still like your hair, though.

  And I was not trying to get out of doing my work. I did my work — I wrote a paragraph, just like you said. It’s just that I’ve been here for over a week now. And there you are every day, bugging me to get my schoolwork done. I feel lousy, all right? Are you happy to hear me admit it? Last week when I got here, I thought it might just be for overnight. And don’t tell me that makes me have something in common with the little weirdie down the hall, because it doesn’t.

  When Tom tossed the ball at me in practice, he didn’t even throw it that hard, but when I caught it and everybody piled on me in the scrum, I suddenly felt like a bomb had gone off in my gut. I just managed to pull myself out of the pile and run like a madman off the field and straight into the changing room. I’m still falling on my knees every night to thank God I made it to the can. There was blood everywhere and it was obvious something inside me was seriously messed up. But Abbie, I thought it was just because I fell on the rugby ball. Off to the hospital. Stitch me up, fix whatever made me bleed like that, send me home. Was I ever wrong.

  Anyway, I don’t want to write about it anymore. These drugs seem to finally be kicking in and my gut doesn’t hurt quite as bad. We’ve got a big meeting happening tomorrow — the doc, the nutritionist, my parents. (Actually, it turns out my dad’s really busy and can’t make it in from Denver, but everybody else will be there.) So, much as I like your hair, Teach, I’ll be happy to bid you and the little weirdie down the hall AND this stupid journal goodbye.

  L.K.

  Evergreen Middle School: Interim Report

  PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL

  Student Name: Cleopatra Jones Grade: 9

  Date: November 8

  This report is intended to pass formal information ONLY regarding the above-mentioned student to temporary teacher Ms. Abigail Zephyr in the subject of English 9.

  Punctuality 0 lates Attendance 0 absences (perfect attendance)

  Classroom marks to date:

  Cleo is a model student, though I worry she takes things a bit too seriously. Her work standard is excellent.

  Teacher Name: Ellie Plato, English Department

  November 11

  Jacqueline H-M.

  9:11 a.m.

  Good morning, Ms. Zephyr. I say that strictly out of good manners and because of your kind offer to take dictation for me. (As you can see, I am managing just fine with my left hand. But thank you anyway.)

  There is nothing else good about this morning. This place is worse than even my real school. That Logan is so mean. He calls me a “little weirdie.” Please! Who is the weird one? And he’s always talking about your hair. Have you seen his hair? It’s so thick and curly it really needs to either be cut short or at the very least brushed occasionally. Just because a person is six feet tall is no reason for not brushing his hair. Newsflash: we can all still see it from down here. He looks like a giant brunette dandelion.

  And he has horrifying etiquette. I understand he hasn’t been able to eat for a while. He certainly looks out of practice. He has the table manners of a warthog. In fact, I watched him stuff some kind of candy down his throat when we were watching television last night. You can find the wrappers under the couch cushions, if you are interested.

  But Logan aside, I am trying to be patient, Ms. Zephyr, though it is difficult wh
en so many people around here want to keep touching me. I spent most of yesterday afternoon hooked up to some kind of heart monitor. I hate that thing, and besides, it doesn’t seem to work properly. That Nurse Hydra insists that my heartbeat is irregular. How ridiculous is that? Anyway, as a result, I am sorry to say that I did not get my math questions finished. I will get them done tonight, I promise. I can’t stand another evening in the company of Mr. Kemp, anyway.

  The best thing about you, Ms. Zephyr, is that you seem to be able to talk to me without feeling compelled to take my temperature or my blood pressure. I’m grateful for that, believe me. And I still hold out hope that you can drop even a tiny hint to the doctor that I am doing very well. Even my mother can’t get the doctor to see reason. She knows I am fine. I agree that I may be a little pale these days but that is no reason to keep me hooked up to these machines.

  Oh no… here comes Nurse Medusa to force one of those awful protein bars down my throat. This will have to be all for today.

  Jacqueline H-M.

  From the desk of…

  Abigail Zephyr

  Evergreen Hospital

  Department Head, Education

  Office: 101-45l6-7890

  Abbie,

  I can’t find you anywhere, so I stole some of your paper from the nurses’ station to leave you a note. First off, I found out this morning that there are no plans to let me out of here anytime soon. And on top of that I just heard what makes that little weird chick tick… or not tick as seems to have just happened. You must have known what’s wrong. Why didn’t you tell me? Scared I’d go in and scream at her or rip her fool head off?

  And just ignore that hole that I kicked through your office wall. Or better still, consider it my homework for today. I think you might be busy seeing the little weirdie through her self-induced heart-failure.

  Maybe someone that stupid deserves to die.

  Logan

  4

  Logan didn’t want to look at the kid. He could feel the bed shaking a little and he knew Kip was crying.

  “I didn’t really mean it,” he said, without looking up.

  “I was upset, okay?”

  “Cleo’s not stupid, Logan. She was just a bit mixed up, is all. But nobody deserves to die when they are a kid, Logan. Nobody.”

  Logan felt like he was going to choke on all the different feelings that were battling in his throat. Here he was, arguing about dying with a kid hooked up to the latest in medical miracle machines. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about with Kip right now. But he needed answers and he needed them fast.

  He jumped off the bed.

  “Okay, so you’re right, already. No kid deserves to die. And I shouldn’t have kicked the wall in, either. But I was mad. I was mad that someone who had everything going for her was so messed up. But now I’m not just mad, I’m worried.”

  “Well, I’m worried, too,” said Kip, wiping his face with the back of one hand.

  They were both quiet a moment, listening to the various beeps and hums in the room. Kip reached out and pulled the notebook closer.

  “I forgot about the Jacqueline name,” he said, smiling a little. “Cleo is crazy, right?”

  Logan didn’t know what to say. “I hope not,” he muttered.

  Kip looked up at him through tired eyes. “How come you’re reading this stuff to me, Logan? You’ve never read anything to me before. Lots of computer games, but no books.”

  Logan stuck his finger in the notebook to mark his place and took a quick glance out the window into the hall. No nurses in sight. But the clock was still ticking and the kid kept asking awkward questions. He closed the notebook and slid off the bed.

  “Look, dude. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Someone’s in trouble and I need to find them, all right? And I think something in the notebook might help me do that. That’s all I can tell you right now, okay?”

  The kid stared at him a moment and then reached over to the table to grab his laptop.

  “I know more than you think I do,” he said quietly. “I think you’re trying to rescue Cleo.”

  Logan swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly dry. This was really bad news. If this eleven-year-old kid was onto him, could the cops be far behind? He checked the window again compulsively and then moved back to sit on the corner of Kip’s bed.

  “Why do you think Cleo needs rescuing, Kip?”

  The LED lights blinked green and red in the darkness above the bed and one of the machines clicked regularly. Heart monitor, Logan thought.

  “I can’t tell you,” Kip said after a long pause. “But maybe I can show you.”

  He leaned forward and pulled the notebook out of Logan’s hand.

  November 11

  Kip Graeme

  Hi Abbie!

  Long time no write! I’m back again — your fave Kidney Kid. This time I’m in the hospital for just one week. Dr. Robbie says I need just a quick clean-out of my blood and then I can go home. Not like last year, huh? Dr. Robbie says I should be careful so I don’t get that sick again; it’s my job to look after my new kidney.

  You have a different notebook this time, but I bet you kept your old one, right? I remember how you want me to stick my journal entries and math in here, just like before. But remember, last year you made me write about where I live and my vacation and all that. I hope you’ve still got all that stuff in your old book because I don’t want to write it all out again. So I can just skip it, right? The only difference is that now I am eleven and last year I was ten. Same everything else.

  This year, I suppose you’ll want me to write about how it feels to be back. It feels not too bad. Well, not as bad as I thought, anyway. I only have to stay a week this time. I get to skip school, too, so not a bad deal. Besides, school with you is easier. Plus there’s no one to bug me about my fat face or anything.

  Things seem the same around here. A little quieter than last summer, maybe. Remember Spencer? He was that kid who broke his back and his leg doing wheelies on his ATV. Anyway, I saw him last night when I was in Emerg. This time he has a broken arm. He got it riding his bike along a fence. Guess he forgot about fence posts.

  Okay, Abbie, that’s a whole page, so I am done for today. I checked my spelling, and I think I got all the mistakes out, too.

  From,

  Kip.

  Evergreen Middle School: E-mail

  To: Abbie Zephyr

  From: Ellie Plato

  Re: Catching UP!

  Hi Abbie –

  Hey girlfriend! I think the last time we talked was at the professional development conference two years ago in Chicago — remember? We had to sit and listen to that intensely boring school board guy for what seemed like hours. Don’t know how I would have survived it if I hadn’t had you to exchange disparaging notes with. I was glad to see the inside of the hotel bar after that long day, I can tell you. ;)

  Just thought I’d drop you a line today to say “hi” in addition to the formal report I sent through the mail. I had no idea you’d given up your position at Cartwright to teach in the hospital. That’s got to be so hard — you have my sympathies. I can barely stand the little buggers in the classroom — dealing with them in a hospital setting would be way more than I could cope with. Speaking of which, best of luck with Cleopatra Jones. Bit of an eccentric kid there, as you’ve probably already figured out. She drives me crazy correcting my grammar in class, but at least she’s a hard worker.

  Guess this hospital stay explains why she was always dragging around in that huge red sweater. I heard they had to unwrap ten layers of clothes from the poor thing when she fell. I just don’t get how kids can do these things to themselves.

  You’ll have read my formal report already, so you know her marks are great. I knew something was up with the kid but I have a group of six real winners in that class so I didn’t really have time to waste on Cleopatra. It’s all I
can do to keep the Gang of Six in their desks and out of trouble. A week ago, one of them held a match to my favourite “Reading Rules” poster. (It has a picture of a French poodle. Very cute.) Anyway, the kid nearly burnt the classroom down. Whole school evacuated, of course, but only a little smoke damage in the end. The poster was destroyed, naturally. It actually turned out well, because now that he’s expelled I only have five monsters to deal with in that class.

  Definitely worth the loss of the poster. I should write a book.

  Anyway, I hope things turn around for Cleopatra. And hey, let’s get together sometime for a drink. A bunch of the staff meet up Fridays at the road-house in Clearwater — we can avoid both the parents and the kids that way. Come and meet us sometime. I’d love to see you again.

  Ellie

  November 12

  Jacqueline H-M

  Can’t see a clock and someone has taken my watch.

  Dear Ms. Zephyr,

  I don’t feel very well so I will not be terribly prolific today. Some little kid keeps knocking at my door. I wish somebody would tell him I don’t even know how to play poker.

  The only good thing out of all this mess is that Medusa has to stop forcing food on me now. My throat is terribly sore from this tube, though. Hopefully I will never see another one of those vile protein shakes as long as I live. Which is going to be a long time, Abbie. My Nona is almost 80 and she is doing just fine. She’s pretty skinny, too, but she doesn’t have heart problems. Neither do I. I did NOT have a heart attack. Dr. Valens says my heart “just fluttered a bit,” which I am sure is simply another way to say I had a fainting spell. Anyone can have a fainting spell. Especially in the hospital. You would think this would be a good place to faint, since it gives everybody a chance to practice their craft.