Darcy, Defined

by Suzanne Williams

  The next day, after lit class ended, Ms. Rose pulled me aside and told me that our arrangement had been approved by Mrs. Masterson. However, if I was to keep my cleaning scholarship, I would need to continue my cleaning duties after the month of volunteering had ended. I almost jumped from excitement, but stopped myself before fully committing, realizing how odd it might look, so I ended up just standing on my tip toes and rocking forward slightly. “Thank you so much, Ms. Rose,” I said. “Can I give you a hug?”

  “Of course,” she said. She gave me quick squeeze and then put her hands on my shoulders. I could tell that she wasn’t much of a hugger, and yet she seemed pleased to grant my request. “I wish I could buy you more time, but with fall kicking into gear, I think the gardening program will be wrapping up a month from now anyway.”

  “It’s perfect,” I said, although I wondered if she had a point about needing more time. “But can I write my essay about something I only do for a few weeks.”

  Ms. Rose smiled at me the way I imagine she’d smile at a cute kitten. “Darcy, what defines you is up to you. And it isn’t just about what you’ve done already, it’s about what you plan to do with your future, what you’re working toward. And who knows, maybe this opportunity will open up some new doors for you.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I hope it will.”

  As I walked out of the classroom, I was a little surprised to see Paige waiting for me in the hallway. “Darcy!” She put her hand on my shoulder somewhat forcefully, as if she thought I might run away from her. “You haven’t been sitting with us at lunch lately. What’s going on? Are you mad at me or something?”

  I laughed, a little stunned that Paige had worried I was mad, or had even noticed my absence. Maybe my role at East Point Prep was bigger than I’d realized. “No, I’m not mad. And sorry for missing lunch. I’ve just been going through some stuff, and needed a little time to figure things out. Thanks for being concerned, though.”

  “So, are you done figuring things out?”

  “Not totally, but I’m getting there.” I looked around to see if anyone else was in earshot of our conversation. “Don’t tell anyone, but Ms. Rose is paying my tuition for a month so I can volunteer for an urban gardening program.”

  “Wait,” said Paige, a little louder than necessary. “She’s paying your tuition? Why?”

  “Shhh. And yes, she has a lot of money. It’s just temporary though, so I can get some experience with something after school other than mopping the floors.”

  “Wow! Who knew a high school English teacher could be rich? That’s great! I’m excited for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, happy to have my friendship with Paige rekindled.

  “I have to get to pre-calc. Will I see you at lunch tomorrow? Audrey and Ava are getting on my last nerve and it would be great to have some stimulating conversation.”

  “I can’t promise I’ll be stimulating, but yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Great. It’s a date then.”

  We both turned and began walking to our next periods. Up ahead I saw Matt walking into our German class. As I watched him, I realized for the first time that seeing him didn’t make me feel anything, not a single inkling of jealousy, regret or longing. If anything, it was just nostalgia. The crush on Matt was a part of the old Darcy, and it was time to work on defining the new one.

  At the end of the day, I went to the restroom to change into some jeans and an old tee-shirt that I had in my backpack, and instead of going to the office for my cleaning assignment, I went straight outside and waited for the bus to take me Downtown. When it arrived, I stepped on and scanned my bus pass. I smiled at the driver who nodded at me approvingly and walked toward the back to an empty row of seats, where I could plop down my backpack and get myself organized. I took out the brochure and read through it more carefully. In the Taft Elementary School Junior Gardener’s Program, we teach students to value nature, good nutrition and their own hard work. The Junior Gardeners take part in every step of the gardening process; tilling the soil, planting the seeds, watering and weeding, and finally, harvesting and eating the food they grow. Along the way, they learn about the science of agriculture and the importance of sustainability. Our teen volunteers assist the Junior Gardeners in each step of the process, providing support, encouragement and additional instruction when needed. I wondered exactly how much additional instruction I would need to provide. When it came to gardening, I knew some basics, but was in no way an expert. It had been years since my mom and I had grown a vegetable garden in our yard. The last time our carrots had come out okay, but our tomatoes had been overtaken by some sort of fungus and tiny insects ravaged our lettuce. My mom didn’t want to bother with it after that, but I was hopeful that after this experience I would be able to try it out again on my own.

  The bus got more crowded as it made its way closer to Downtown. I put the brochure away and put my backpack on my lap to make more room for other passengers as the bus filled up. I looked out the window, taking in the scenery of Over the Rhine, a historic neighborhood that had gone from one of the nation’s most dangerous to one of the city’s most popular destinations within just a few years. Gentrification had changed the landscape from run-down row houses to swanky restaurants, pubs and galleries. Still, I knew that many of my East Point Prep classmates had never stepped foot in this part of town, which on that day appeared to have an eclectic mixture of pedestrians out on the streets.

  I knew that the bus would not go directly past the elementary school and that I would have to walk a couple of blocks, so I got off in front of Washington Park and walked up Elm to 14th Street, where the school is located. A nervous nausea pounded at my stomach as I walked up the steps to the front entrance. What if this was a huge mistake? What if all the kids hated me? What if I knew far too little about gardening to provide any help whatsoever and I somehow ended up destroying every plant I touched? I stopped for a moment to talk some sense into myself. This is a great opportunity, Darcy. The kids will like you. You’ll have fun and learn more about sustainability. Go make Ms. Rose proud!

  After ringing the doorbell and hearing the click of the doors unlocking, I went inside and found the front office just to the right. A portly woman with glasses was sitting at the desk with a placard that read Mrs. Walker. “I’m here to volunteer with the Junior Gardeners. Mr. Brooks told me to check in at the main office first,” I said.

  “Ok, Honey,” said the woman. She gathered some forms from different stacks and attached them to a clipboard. “Fill these out and then head to the cafeteria, which is down the hall to the right and through the double doors on the left.”

  I filled out the forms, which asked for my medical history and emergency contact information, and gave the clipboard back to Mrs. Walker. “Thank you, Honey,” she said. “And have fun. Those kids are a hoot.” I smiled and made my way down the hallway. The walls were decorated with various art projects the students had completed, collages made with tiny pieces of construction paper and faces made with pieces of yarn and glue. Inspirational messages were stenciled on the walls in fancy lettering. Believe you can and you’re halfway there- Theodore Roosevelt. If you can’t fly then run, If you can’t run then walk, If you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward- Dr. Martin Luther King Junior. I suddenly felt more at ease, and continued toward the cafeteria with confidence.

  I walked through the double doors and down some stairs that led to the large lunchroom. On one side was a row of long, rectangular tables, and on the other was an open space that appeared to serve as a gymnasium. At first it appeared empty, but then I saw a boy who looked about my age sitting at a table near the back wall. He lifted his head and looked at me with curiosity. I walked closer, looking around so as not to seem too eager. “Are you here to volunteer with the gardening club?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It’s my first day. Are you?”

  “Yup,” he said.

  I stood in front of him, teet
ering back and forth on my feet. “You can sit,” he said. “There’s plenty of room here.”

  I laughed, realizing how awkward I must have looked. “I’m Darcy,” I said after sitting down next to him.

  “I’m Sean,” he said. He was wearing an olive-green hoodie and had a notebook sitting on his lap. His hair was buzzed on the sides, with a slightly longer afro on top. He was slender but tall, with inviting eyes and a striking jawline.

  “What are the kids like?” I asked.

  “Most of them are pretty good. I’m glad I finally have some help, though.”

  “Have you been doing this a while?”

  “Since the beginning of the school year. I wanted to volunteer with kids, and I like being outside, so this was a good fit for me.”

  I looked at my phone. It was 3:28, which meant that the elementary kids would be pouring into the room in about two minutes. “So, what do we do exactly?”

  Sean laughed. “You do know what gardening is, right?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” I said with a chortle. “My mom and I tried it a couple of years ago but we weren’t very successful. I don’t think we really knew what we were doing. We didn’t do any research or anything. We just kind of threw ourselves into it and then gave up when it didn’t work out.”

  Sean laughed. “I guess they should have vetted you better,” he said. I must have looked nervous. “I’m just kidding. You’ll be fine. Most of the plants are already doing pretty well so you don’t need to worry about whether or not stuff will grow. We just take the kids out to the plots, make sure they water everything, help them make observations about their plants, and let them pick the vegetables that look ready. It’s pretty chill.”

  “That’s good,” I said. We sat in silence for a few seconds, until the bell rang. Less than a minute later came a stampede of footsteps coming toward the cafeteria. Mr. Brooks was the first one to enter, followed by another man in basketball shorts and dozens of kids.

  “Are all of these kids Junior Gardeners?” I whispered to Sean.

  “Yeah, but they get split up into three age groups, and each group goes on a different day of the week, so we’re only taking the youngest ones today.”

  “Phew,” I said.

  The man in the basketball shorts wheeled out a large metal cage filled with bouncy balls, which the kids instantly ran to. Within seconds, balls were being bounced in every direction and the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor reverberated across the large room.

  “Junior Gardeners,” called out Mr. Brooks in a booming voice. “Today it’s the Kindergarteners and first-graders. Come line up next to our high school friends at the lunch tables.” About twenty or thirty kids came running to stand behind him. “You must be Darcy,” he said in a much quieter voice when he turned to face me.

  “Yes,” I said, standing up.

  “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and I shook it, feeling a firmer grasp than I’d expected. “Sean here knows the ropes. He’ll fill you in on everything you need to know.”

  I looked at Sean, who was giving me a playful smirk. We both stood up from the tables, leaving our backpacks where they were, and began walking through a door on the back wall of the lunchroom.

  When we stepped outside, we were completely surrounded by concrete and blacktop, with no garden area in site. “So, where’s the garden?” I asked Sean.

  “We have to walk about four blocks, so just keep an eye on the kids and make sure everyone stays together. I usually lead and Mr. Brooks walks in the back. If you want to you can hang out in the middle.”

  I let Sean and a few of the kids behind him get a few paces ahead of me, then started walking again when the kids in the middle of the line caught up to where I was. “Who are you?” asked a little boy with glasses and a shirt that was at least two sizes too big.

  “I’m Darcy. I’m here to garden with you. What’s your name?”

  “Yoan,” he said. “Are you Sean’s girlfriend?”

  I laughed, surprised that a kid so small would even be familiar with the concept. “No. I actually just met Sean today. He seems nice though.”

  “Yeah, he is. Can I hold your hand?”

  I smiled, amused by how quickly he transitioned. “Sure,” I said. I held out my hand, letting him wrap his little fingers around my palm. “What grade are you in?” I asked.

  “Kindergarten.” Our line made an abrupt stop as we reached an intersection with a blinking red hand warning us not to cross. Cady-corner to us was a middle-aged man with a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. He was singing loudly. No one from the school seemed to notice him.

  “So that must make you five or six, right?” I asked once we started walking again.

  “Five-and-a-half,” said Yoan proudly.

  We kept walking, hand-in-hand. As we marched on, I felt a tug on the back of my tee shirt. I turned around to see a little girl with braided hair. “Hi,” I said.

  “Can I hold your hand too?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said, holding my free hand out to her. “I love your shoes,”

  “Thanks,” she said. “They light up.” She stomped her feet to show off the pink lights that ran along the bottom.

  “That’s amazing!”

  The three of us walked along with the ease of ducks floating on a pond. For these kids, it didn’t seem like there was any social hierarchy, no right or wrong clique to enter. Everyone, regardless of age, race or gender, had the potential to be a friend. As we walked, I took in the scenery of the neighborhood, the artistic storefronts, the trendy cafes, the occasional run-down or boarded up building, and the long row of excited children skipping in front of me. Maybe it was because I was in the heart of the city, or because I was accompanied by so many enthusiastic kids who couldn’t wait to talk to me, but never before had I felt so connected to my surroundings. This is it, I said to myself. This is where I belong right now.

  After continuing for a couple of blocks, Sean stopped at a black iron fence that enclosed the corner lot of Vine and 15th Street. Mr. Brooks came running from the back of the line with a key to open the pad lock on the gate. “Let’s go, kids,” he yelled as he pushed the gate open, and all the kids went running through like scampering puppies chasing after a squirrel.

  The garden was one of the most beautiful and impressive things I’d ever seen. Rows of raised beds held various shades of green plants; lettuces, tomato vines and herbs. Between each garden bed were stones with small patches of grass here and there, and in the center was a stone path that led to a wooden gazebo in the back of the garden. In one corner was a shed for the gardening tools, and next to that was a small, manual water pump that the kids used to fill their watering cans.

  “It hasn’t rained in a while,” called out Mr. Brooks, “so let’s give these plants lots of water.”

  “These kids pretty much seem to have it under control,” I said to Sean as we watched the little ones get to work on filling up their cans and carefully carrying them over to the plants.

  “It might seem like that now,” he said. “But we have to make sure they don’t keep watering the same plant like 50 times while completely neglecting the others.”

  “Oh,” I said, nodding.

  “All the plants are numbered, which makes it easier to tell the kids which ones to water. Here’s what I think we should do: I’ll tale plants 1-25 and you take 26-50. You don’t know all the kids’ names yet, so since we have an even number of boys and girls, I say I manage the boys and make sure they water all my plants, and you manage the girls with your plants. Sound cool?”

  “Oh, so you want a battle of the sexes? Ok, you’re on!”

  I ran to the watering pump and gathered up the girls, instructing them each to water a different plant in our section.

  “Is it girls against boys,” asked Ciara, the girl with the light up shoes, after noticing all the boys were going to the other side with Sean. “We aren’t really competing,” I said. “Sean and I just needed an easy way to spli
t everyone up.”

  “Well, I think we’re gonna win anyway,” said Ciara.

  “Me too,” I whispered, giving her a high five.

  For the next ten or fifteen minutes, I helped the girls water each of the twenty-five plants I’d been assigned to manage, which were all located on one side of the center path. I had to make sure that they held their watering cans in the right position, so that they watered the soil and not just the tops of the plants. Joy, a chubby-cheeked girl with glasses, was the most meticulous of the bunch, putting the end of her watering can at the very bottom of each plant, moving it around to water each side evenly.

  With each trip to the water pump they either squealed with laughter or shouted with indignation. “He splashed me!” or “She got my shoes wet!” But a simple reminder of which plant they needed to water next was usually all it took to quell the conflict. Keeping them on task was easy because they enjoyed their work.

  After the watering was completed Sean and I gathered the cans and returned them to the shed. Mr. Brooks, who had been setting up plates and forks at a table on the gazebo, began handing out baskets to all the kids. “It’s harvest time!” he yelled. The kids bounced around excitedly, taking their baskets one by one. A few of them began to scatter around the garden, eager to get picking. “Wait, wait, wait,” called Mr. Brooks. “Not yet! Wait for your name to be called so you know which plant to harvest. And please, let either me, Sean or our new friend Darcy help you out. No harvesting until you have a helper. That means you have to be…” He leaned forward, cupping his ear with his hand.

  “Patient!” yelled the kids.

  “That’s right. You all have to be patient while you wait for your helper to come to you. And when we’re all done harvesting and washing our vegetables, we’ll have our feast!”