by Rob Buyea
That was when I realized that Mr. Terupt didn’t have any family present. Not one person. I thought of his desk back in our classroom. Every teacher has family pictures on his or her desk. Not Mr. Terupt. And there were only two flower arrangements in his hospital room, one from Ms. Newberry and one from Snow Hill School. But no mom or dad were sitting next to his bed. How had I missed it? Not one family picture. Not one family member visiting or waiting next to me. Did he even have any family? I wondered. Had my mother noticed and not said anything? Had any of my classmates had these same thoughts? All of a sudden there was so much I didn’t know about my beloved teacher.
“I just wish he’d open up more and give me a chance,” I heard Ms. Newberry say. She was talking quietly to Mrs. Williams. “He was beginning to let me get close. I don’t know what he’s so afraid of.”
“Or what he’s hiding,” Mrs. Williams added.
“I just want the chance,” Ms. Newberry said. “I care about him so much, and so do these kids. He better pull through.”
I heard Ms. Newberry’s voice crack. Mrs. Williams put an arm around her. They were quiet. I suddenly had a lot of unanswered questions going through my mind, but none of them mattered if Mr. Terupt didn’t make it through the surgery.
“How long will his operation take?” Anna asked.
She didn’t realize she had blurted this out until she met our startled looks. Thanks, Anna, I thought. The perfect candidate to break our silence.
“Eight hours,” Luke said. “Less, if it goes well—more, if there are any complications.”
Silence again.
LUKE
I’d visited the hospital several times, but never once had I gone to the waiting room. Not until I sat in there with my class on Brain Surgery Day. Sat for hours.
The room had a nice layout. The architects had found a way to maximize (dollar word) the area while keeping a large perimeter. The room represented a rectangle, with little sections of the wall jutting into the interior here and there. This created corners and smaller spaces within the larger room. I figured this was important because people wanted privacy. At least, that was how it felt while I waited.
Danielle
We sat together in the waiting room. I sat next to my mother. We left Grandma home, not knowing how she would handle being in the company of Terri and Anna. Anna sat across from us, next to her mother. A large wooden coffee table rested in the middle of everyone. It reminded me of our class meetings. We didn’t form a circle on the floor, and we didn’t have the microphone, but it was close enough—except no one talked. Mr. Terupt always started our meetings, so we sat silent, until Anna spoke up. Thank goodness.
But after Luke answered her question, no one else talked. At least not until Jeffrey surprised us. He put our class microphone in the middle of that big wooden table. I stared at it. Then I looked at Jeffrey. How did he know to bring it?
“Just a hunch,” he said. I noticed that he and Jessica were looking at each other.
I reached down and took the microphone. “Remember the first time Mr. Terupt brought this out?” I said. I passed the microphone to Lexie.
“I was like, Teach is a weirdo,” she said. “But it turned out to be pretty cool. Sort of like the grass thing.”
“Seventy-seven million, five hundred thirty-seven thousand, four hundred twelve,” Luke reminded us. “That grass project was awesome.”
The microphone moved around our square, and we shared different stories and memories. It was perfect.
Then a doctor came into the waiting room.
Jessica
Act 11, Scene 2
Enter a man wearing lime green scrubs and a matching hospital cap. The kind that cinches around your head like a shower cap. I saw him the moment he came through the door. Was he coming for us? It was too soon! Wasn’t it? Had something gone wrong with Mr. Terupt’s surgery? I stiffened. Then I noticed Jeffrey. He was practically hyperventilating. This place, and especially the sight of a doctor, triggered such horrible memories for him. I wrapped my arm around him and whispered, “It’s okay. Just breathe.” My mom also helped comfort him. She sat on the other side of Jeffrey and hugged him, too. Mom knew his story—I had told her. But others stared at him, wondering why he was so worked up.
The doctor didn’t come over to us, and Jeffrey calmed down. Instead the doctor made his way over to the knitting lady. I saw him take a deep breath as he got closer to her, and I wondered if it was one of those big breaths you take in order to get ready to deliver bad news. He pulled a chair next to the knitting lady and sat down across from her.
Once she realized he was there, her hands and yarn and needles all stopped working and rested in her lap. Her eyes looked into the doctor’s face.
His lips never moved, but his head shook from side to side and his face expressed sorrow.
The knitting lady’s strong chin dropped. The yarn and needles fell to the ground, and her hands covered her face. She began to shake silently with lonesome tears.
The doctor placed a hand on her back. He said, “I’m very sorry.” He waited for a while, then rose and walked out of the room.
I felt silent tears trickling down my cheeks. I looked at my friends and saw some of them with tears, too. I was scared, but I wasn’t alone.
Jeffrey
Hard to breathe. So many bad memories. Bad news everywhere. I saw the doc walk in. I couldn’t catch my breath. Jessica noticed. She and her mom wrapped their arms around me and helped me calm down.
The doc wasn’t for us. He handed out his bad news to someone else. I know how that goes.
“I’m so sorry,” the doc had told my family. That was all he had to say. We knew Michael was dead.
Danielle
Peter took the microphone. He still wasn’t talking. He’d answer you if you asked him something, and we weren’t ignoring him anymore, but for the most part he stayed silent. And he never talked about Mr. Terupt or anything to do with the accident. I held my breath along with everyone else—at least, that was what it felt like.
“I remember the time I said we should invite the Collaborative kids to our holiday centers. I saw Mr. T wipe his eyes after I said that. I didn’t know why then. Now I do.”
Peter put the microphone back on the table.
Alexia
I took the mike again after hearing Peter. Like, I knew what he was talking about, understanding stuff about Teach that he didn’t before. That was true for me, too.
“Teach took me in the hall and, like … said some stuff that I hated him for. Really hated him. But all he did was tell me the truth. I didn’t want to listen. I hated him and the truth.”
I stopped talking, but I didn’t pass the mike yet. I was thinking.
“I hope Teach wakes up so he can see that I’ve listened,” I added. “He helped me. I’d like him to know that.”
I put the microphone back on the table. Peter picked it up again.
Peter
I decided to pick up the microphone again and say one more thing. Maybe talking about Mr. T and sharing memories would help him pull through the surgery.
Surgery. Brain surgery. I couldn’t believe he had to have brain surgery. And all because of me. Because of the snowball I threw. My thoughts always came back to this.
“I remember the time I flung that Frisbee. Mr. T said a few things to me, but that was it. I remember the puddle on the floor. He said a few things, but that was it. Nothing bad ever happens, I thought. I chucked that snowball. No matter what any of you say, it’s all my fault. It always will be.” I stopped talking so that I could fight back my tears, but I didn’t put down the microphone. I wasn’t done yet.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I looked around at everyone. “I’m sorry you’re here because of me.” I let the microphone roll back onto the table.
No one had time to respond, because another doctor walked in—and this time, he was our man.
Jessica
Act 11, Scene 3
The door to
the waiting room pushed open and another doctor walked in. Same lime green scrubs and matching cap. This doctor also wore a mask tied around his face.
Jeffrey started hyperventilating again. Mom and I calmed him. We held hands on Jeffrey’s lap. I squeezed Mom’s hand and she squeezed back. Was this it?
The doctor reached behind his head and untied the mask. He was our guy. I saw him take that deep breath as he walked toward us.
LUKE
I saw Dr. Wilkins approach us. My heart took off like a car that had its gas pedal mashed to the floor. Please, please, please have good news! I repeated over and over again in my head. Mom squeezed my shoulder.
Dr. Wilkins found a chair and sat with us. “Good news, gang,” he said. “Mr. Terupt made it through the surgery.”
Our faces broke into mini-smiles and we let out breaths of relief. I gave Mom a little hug.
“We were able to stop the bleeding, but your teacher remains in a coma,” Dr. Wilkins continued.
“Why?” Anna said. “I thought that if you stopped the bleeding, he’d wake up.” Her voice rose and shook a little. “I thought that was what’s supposed to happen.”
Anna spoke for all of us. But instead of Dr. Wilkins answering, Jeffrey did.
“Now it’s wait and see,” Jeffrey said. He took a deep breath in and let it out slow. “That the bleeding stopped is a good sign”—deep breath—“but that doesn’t guarantee Terupt will wake up. We have to wait and see.” More deep, slow breathing. Why was he so anxious? His difficulties made me realize that he hadn’t visited the hospital, but always seemed interested in my report. What was Jeffrey’s deal?
“That’s right. We wait and see and keep hoping,” Dr. Wilkins said.
“Can we see him?” Peter asked.
“Not today, Peter. Mr. Terupt is in a postsurgical room being watched carefully.”
“Why does he need to be watched carefully?” Anna asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought he was okay now.”
“We monitor every patient closely after a major surgery. It’s normal,” Dr. Wilkins promised. “Mr. Terupt is doing well at this point.”
We sat there looking at him like a team that had just lost their big game.
“Hey, guys—don’t give up now,” Dr. Wilkins said. “This is when your teacher needs you most. This is good news today.”
And then Anna came through in the clutch. She took the lead and said what we needed to hear. “He’s going to make it. Trust me on this one. Be positive. Mr. Terupt told me that once, and he was right.”
Jeffrey
It was “wait and see” for Michael, too. He didn’t make it. That was when Mom and Dad’s lives suddenly crashed down different paths. I don’t know if their paths will ever come together again, but it’s okay to hope. I hope Terupt makes it. I’m tryin’ hard to believe Anna.
Jessica
Act 11, Scene 4
That was it. Wait and see. It felt so anticlimactic—to sit all day expecting an outcome, only to find that it was time to go home and wait some more.
People trickled out of the waiting room at different times. Some of the adults left first, probably because they’re more accustomed to being patient. Miss Kelsey and Mrs. Warner left, then some of my classmates. Only a few people were still sitting—Anna and Terri, and Danielle and her mother—when Mom and I rallied ourselves to leave. Lexie and Jeffrey came with us. We were their ride home.
Wait and see.
anna
The waiting room slowly emptied. Next thing I knew, my mom and I were sitting directly across from Danielle and her mother with hardly anyone else around. I felt uneasy, knowing her mother hated us, but I took a chance.
“Danielle, can we pray with you?” I asked.
Danielle didn’t hesitate one second. “Sure,” she said.
We bowed our heads and Danielle led us in a prayer for Mr. Terupt. It was a beautiful prayer, and afterward I thought her mother’s eyes looked differently upon me.
Mom and I left after that, leaving Danielle and her mother, Luke and his mother, Peter, Mrs. Williams, and Ms. Newberry. How close were Mr. Terupt and Ms. Newberry, both without wedding rings? I didn’t know, but my heart suddenly hurt for the teacher from across the hall. She was definitely hoping to have him back. You didn’t even need to be good at noticing things to see that. So many of us need you, Mr. Terupt. Keep fighting.
Danielle
“Can we pray with you?” Anna asked me. I felt alarm rush through my mom’s body. How could these sinners want to pray with us? Mom must have wondered.
“Sure,” I said.
“Dear God, we’re down here playing the wait-and-see game now. It’d be great if you could keep the waiting part short, and give us back Mr. Terupt. There are lots of people hoping he wakes up. Please give us the strength to keep hoping and believing as we go on waiting. And God”—I whispered this last part, because Peter was sitting near us—“I also ask that you give extra comfort to Peter, and Jeffrey, too, though I’m not sure what’s up with him. Amen.”
Anna’s smart. She wants our families to get along, so she asked to pray together, knowing that God is most important to my family. I know my mom can’t think Terri’s all bad if she’s praying with us, and Anna is as nice and sweet as she is. At least I hope that’s true. I’ve been asking God to help me get my family to see that Terri and Anna are good people.
Jessica
Act 11, Scene 5
We dropped Lexie off first, then Jeffrey. I sat in the front passenger seat and Jeffrey sat in the back. Before he got out, I asked him, “You okay, Jeffrey?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “Thanks for helpin’ me in there. Thanks, Ms. Writeman.”
“You’re welcome,” we said together.
“I’m sure everybody’s wonderin’ what’s up with me,” he said.
“Don’t worry. Your secret is still safe,” I said.
Jeffrey opened the back door, but he didn’t get out right away. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Jess. What happened to Terupt isn’t your fault. You need to stop thinking that it is.”
Jeffrey’s words startled me. I did feel guilty. I’d roped Danielle and Anna into my wicked plan, which led to Peter’s devastating snowball. “Then why did it happen, Jeffrey?” I said. “I told you things happen for a reason, and I still don’t know mine.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “But not knowing the reason doesn’t make it your fault.”
We sat quietly. Mom didn’t say anything. I stared down at my hands. They longed for a book to hold. I fidgeted with my nails and cuticles instead. Then Jeffrey spoke again.
“I know one thing, Jess.” He had called me Jess twice now. “You’ve helped me. I haven’t had someone to talk to in a long time. Thanks.” He climbed out of our car and shut the door. Before driving away, we saw Jeffrey’s mom standing at the front door to his house, waiting for him—and she wasn’t wearing pajamas. They hugged.
Mom and I had tears in our eyes as we drove away. More of Mr. Terupt at work, I just knew it. We hadn’t driven very far before Mom broke the silence.
“Jessica, I need to tell you some things that even adults have a hard time understanding, but I need you to try, okay?”
I nodded and sat up straight in my seat to readjust my seat belt.
“I know you’ve been wrestling with the issue of whose fault Mr. Terupt’s accident is, as have many of your classmates. Poor Peter’s really struggling, and I’m afraid the only one that might help him is Mr. Terupt.” Mom slowed to the stop sign and looked both ways.
“So whose fault is it?” I asked, my voice rising. Emotion can do that to you. Mom just went with the flow. She turned the car left and stepped on the accelerator.
“Mr. Terupt’s,” she said. I looked out my window. I didn’t want to hear it. “Look, Jessica, you don’t have to agree with me, and not everyone will, but you need to hear me out. Let me explain.” Slowly, reluctantly, I looked at her. I didn’t want her to be rig
ht. “Thank you,” she said. “I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.” We slowed at a red light.
“All those instances with Peter earlier on this year, and with Luke’s plant concoction, and all the other mischief.” Mom paused. “I think Mr. Terupt handled them the way he did because he was trying to teach you guys some personal responsibility.” The light turned and Mom pushed the gas. “But that’s what cost him in the end. He let you play rough that day in the snow and hoped you wouldn’t cross the line—but he made it your responsibility not to cross that line because he didn’t intervene.”
“But how is that bad? Isn’t that one of the reasons he was so special, because he gave us those chances?”
“Don’t use the past tense, honey. He is special.”
“Fine,” I said, annoyed, but glad to talk about him in the present. “But isn’t it?” I was annoyed because I didn’t want the conversation slowed. I wanted answers. I cracked my window, suddenly hot. I let the wind hit me in my face.
“It is indeed one of the reasons he’s special. But in the end, you’re still just kids, and asking you to assume that much responsibility isn’t fair. You can’t be expected to handle it all the time. So that’s why it’s his fault.” Mom spoke so calmly. I knew she was trying to keep me from getting too upset.