Time Out Page 17

  We were never given permission forms. I don’t spend any time in the staff room anymore, and I didn’t make it to the lunchtime activity meeting because I was down here with the boys, so I wasn’t really paying attention to the fact that this school-wide activity day was being planned without us.

  I know that it would be difficult for my guys to participate. Even though life is calming down in the classroom, they still have trouble with anything different or less structured, especially when large groups are involved. We’ve just recently started to try them outside for a few minutes during regular recess. Both Sean and I go out, and we’ve created restrictive physical boundaries. We follow them around like stalkers, making sure no one gets hurt. So far, it’s been okay, but there’ve been enough close calls that we’re still treading very carefully.

  But it’s like the prom. Even if you don’t really want to go, it’s nice to be asked.

  And now I have to come up with something to tell them.

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we have a science lesson to finish.” Typical teacher cop-out.

  “So what do you think? Can we come up with something to do?” I ask Sean later, after the kids are gone. I managed to put off the Winter Activity Day question just long enough that everyone forgot about it. Everyone but me.

  “Well, I have kind of a weird idea.”

  “That should work. Everything we do around here is weird. What’s your idea?”

  “Well, I heard Sharon talking yesterday, and she was saying that the kindergarten kids aren’t involved in the day either. Too young or whatever.”

  “I know. They usually do their own thing.”

  “Well, what if we get our guys to plan some activities for them? Here. We could invite them over to do stuff. Like a fishpond maybe. I used to love fishponds when I was little.”

  I look at him for a second, considering. Actually coming up with a way for them to do something positive for someone else? Sounds like something a teacher should have thought up.

  “That’s a really good idea. Not sure if Sharon would be comfortable bringing her kids over here, though.”

  “You could at least ask.”

  Good point. Maybe Sean should be running things around here.

  It’s such a wonderful idea that I’m almost afraid to ask, though. I don’t want her to say no. It would be so lovely for those little kids across the hall to see us all as nice people instead of the monsters in the closet next door.

  To my great surprise, Sharon is fine with the idea. She tells me that she’s noticed the difference in my boys and the atmosphere in my room and that she thinks the idea would be good for everyone. I think we’re growing on her.

  Maybe I’ve been so worried about…everything, I guess, that I haven’t fully registered the changes in my room. I’ve been trying so hard to protect everyone that I might be holding my students back from inching their way out into the real world again.

  We decide that we’ll ask volunteers, older kids who aren’t participating in the winter fun for whatever reason and parents of the kindergarten kids, to bring small groups over to our room to check out the fishpond.

  “A fishpond—like with fish?” is the first question when I share our brilliant idea with the boys the next day.

  “Yes and no. There are fish, but usually they’re made out of plastic or something. The children try to catch a fish, which is then exchanged for a prize. We will have to make the fish and the fishing poles and figure out what to use as prizes.”

  “Can we fish too? I want a prize.” Chris always gets right to the point.

  “Yeah, can we have prizes too?” Cory jumps straight up out of his seat, and Sean laughs as he puts a calming hand gently on his arm.

  “Sure. We’ll fish first to make sure it works. Does that sound okay?” Everyone nods or shouts his approval. I give Sean a thumbs-up, and he grins at the excitement his idea is already creating.

  We spend part of every day for the next week creating our pond. I scrounged around inside the shed at home and found an old plastic wading pool. The boys cleaned it all up and covered the bottom and sides with blue construction paper, complete with awkwardly cut wave patterns to simulate water. We make piles of little paper fish in a rainbow of colors. Each fish has a small magnet glued to its nose.

  “Do fish really have noses?” That question led to a rather lively lesson on fish and how they breathe.

  Fishing rods are made out of lightweight bamboo sticks that I found at the dollar store. We carefully tie yellow string to each rod and attach a paperclip to the other end, practicing both fine-motor and frustration control at the same time.

  I approached the manager of a local restaurant who was happy to donate a bag full of little giveaway toys that they hand out to their customers’ kids.

  Chris and Donny cooperated nicely in painting a big sign, which we mount proudly above our newly finished pond. And we’re ready for business.

  The day arrives with great excitement all round. The boys each have their turn, just to make sure everything works, of course. And then the moment of truth.

  The first group of little people comes in, looking apprehensive. My guys stand there in stunned silence, looking even more apprehensive. The adults all smile encouragingly, trying not to look apprehensive.

  “Hi! I’m Donny. Who wants to fish?” Donny breaks the silence, and suddenly everything is all right. The little ones all clamor to be first, and the boys start to smile as they hand out rods and show small hands how to find a fish.

  Everyone is so focused on what they’re doing that I actually find a few moments to sit back and enjoy the show. I can feel a big goofy smile taking over my face as I watch Mike carefully manipulating the string on a little boy’s rod so that it attaches to the fish he’s aiming for. Chris is digging through the toy pile, making sure the prize he picks is right for the pig-tailed princess looking at him with big trusting eyes. Kevin is busily throwing fish back into the pond and making sure that all the rods still have strings. Donny is the master of ceremonies, inviting each new group in with a flourish and directing the kids back out the door when they’re done.

  Cory is having a bit more trouble keeping it under control. He’s bouncing around, trying to help, but most often getting in the way. But he’s having a good time, and Sean is sticking close to make sure that doesn’t change.

  It’s all so amazing—a moment of magic that will stick with me when we hit tough days ahead.

  By the time we’re done, twenty-five little people have caught a fish and taken home a prize. My guys are tired and proud of themselves, and we reward them with a video served up with popcorn.

  Everyone goes home happy today.

  Especially me.

  Chapter 23

  Saltwater tears

  The euphoria created by the fishpond stayed at the back of my mind as a rosy-colored haze while life returned to its usual pattern of ups and downs.

  One of the ups is that Sharon and her students all seem a little less afraid of my class now. Sharon pops her head in to say hello when she passes by, and her little ones actually say “hi” to my boys when they see them in the hall, instead of running away in terror.

  A second up came in the form of another one of my spontaneous art lessons.

  A few weeks before spring break, I suddenly got tired of looking at a large, menacing volcano every morning when I came into class. Even though it represented a brief moment of teamwork in an otherwise disjointed and chaotic first term, I decided it was time for it to go.

  I grab some buckets from Mr. Z, along with a few old rags, and we all set to work scrubbing the wall. I expected lots of moaning and groaning from the boys, figuring that cleaning wasn’t one of their favorite activities, but no one complains. Of course, we we’re doing this instead of math, which might have some
thing to do with the unusually high level of compliance!

  After about forty-five minutes of very, very messy scrubbing, we try to dry it with paper towels.

  “Looks like someone shit all over the wall,” Cory says to a chorus of giggles.

  “Cory! Language!” I use a stern voice to mask my urge to join in the giggle fest. He’s right. It does look like shit. The whole soap-in-the-paint trick doesn’t seem to work when the paint is applied in such massive quantities. The previously cream-colored wall is now a dull brown, with liberal speckles and streaks of black and orange accenting it.

  “I guess we have to clean it again,” I say, this time to the moans and groans I was expecting earlier.

  “This is too boring!” Chris whines.

  “Sucks!” Kevin agrees.

  “I know! Let’s just paint over it. Something different this time!” Donny’s suggestion is greeted with enthusiastic rumbles. Sean grins cheerfully at me, shaking his head. I have lost control of this situation—but in a good way, I think.

  “Okay then. Go for it. But make sure the wall is good and dry first or anything you paint on it will look like…mud.” I hesitate just long enough before the last word to make everyone laugh.

  “Ha! You were going say sh—”

  “Language, Cory!” Which just makes everyone laugh more.

  Sean and I drag all of the paint cans out again and add soap, even though it likely won’t make a difference this time either. I give them a veritable rainbow of options, hoping that the new design doesn’t require quite so much brown and red. The boys huddle together at the wall, talking about their new creation.

  “Sean, come here for a second.” Donny calls out in a stage whisper that makes it clear I am not to be part of the conversation. Sean walks over, and they chat for a moment in hushed tones. He comes back over to me with a giant smile on his face.

  “They would like you to wait out in the hall. They want it to be a surprise.”

  Ridiculously touched, I head out to the hall, where I stand within earshot. Their voices are loud and energetic, and their words are occasionally inappropriate, but they’re having fun and working together so I stay out in willing exile until I receive my invitation to return.

  “We’re done, Ms. S!” Donny skips out into the hall and grabs my hand to tug me back in. Like any teacher/parent, I’m prepared to tell them it’s wonderful, no matter what it actually looks like.

  “It’s wonderful!” The words come honestly and maybe a little tearfully. I can’t believe how wonderful it really is! Instead of an angry and hostile volcanic eruption, there’s an underwater scene, filled with shades of blue and green that brighten up the whole room. There are a couple of what seem to be man-eating sharks swimming about—after all, it is my class—but there don’t seem to be any men actually being eaten. I can’t see any dismembered body parts floating around. I do see that Baby is there, larger than life and leaping dramatically out of the water, the queen of the seas.

  It doesn’t take a psych degree to get the implications of the change in scenery.

  On the other hand, they might just be riding on the high from the fishpond.

  Either way, it’s them, and it’s great.

  ✘

  One of the downs that comes at me a few weeks later is the final step in my divorce process. All of the financial and emotional wrangling has boiled down to a few sterile-looking typed pages, the manuscript of my failed marriage just waiting for me to sign off on it. As my lawyer only works mornings, I have to make an appointment during school hours to get the signing done.

  “Take the whole morning. You’ll need a bit of time. Take the whole day if needed.” Mrs. Callahan seems almost understanding. I start to wonder if maybe the “Mrs.” is just for show.

  “It won’t even take the full morning. I’ll be back before lunch,” I say bravely and selflessly. I’m neither one. I just don’t want to sit home alone feeling sorry for myself. I would rather work. My boys are good therapy. Nothing in my life seems quite so tough when I’m faced with their problems.

  The appointment is short. I already know the story, so I read the words quickly. The document is filled with legalese that masks the reality of what it’s really saying. I sign and initial in a dozen places and walk out carrying an envelope. It doesn’t weigh much, but it’s unbearably heavy in my hand.

  I throw the envelope into the trunk of my car and drive back to the school. As I’m pulling into the parking lot, I’m surprised to see a police car pulling out. Did Mike decide to kick his cab driver’s seat again? Did Callahan make good on her threat? I look at it closely as it slowly passes me, and my surprise turns to shock when I see a small face pressed against the glass staring at me. I slam on my brakes and get out of my car, somehow thinking I can stop the cruiser from getting away. It keeps on going, and I see Cory again, this time just his eyes as he tries to see me out the back window.

  I park quickly and run into the school, straight to Mrs. Callahan’s office. As I walk in, I can hear her on the phone.

  “So, I know you’re having a hard enough day. If you don’t feel you can come in and deal with this, please just stay home. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” She looks up when I barge in without an invitation.

  “Oh, I was just leaving you a message!” She points to the phone.

  “What’s going on?” I’m still standing, Cory’s eyes burning into my brain.

  “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  “I’ll stand thanks.” I need to be ready to run. Whatever happened is serious, and my other guys will be upset.

  “Cory has had a rough morning. He came in very agitated. Sean feels he hadn’t had his medications, but we were unable to reach his mother to confirm that.”

  “She never answers. I asked her to get his prescription changed so we could give it to him at school, but she never did it,” I explain, even though Mrs. Callahan’s expression clearly states that she isn’t looking for explanations.

  “Anyway, he couldn’t calm down and then he had an altercation with another student, Michael, I believe. Sean was down the hall with yet another student, and Mrs. Miller was unable to control the situation.”

  “Mrs. Miller? Where was Ms. J?”

  “We decided that Ms. Jackson needed to be with her own students today. That it was time to try a supply teacher with your class.” She looks at me for a second as we both process just how bad that decision was.

  “The situation escalated, and Cory was taken down to the time-out room when Sean returned. He was so upset that Sean couldn’t be in the room with him at first. And then he destroyed it.”

  “What?”

  “The room. He destroyed the room. He tore the couch apart. Actually pulled the paneling from the walls. He just couldn’t stop. So we called the police.”

  Now she calls them. Not when Chris was running down the side of the highway to another town.

  “I should have been here. I could have calmed him down. I should have tried to make the stupid appointment for another time.” I rub my eyes, forcing back the tears that are trying to fill them. Crying is not the right response here.

  “You couldn’t have known this would happen. Your class has been so much calmer recently. Besides, you have to take care of yourself sometimes, too.” Her voice is soft, even kind, and it makes me feel even more weepy. I don’t trust myself to speak, so she takes another turn.

  “This is a tough situation, but it’s just the reality with these kids sometimes. We can’t help them all.” Her tone is still gentle, but the words are starting to scare me.

  “What do you mean? This is only a single incident. We can still help him.” I look at her quickly, ignoring the saltwater starting to leak down my face.

  “No. I’m sorry. He’s out. His mother will have to find something else for him. His behavior wa
s simply beyond extreme. I can’t risk the safety of my other students.” Her voice sharpens, as she stabs me with her decision.

  “No, that isn’t fair. If I had been here, it wouldn’t have happened. We can’t punish him for that!”

  “This is a school, a community. He has to be able to function with or without you. I am responsible for everyone here. This is my call, and it’s final.”

  I look at her, shaking my head. This is the woman who told Mike’s parents that we don’t ever suspend students. And now she’s expelling one. It doesn’t make sense, and I look around inside my addled brain, trying to find the words to tell her that in a way that will turn this all around.

  I look at her for a second, and she stares back calmly. Decisively. Nothing I say right now will change her mind. So I don’t even try. I just turn around and leave, scrubbing at my face as I storm down the hall so that the boys won’t see any traces of my useless tears.

  The class is quiet when I get there. No one is talking; no one is out of his seat. Everyone looks like he’s doing something work-related. Just a regular class of hard-working boys. Sean looks up when I walk in. His eyes say it all.

  “Sorry,” he says quietly. I shake my head.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

  The first part is true. The second is a flat-out lie. There’s fault here.

  My fault. I should have made the lawyer schedule a time that was convenient for me. For Cory. I should have checked that Mrs. Callahan had done the supply-teacher bit correctly.

  Mrs. Callahan’s fault. She should have told me she wasn’t using Ms. J. I wouldn’t have gone. She shouldn’t have called the police. She shouldn’t have decided that he’s gone forever without talking to me or to Daniel.