"Well," Jonathon answered, "One of my chickens was cremated. Do you know what creamated means?" he asked the class.
"It was injected with something and slowly died as the air went out of his lungs" he added, flatly.
I didn't correct his mistake.
"I'm sorry, Jonathon. Something like that happened to one of my sister's chickens recently. It was very sad".
He stared at me with the same dead look.
"So, how is Jarod doing in Spanish? What are his weaknesses?"
"Honestly, I couldn't tell you. He comes to class late everyday, and never even has paper or pencil. He hasn't turned anything in in three months. Can't even get him to copy off of the board. Your guess is as good as mine".
"What's wrong, Jarod?" his caseworker asked.
"Well she, she goes too fast" Jarod answered, voice raised, sounding innocent.
"Well. If she go too fast, we will have to see about a schedule change".
I teach the bottom feeders. The mouth breathers. I repeat everything, day after day, over and over. I sit and read out loud to them. Something I don't even have to do for my fifth graders. But white lady Spanish teacher go too fast. Whatever. Change him if you want. Get him out out of my class. It is one less headache to deal with. But it pissed me off.
"And then! I just sent mind-controlled sonic missiles to your house! It is gone, burned!" Jonathon's eyes were rolling back in his head. He was almost delirious. We were laughing hysterically. He was hugging me while he talked about my demise.
"Jonathon, please though. What happened to my pets, Lola and my birds?"
"They escaped!"
"Thank God"
"But then animal control got them!"
The kids were screaming. Jonathon was screaming, but crazily articulate and inventive and scary all at the same time. Ms. T's class has never gotten over what happened and she hasn't either. I walk in to teach Spanish and her face has a horrible, defeated look on it. The kids are going crazy. She leaves and doesn't even try to get them ready for me.
Jonthanon was stabbing and swinging a pencil around wildly while he told his tales. He almost hit me in the eye, but I have been wearing my glasses since the day I couldn't afford to go to the eye doctor for a new prescription or buy contacts.
Then, he almost stabbed me in the arm.
"You're are making excuses, Jarod. It's always everyone else's fault. The problem is you".
The football coach's eyes locked with mine. I was so glad someone was going to say it.
"Hey, do you know his reading level?" he continued, asking the head of the Special Education department.
"Three and a half, four" she responded.
"Grade?!"
"Yes".
"Why is it so low!" Jarod exclaimed, visibly upset. I don't like this little fucker, but I was surprised they outted his reading level in front of everyone.
"Those are your scores, Jarod".
"I can read!" he responded, frustrated, lowering his head.
"He also has a low verbal IQ" the department chair added.
He didn't even get that.
"I want a consequence" Jarod said slowly.
"If I don't go to tutorial, I need a consequence".
"How about we go positive! What would you like if you DO go to tutorial?".
"That doesn't work for me. I need to get into trouble".
"Okay, then a silent lunch. I know you hate that. But let's go positive! You drink Gatorade. I'll get you a Gatorade".
"Okay, I guess. Gatorade".
"I have to go. I have a class tonight that starts in fifteen minutes".
My Specialist class. My Ridiculous class. Half of the other teachers had already left.
"Jarod, you know where I am. We can work through this".
And then I left.
"Animal Control!!"
"But they escaped! Now they are sitting in front of the charred remains of your former house!"
"Thank you for that, Jonathon. Thanks for saving my babies".
"Here's your keys. You are over your time allotment here".
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