Nobody Knows It

Mornings are weird.
I drive to an area I am still unfamiliar with, in the dark, setting the cruise control so that I will arrive on time.  I put on makeup at strategic stoplights.  And chap stick.  And eye drops.  And I clean my glasses.  I gather my shit and recheck several times that I have not left the keys in the car before locking it.  For some reason, my fork keeps flying out of a hole in my lunch box and I have had to drag it out from under the car.  Then, I run in the front door to arrive at my 7:00AM start time, dodging cars and buses to get into the school.  I go directly to duty in the Media Center.  After, I walk to the trailer in the dark, behind the school.  I leave the door open until I turn the lights on and make sure a murderer isn't in there, then close it and turn on the heat or air, whichever is necessary.  I unpack my things, including jugs of water from home and coffee, and have a seat.  I usually am not quite ready to work, so I read the newspaper while I eat a hard boiled, slaughter-free egg with Valentina hot sauce and a Wasa cracker and drink my black coffee.  Sometimes, I take some water from my thermos and mix it with Emergen-C.

I sort of like my routine until the announcements come on.  They blare through the intercom that only seems to work for the announcements, but not for tornado, fire or intruder drills.  Our librarian instructs us to stand and face a flag for the pledge and after, a horrible, pre-canned most-awful shrill version of the national anthem blares through the intercom.  I sit and eat my egg under the fluorescent lights of the trailer and imagine someone watching me, wondering which alternative universe I live in.  This strange woman, sitting in a strange place, with strange music playing, in the dark.  Is it hell?  Has she been sent to hell?

I stood at my post in the cafeteria, watching the kids eat.  The instrumental version of "Sexual Healing" played loudly.  The kids are not allowed to speak while the music is on.

"I wonder which is farther away from here, South Africa or Burma...." I pondered, as I walked with some of my students to the trailer.
"But I'm not from Burma, I'm from Thailand." Prem responded, yanking on the trailer door.
"But your family is really from Burma, right?  And you just spent some time in Thailand....?"  I asked carefully, trying to figure out how to mention a refugee camp in a casual way.
"Yes.  They were murdering Karen." he responded, swinging the door open and shooting inside.

"Don't go breakin' my heart!"  we sang, showing off our best dance moves.
"I couldn't if I tried!"  Faba continued.
Juan and Prem didn't know the words as well as Faba and me, but they still danced furiously around the trailer, screaming out "Wooooo hoo!" at all the appropriate parts.
Halloween always makes a day feel good.

*Lyrics, Elton John

J

A Murder of Crows

As I walk from the school building out to the trailer, I've been noticing some big fat crows flying overhead.  The weather has finally decreased from the high nineties of early October to something somewhat resembling fall.  It no longer feels like the surface of the sun as I walk over the blacktop to my metal-clad school home.  I like the crows.  They, along with the pine trees that circle the back of the school, make things feel like Halloween. 

The trailer is showing some signs of Halloween as well.  Rain appeared after weeks of dryness, and the walls of the trailer don't seem especially water proof.  The adorable, "All About Me" posters the kids made about themselves at the beginning of the school year seem to be absorbing moisture from the walls, transforming their hand drawn faces into something quite speckled and ghoulish. 

There is also a strange smell.  I've gone to great pains to clean the tables and chairs weekly with lemon scented, disease killing wet wipes.  I also clean the board and my desk and antiquated computer and phone.  I spray the trailer with a natural orange spray that the kids say smells like a mix of the counselor's office and candy.  I keep my dry snacks in a sealed plastic box in order to not attract rats.  I deny residence to large cockroaches by chasing them from the trailer.  Most have declined to return. 

"Ewwww...." one of the kindergartners commented, scrunching her nose and waving her hand in front of her face.
It was only their second visit to the coveted trailer, the desired destination of all of my ESOL kids. 
"It smells like fish!"  another exclaimed.
My trailer.  My beautiful trailer.  FISH.  They might as well have told me it smelled like B.O.  I was horrified. 

"Agnieszka, the kindergartners said the trailer smells." I whispered to one of my first graders.
"Really?" she whispered back, perplexed.
"Maybe it's me, do I smell?" I responded, pretending to sniff myself.
She drew her nose closer and took a careful whiff.
"No, you don't smell.  You smell good. "  she paused for a minute, before exclaiming in a moment of realization,
"You smell like white people!  I smelled one before on the playground!" 
I thought of the lone white girl in the school, who happened to be in her class, and burst out laughing. 
We both did. 

Mudo

"Shift" Mr. Warner repeated, over and over.
"Shift to the left."
I watched my student carefully write "shit" on her spelling test.
"Oh man, you should have seen what Ja'quon put as his name on Kahoot...."  he said lowly, after seeing me look at her quiz.
"LOIN KING" he wrote on the board, before quickly erasing it with his hand.

I sat in the Media Center, my morning duty post, monitoring the kids in the lower grades that don't eat breakfast at school.
"A minute is sixty seconds.  An hour is sixty minutes.  A week is seven days...." a little boy prattled off.
"You really know your time segments." I responded.
"Yeah, but he can't make the errr sound." his fellow Speech classmate said dismissively, her own stutter surprisingly absent for a second.

"Both of my parents' birthdays are on January 1st."  Aazim mentioned randomly, as he worked on his math problems.
"My mom's birthday is on January 1st too!"  Habiba commented.
I've heard that refugees are often assigned January 1st as their birthday if there is ambiguity about their actual birth date when they arrive in the United States.  I've had a number of refugee students with the tell tale birthday.  I was surprised they didn't know this but didn't say anything, just marveled at the coincidence.

"I'm taking it!" I heard an unfamiliar voice utter, before Helina grabbed crayons from another child.
"She talked...." Ana said quietly, eyes wide.
"I think she just did...."
She has never done that before.
We all stared at Helina.
She looked back at us, a mischievous look in her eyes, before climbing on the table and drawing on it.

Heaven Only Knows

Heaven only knows just why... 
loving you should make me cry
Make me feel like I could die
That's the way it goes...

"I spoke to my doctor.  We're doing thirty-six weeks."  the radiant, yet wildly pregnant pre-K teacher informed us.
"She said it was supposed to be thirty-nine, but I said, no.  Not this time.  We are doing it differently."

"Get out of the car!  I'm going to fight you!"  the woman who had roared up beside my car screamed.
"Are you fucking crazy?"  I responded.
"You're lucky I don't have my gun.  I'd shoot you!" she screamed, before roaring off in front of me.
Good to know.
I am actually a very careful and conscientious driver, but, you can't win them all.

"The mandamus went through, they filed it Monday."  the text rang through moments after my driver friend threatened to shoot me, while I was pulled off on the side of the road calling 911.
"I am so glad," I responded.
"Wish they had filed it three weeks ago, but at this rate, we might have him by New Year's!"
One man, out of Afghanistan. 
Please pray that it works. 

*Lyrics and title, Emmylou Harris