September Girls

I walked down the hill by the school after dropping my walkers off at the corner.  The hill I walked down when I found out Lola was really sick.  One of the school buses was pulled off to the side and the driver was screaming at the kids to stop whatever they were doing. Whatever they were doing can really be anything:  fighting, sexually harassing each other, watching porn on their phones, vaping, I can continue if you want.  Just about anything bad you can think of happens on the bus.  The driver got the kids to sit down and turned to walk to the front of the bus.
"Fuck you, asshole."  one of the fourth graders hissed, the minute the man turned around.  

I kept walking down the hill.

I am not feeling this school year.  

Little snippets from the last month jump into my head at random times.  Putting my hand on the side of the euthanasia doctor's hearse-like SUV before she drove away with my baby.  Covering her head with the blanket, kissing her nose.  How pale her gums were the last day.  The fact that we thought palliative care was an option, how unbelievable it was to be told our dog had hours to live when we thought everything was fine.  

This kid in one of my classes tried to recruit me to be a Jehovah's Witness.  It has happened before.  I am actually a little flattered, but not interested.

"Jehovah tells us if we believe in him, the world will be better."  he informed me, before telling me the website where I could get more fun facts.  I still have the JW card with the website in my wallet with Baby Gustavo's mom's number on it.  

"You know, that's a nice sentiment."  I responded.

"Thank you for telling me that."

He smiled brightly.  

I've been having to work with Arecely a lot this year.  All of my nice, newcomer kids went to middle school and I am stuck with the prickly one.  The mean one.  I am sort of okay with it.  She's sour as hell, refuses to speak English even though she can and has a permanent scowl on her face.  She's mean to me, mean to everyone.  We are together a lot, me walking through the school with this giant block of salt.  We sat in the trailer one morning when her journey came up.  How her "uncle" brought her in a vehicle with blacked out windows that didn't open, all the way from Nicaragua.  How she entered through Texas and was separated from this person and put in one of the centers, alone.  

"Why weren't you with your parents?"  I asked.

"They were already here."  she answered.  

"Where is your uncle now, did they deport him?"

"He's working....somewhere."  she answered.

"Were you afraid all by yourself in that center?"

"No." she answered defiantly.

"No."

I'm okay with being with the prickly one.  Your heart gets broken by warm, furry things.  And before you lecture me, yes, I understand why she's acting the way she is.    

I left work late, right when the middle school bus was letting off at the corner by my work.  I saw Eduardo walking home. I wanted to yell out at him, but there were kids everywhere and I didn't want to embarrass him.  The rest joked and pushed each other.  He stopped and tied his shoe and walked away, very alone.  

I am remembering the feel of Lola less.  The absence though is growing.  It is deafening.  It is what is normal now.  When I walk to the trailer behind the school where I work, I have a recurring image of Lola, behind the fence that encircles the school.  Sometimes she is a puppy, but most of the time she is an adult.  She is sitting, watching me.  And I feel like screaming, screaming because this is a place I never wanted her to be.  In that neighborhood, trapped behind a fence, where I can't reach her. Unsafe.  

*Title, Big Star