Mrs. Fresh

I watched a couple of older kids chasing around my first grade boyfriend as we walked up the hill away from the school.  He ripped his mask down, exposing his missing front teeth and low hanging canines and gave them the finger.

Paw Ku has been selling toys that she doesn't want anymore to other kids on the bus.  It worries me, she could get in trouble for that.  She speaks of kids ripping her off that she won't sell to again, like an old hand of trading and selling.  They are making her go to morning tutorial instead of coming to the trailer for homework help, because she is a matter of points between one level and the next on a test that helps the school's CCRPI score.  Ku doesn't have to go, nor does Angel or Alberto, because they are nowhere near hitting a score point that would help the school, even though they are grades below reading level.  

She opened her bag and I saw a mountain of those push things that all the kids like now.  She opened an outer pocket of her backpack and a bunch of ones were in there.
"Paw Ku, don't open that pocket again with kids around, they will see it and steal it."  I instructed.
"Yeah, I forgot it was there.  But I want to give some money to that breast cancer thing the school is doing."  she answered.

"Do you want to give them a dollar?"  I asked.
"Nah.  I want to give them two."  she responded.
"Okay, get out two and hold it in your hand until you see the donation can, but close that pocket on your book bag."

"Okay." she responded, and she and Kaw ran through the outside, early morning twilight and banged on the door to get inside the school.  

Our nurse at school died.  My favorite memory of her was every morning when I came to our mutual duty station she would call me Ms. Warner, and tell me that she wanted to go home.  They had a ceremony for her in front of the school last week.  I was interpreting RTI meetings all day, which is not my strong point.  My Spanish sounded like Frankenstein.  And, I am not familiar with this horrific vocabulary of telling families that I love that their children are in the tenth percentile in reading and that their teachers hate them and think they are lazy.  I ran to my car to drive to the Housing Authority.  I saw the staff out front, celebrating a woman that I really liked.

I got in our car, slunk down in the seat and drove away.  Through the bus line.  

My Beautiful Self

"Who can define 'odor'?"  Ms. Powell asked for the fifth day in a row.
"That be somethin' stanky."  my new, first grade boyfriend answered, smiling with satisfaction.  

"RIGHT!!!!  That's right!!!!"  she howled.  

"Ms. Powell, how old are you?"  another kid asked.

"Me, well I am 102 years old, but next week, I will be 103."  she answered with smile.  

My little boyfriend turned and looked at the picture on my ID badge.

"Uh,"  I commented.

"I hate this picture!"

"Yeah, me too.  I wish it was beautiful."  he answered and gave me a little hug. 

"Good morning Ms. Powell!"  a late student announced as she entered the classroom.

"I'm supposed to be in quarantine!"

"Good morning, Izzy.  Do you mind, uh, stepping into the hallway?"  Ms. Powell responded, glancing at me with widening eyes before walking over to the classroom telephone.

Everyone has COVID.  Two of my students have it ripping through their middle school-aged siblings, kids I taught over the last few years.  Gabriel has it.  Juan, too.  And Alejandro.  The families have them locked in a room in the house while the rest of the uninfected try to continue with their lives and stay well.

"I'm sorry."  Baby Gustavo told me while I hovered over his desk, looking at his Social Studies work.  

"I should have told you sooner."

"It's okay,"  I responded.

"it's not my business, I just hope they are okay and start feeling better."

"I still think I should have told you."

He seemed genuinely disturbed and had been acting withdrawn for at least a week.

Alberto has taken to showing up to school an hour before the doors open and sitting outside in the dark.  He was miserable and bored when Juan was quarantined in his room and now his mother and sister have it.  He actually wants to be at school all of the time.  He was absent Friday and I can't help but wonder if it got him. 

"The tumor I  removed was malignant, another mast cell tumor.  Please schedule additional surgery for Lola on the following Monday so that I can get clean margins on the rest of the malignancy."  

Lola just got her stitches, and staples - a result of my negligence that ended up with the incision opening and a trip to the emergency vet - out and was finally about to be free of the cone and medicines.  And, it was cancer again.

I waited for my fifth graders to finish their breakfasts and go to class, closed my computer and cried.  

It seemed strange when Htoo took his jacket off during our lesson.  It's not particularly cold in the trailer, but all of my students wear heavy coats, all day.  Then, he started pulling his arms inside the sleeves of his shirt, as if he was cold.  I prattled on with my little phonics lesson.

"So, which letter makes the 'fffffff' sound....."  I continued, glancing up at Htoo and Adrian.  

Htoo jerked his arms upward, exposing his entire naked upper body and snorted like a pig.

I screamed.

Adrian and Htoo burst into hysterical laughter and I saw Aiden's arms snaking inside of their sleeves, preparing another naked surprise for me.  

"Okay."  I announced at the end of class and after several flashings.

"Prepare your beautiful selves for the hallway, we are going back in."

They smiled and snaked their arms back into their sleeves, put on their jackets and prepared to rejoin the general population.  

Good Morning

"Good morning.....oooh wah oooh wah ooh wah oooh.....good morning......"  the morning announcements blared through the trailer.   I hear that song now when I open my eyes in the morning and even in the shower.

"So...if this guy pulls up to you in a van....even an old white man like the guy in the video....he looks weak but he might not be....."  the new, part-time counselor explained, trying to do a little in-service for the fifth graders.
"Van...no....."  the kids sighed.  
"I'd snatch that money and get away...."

"What if he catches you?"

"I'd kick the windows out....I ain't gettin' in no van....."

"Ms. Wagner, are you going to retire?"  Kaw asked.

"What do you mean?  People retire when they are like, sixty."

"Yeah, are you going to retire?"

"How old are you, Ms. Wagner?"  Jorge asked.

"Forty-nine."  I answered.

"Wait.  Stop right there.   Please do not tell me your grandma is forty-nine."

He paused.

"My grandma....is forty-nine."
"I've had it with you, evil children!!"  I yelled in my brain.

"I banish you from my utility trailer!!"

"Odor.  Odor is your vocabulary word of the week.  One time, my dad left a sandwich on the floor of my car and I didn't know he left it there.  My car smelled awful until I figured out he left it there.  It left an ODOR."  the first grade teacher explained.  

Lola had another tumor removed.  We don't know if it is malignant or not.  Alec picked me up from the Housing Authority and I saw her cone on the floor of the car, after what was supposed to be a rudimentary vet visit.  She has stitches in her side.  

Angel Island. Fifth grade Social Studies lesson.  You might have not heard of it before and I didn't either, until a couple of years ago.  It's the west coast, Asian Ellis Island.

"Is that how we got here???"  Kaw whispered furiously to Paw Ku.

"Nah, dude, we came on a plane!"  she scream whispered back.   

"Odor, define odor." the first grade teacher requested.

"You got a stanky car."  a student answered.  

"Samentha, that's beautiful."  I commented, looking at her drawing.

"You always draw the ocean....the waves.....maybe it's Haiti, maybe it's the island...."  I speculated.

She stared me straight in the eyes.

"I dream about it."  she responded.  

Dreaming is Free

"Oh" the first grade teacher repeated.

"Oh".  
The first graders scribbled furiously on their white boards, trying to correctly spell the word.  
"Times up!"  the teacher called.
I heard a little gasp.

I looked across the room at the sea of white boards.  Nothing like staring at a million white squares with "ho" inscribed on them at eight o'clock in the morning.  

"Over thirty school staff members in Georgia have died of Covid in the first six weeks of school....."  the local NPR station announced as I drove down the pitch black highway on my way to work.  Many of my classes have the telltale signs of quarantine.  First, one student is missing.  Then, two rows of students surrounding the missing student's desk disappear for a couple of weeks.  Then, some gaunt looking kids return, eyes a little bigger and skin stretched more tightly across their faces.  Oddly, the adults that spend all day in these rooms are never really addressed, or quarantined.   It's like a weird open secret at the school.  

Ku was having a moment.  I had taken the wood-backed eraser away from him that he was pounding repeatedly on the table.  

"Sit in this chair."  I commanded in the most neutral tone I could muster.  

He shook his head and crossed his arms, obstinately.  

"Okay.  Let's continue....."  I said to the rest of the class.   I was going to try to ignore him and hope he didn't start ripping the whole classroom apart.  He started crying hysterically and climbed under a table.  I kept trying to teach.  The kids stared at me with open concern and shock.  They wanted me to fix it.  

"Ku, why are you so upset?  Please come out from under the table."

He ripped his mask off and threw it across the room.  He followed by throwing a wooden block at me.  

"Ku.  You have to put on the mask or this face shield.  Which one?"

"No!" he yelled and climbed out from under the table.

He got an inch from my face and coughed in it.  His face registered complete defiance.  My hands were starting to shake from being so pissed off.

"The mask or the shield."  I continued, holding them both out.  

He pushed toward me, crying, and started hugging me.

"Ku...I just don't understand, why are you so upset?"

He grabbed a tissue, wiped his face with it and threw it on floor at my feet, his face defiant again.  

"Put that in the trash."  I said, again trying to maintain a neutral tone.  

He grabbed another tissue and rubbed his wet mask with it over and over, all while crying his head off.  Then, he put it on, took my hand and we walked with the group back to his regular class.  

Lola's radiation site no longer has scabs on it.  And the pink skin is starting to get a gray, five o'clock shadow.  It reminds me of the hills around Tijuana in early spring, when bright green moss-like buds begin to overtake the barren peaks.  

"We're moving."  Paw Ku announced.

"WHAT?"  I responded.

"No."

"Well....something happened.  My mom was going somewhere and my grandma asked where she was going.  My mom said 'none of your business' and my uncle attacked her and beat her.  She has red and yellow and black bruises all over her legs....."

"They look really bad."  Bway Pa seconded.

"My mom didn't call the cops because he might come and get us if we did.  My dad came home and said we are out of there."

I was speechless.

The phone on my desk started ringing.  The call was coming from inside the building.  Always a bad sign.

"Hey, this is Wagner." I answered.

"They're here.  THE FAMILY IS HERE.  Did you ever get an interpreter?"

"I emailed two different people at the central office several times and got our principal involved.  No one is answering me."  I responded.  I didn't mention that I nearly have an ulcer from the rage this is provoking. 

"Okay, can you come up here?  I have to ask you a favor, too."

"Oh no.  Okay."  I answered.

"That kid of yours, the one that hits everyone.  He hit another kid and started throwing food all over the cafeteria.  I called dad and he pretended he didn't understand me.  Will you tell him in Spanish what happened so that he can't pretend he doesn't know?"

"Sure, but I'm texting him because every time I call he keeps me on the phone for a half an hour and I don't have time for that.  Where are Ku's parents?  Are we going to get him evaluated for special ed?"

"I had to send them home.  They couldn't understand me."

I saw the "We Are Karen" jersey when I looped behind the cafeteria to enter the school because our key badges aren't working again.  I knew it was Ku's dad, waiting for him.  

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry..."  I said immediately.

"It's okay, okay" he responded, with the same bright, open, kind eyes of all the Karen people I met in Thailand, twenty years ago.  He should have been pissed.  

"I'll fix this.  I promise."  I said, and walked away.

Clark the Shark

"You're safe.  He won't hit you again.  Please take a deep breath.  Drop the chair."  I whispered to the kid I was clutching from behind, the way you would pull a dog by the legs that was fighting another dog so that you don't get bit in the face.  

I used to work in a district that allowed us to dress informally.  Where I work now it is emphasized that we "dress for success".  Given our test scores, I'm not sure if the clothes are doing their job.  I felt pretty successful while hauling this massive rolling trash can filled with discarded milk and uneaten breakfasts over the uneven pavement to the dumpster in my nice skirt, silky blouse and expensive shoes.  As COVID has decimated the custodial staff at our school, we are doing things we don't ordinarily have to do.  Baby Gustavo and his dad walked by, entering the school.  We waved at each other while I tried to haul the overflowing bag out of the trash can and chocolate milk splashed on my skirt and shoes at the beginning of a long day.  

I went to my fourth grade class.  The regular teacher was in self-quarantine after a positive test in the classroom and a special education teacher had been forced to sub.   I barely had any kids there anyway, because they were either sick at home or awaiting test results.  Mya, one of my exited students, needed more time on some test and I was more than happy to take her.  Then, the fight broke out between the kid that used to communicate using only squeaks and some other asshole.  I broke up the fight and got the kids in separate corners and waited for the administrators to come while I showed the other teacher how to electronically sign her most recent evaluation.

"Oh hey, I need contact information on her."  my principal said in a friendly manner as Mya and I walked out of the room.  She was there to take the fighting kids away.
"She's not even in the program anymore, but let me see what I've got...." I answered.
"Because she...."  my principal continued.
"Is she supposed to be in quarantine?"
"Yeah, but the county never sent me the letters."
"Look, it's Burmese, I'll text you her dad's number.  If you give me the English letter I can put it through Google Translate. Let me know."

And then, I took Mya with me into a non-ventilated space so that she could finish her test in peace.  I was stunned that we were doing it this way.  If a family doesn't understand or abide by a quarantine, we just let a kid that was directly exposed keep coming to school?

They have been making me test every ESOL kid in the kingdom, no matter the situation. 

Ku preoccupied me the most.  The whole point of small group testing is to minimize distractions.  He is completely distracting.  He runs through the trailer, ripping things off of the walls.  He likes magnets, and opening drawers, doors and cabinets.  And, he screams.  He sprays cleaning stuff and hand sanitizer all over the room.  In the age of COVID, it is exhausting to clean up after he touches everything.  The first day of testing, I got lucky.  I picked up my fifth graders, warned them that we had a kindergartner coming, and picked up Ku.  He tore into the trailer, opening cabinets and pulling out whatever he felt like playing with.  

"I know you guys have younger brothers and sisters, so maybe you will be familiar with this kind of thing...."  I said hesitantly, knowing I was lying.  

"My little sister is normal, not like that."  Alberto mentioned, before putting his head phones on.  

I was surprised when I saw Kaw gently walk up to him and I heard him whispering in Karen to Ku.  Ku began to calm.  I stared at Kaw with admiration as he revealed another skill, another thing that he can do that others cannot.  

"I still have your copy of Blubber."  Mya said, after finishing the test.  

"Eat your candy, lady.  If you can find it, bring it back, but if you can't, it's no big deal.  Look at all these new books I have, pick one out!"

"But I haven't brought Blubber back."

"I don't care.  That was March, 2020.  Pick out a new one."

She stared at the map on my wall.  

I put my finger on Malaysia.  I knew she was Burmese, but she arrived from Malaysia and never associated herself with Myanmar.  I traced my finger from Malaysia to Myanmar.

"They are still trapped in Myanmar.  They are in the north.  The army hasn't caught them yet."

"Your family?"

I had never heard her say Myanmar before.

"Can you talk to them, text them?"

"Yes.  Sometimes.  My parents don't tell me anything.  I break into their Facebooks.  Why is that lady in jail?  Why did they do that?"  

"She didn't do anything wrong.  The army has taken control before and they decided to do it again.  That is how they are.  Do you want to see what she looks like?"

"Yes."

We looked at the picture of Aung San Suu Kyi on my laptop.  I detest her for her support of the Burmese Army against the Rohingya, but this was not the time to address that. 

"She survived almost twenty years in jail, she can do it again."  I told her.

"How old is she?"

"Almost eighty.  She is older than she looks."

"I thought she was forty."

I felt stupid for saying she could survive another twenty years of house arrest.  

Mario and Baby Gustavo were in the trailer, testing away.  Ku was playing noisily with a maze-like game that he had assembled in seconds.  I saw Gustavo's eyes broaden.

"I can't believe he can do that."  he commented.  

"Pee."  Ku announced.

"Oh no, you have to pee?  Can you wait just a second?"  I had to figure out what to do.  Ku cannot walk to the building by himself.  I also shouldn't interrupt students' tests to walk other kids to the bathroom or leave them alone while I walk them myself. 

Ku sat back down and continued playing.  Then, he stood up and started taking all of the pencils out of their cup.  I walked over and saw his dick out while he readied himself to pee in the cup.

"No no no no no!"  I shrieked.

He ran across the room and tried to pee in the recycling bin.  

"Gustavo, I'm really sorry, can you take him inside to the bathroom?"

Gustavo jumped up and took Ku by the hand and walked quickly out of the trailer and toward the building.  I saw Ku trying to pull away, pointing toward the woods.  

Mere minutes later, they emerged from the building.  Gustavo had his hands in the air and was shaking his head.

"He won't go in the bathroom!"  he called.  

As they entered the trailer, Ku pulled his dick out again and started to pee off of the ramp.  A group of maintenance workers stood a few feet away, staring at me.  I grabbed is arm and started trucking him toward the building.

As soon as we got to the cafeteria door, our way into the building, Ku whipped his dick out and peed all over it.  I gave up.  He created an additional massive puddle right in front of the door as a line of fifth graders went by.  Pee splashed on my fancy shoes.  We walked slowly back to the trailer.  Gustavo and Mario were still sitting there, typing away at their tests.  I squirted hand sanitizer and Lysol everywhere.  

I squeezed hand sanitizer onto Kaw's hands as he passed through the breakfast line. Though he was wearing a mask, I could see that his face was spreading into a mischievous smile.  

"Now, I'm going to....GO TOUCH LOTS OF PEOPLE."  he said, darting away in the line.  

"I'm sorry to interrupt your class.  Can I get a document that Ku's parents signed out of his book bag?"

"Sure," Ms. Perkins responded while she lined up her class for P.E.

"You're staying here."  she growled at a lone student, still seated at a desk.

"I've got it!"  Ku squealed, jumping up and down with delight, then sprinting toward his book bag.  I got the form and walked behind him as he tried to catch up with the line exiting the building for P.E.  

As we walked past, the child at the desk punched Ku savagely in the stomach.  

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!!"  I screamed.  

Ku screamed and cried and ran out of the building.

Ms. Perkins slammed the exterior door and I exited her classroom.  As I closed the other door, I watched her get two inches from the violent child's face.

"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH MY STUDENTS!"  she shouted.  I could hear her through the closed door.  

I walked down the hallway, looking down at my milk and piss covered shoes.  I shook my head around, trying to brush off the urge to cry.  

Title:  Clark the Shark by Bruce Hale

Wild Wind

"Hey, Agnieska, you should meet Femke.  Her family is from near where you came from....."

She looked at me a little blankly.

"Did your family come here on a plane from Africa?"  Femke asked.

"Yes...."  Agnieska answered.

"Mine too."

I returned to the Housing Authority for the first time in a year and a half.  The community center has been completely remodeled.  I knew it was going to happen, but was shocked by how nice it was.  It's beyond comprehension, rivals Middlebury.  I came in and saw half of the amount of children that we normally have in our after-school program.  And, they had all aged.  A lot.  

The fire drill thing came on, over and over again at school.  They kept telling us to disregard it, until they told us to pick up everything we own and evacuate immediately.  I grabbed both of my computers, personal and theirs and the rest of my shit and got outside.  We lined the kids up and they told us to push them back to the fence line.  We heard sirens.  I stood with my kids and watched the firemen enter the building.  It was a gas leak.  

Lola is walking on three legs, and her skin is scabbed and horrific.  She is on so much medicine that I monitor whenever she pees for fear of kidney damage.  

I see kids walk around school that I used to know, crying.  They aren't taking basic directions from their teachers.  My second graders don't know the alphabet.  They're like zombies.  

I thought the Housing Authority kids would be better off because of the district they live in, but I have kids writing random letters down, lacking any kind of phonetic awareness, in fourth grade.  And, they are hateful.  Kids I know, coming from families of which I have taught every member.  They want me to eat shit.  It makes me want to leave.  I'm exhausted, too.  By my third day at the Housing Authority, I saw Aazim and Habiba enter.  They are in sixth grade now.  I remember March, 2020 when I told them not to worry about anything and that we would be back in a couple of weeks.  The looked at me awkwardly and waved their hands, without raising them, keeping them locked by their sides.  

Mashia is stuck in Tunisia.  It's an odd story, something about the family being trapped there because of COVID.  I wave at her through the screen, half a world away.  

"We are in a code three lock down."

I was standing in the cafeteria, with nearly sixty children.  They started screaming and throwing chairs and trampling each other.  

"Go to the lab!'  my former teacher-roommate yelled.  

Code three lockdown means that there is an identified threat, inside the school.  For novices, we are talking Columbine. Bway Pa, Paw Ku, Alberto and Jorge were in that room.  The rest of my children were spread out, throughout the building.  Angel stood, baffled with paperwork I had just handed him, alone in the cafeteria.  I guided him to the lab.  Kaw was in the bathroom.  I hoped he was safe. 

We herded them into the lab, while one of their teachers sprinted from the trailer because she knew that her children were in that cafeteria.  

We got them down on the ground.  Many of them lacked masks, because the had been eating lunch.  We passed out as many as we had.  

Police cars lined the front of the school, and at the house across the street where the shots were fired.  It's the closest house to our school and five to seven shots were fired while two teachers and twenty-five first graders walked along the school, in a line.  

An additional second grade class saw our community member shoot a dog to death, in her front yard, while they were at recess.  

I heard a little knock, at the trailer door.

It was Bway Pa.

"Hey, Dr. Lewis wants her charger back."

"Tell her I put it back where I left it."

"Okay."

"Here, get in here, I have a treat for you.  Today sucked."

She waved at me while eating her Swiss Cake Roll, as the buses roared away.  

The Devil Made Me Do it the First Time

"Okay, we are going to finish this code of conduct thing...." Mr. Warner told his second grade class.
He continued to read off of the Power Point.  
"Well, I guess none of you have a pager, because they haven't been made in like, twenty years... but if you find one, don't bring it to school." he continued.  
"Don't do the drug part."  I implored him.  I had already seen it with my fifth graders and all that it prompted were questions from Kaw about what marijuana was and what LSD meant.  Those questions were hard enough to answer and then the rolling papers and pipes slide came up next.  I'm surprised they didn't mention roach clips with feathers hanging from them.  

I picked up my $1400 rental car the day before pre-planning began.  I rented the cheapest economy one and was glad when I went to the store thing and they actually had a car for me.  On top of it, it wasn't the little car, instead I got a brand-new Camry, so huge I didn't know how to drive it and with so many weird gadgets I had to keep the manual on the passenger seat just to figure out basic functions.  

"Wow,"  my brother in-law exhaled after jumping into the back seat.

"This is so.... whorish."

You mean the faux leather, red and black interior?  Yeah, that's how I ride.  

Lola has been getting radiation on her leg, everyday, five days a week.  Alec has been doing the heavy lifting, dropping her off in the morning and picking her up three hours later, via her prioritized schedule.  I watch them ride off and get into my whorish car and try to focus on work.  

By the first week of school, two out of three of our custodians were out with COVID.  Last year, we received a letter every time a student or staff member got sick, informing us that contact tracing had been done and that we were not exposed.  This year, we haven't received anything and no one was quarantined.  Other districts are releasing the number of COVID infections they have regularly and telling how many people they have in quarantine.  Our district is radio silent, leaving us all nervous.  

My baby is back.  It was exactly as I predicted it.  March, 2020, we left everything.  As I hunted down my students via telephone from my living room, I could not get ahold of Agnieskza.  She wasn't logging-in online.  I called.  I texted, in French.  I emailed.  I told her dad to pick up a laptop.  I made interpreters call.  Every time, if he answered, he would say he didn't know that we were still having school.  She dropped off of the rolls early last year.  I knew what was going to happen.  I knew that as soon as in-person learning resumed her dad would walk her up and play dumb, as if nothing had happened.  As is he randomly didn't keep his child out of school for a year and a half.  And that is exactly what he did.  
She's back.  She was placed a year behind her grade level, because she never did second grade.  He didn't even come.  My other baby, Nsimba brought her.  
"I didn't know if you'd still be here."  Agnieskza told me, two days later.

"I'll always be here."  I answered.  
"Nsimba says she misses you."

Lola has finished her treatments.  Her fur is peeling off of her leg.  I have worked the longest fifteen days of my life.  And I haven't even told you the half of it.  

*Title, Waylon Jennings, Black Rose