Trouble All Around

"Thank you, ladies." the desk clerk said offhandedly as she stared at the computer monitor.  Alec and I looked at each other, eyes widening, but remained silent.

I finally bought this perfume that I have wanted for forever.  The Spanish teacher that I worked with last year always wore it, and I loved it.  I am not really into perfume, but it smelled like rosemary and tea tree oil, fresh and clean, every morning.  

I walked to the car, laughing my head off, after our waitress referred to us as 'ladies' as well.
"Jesus Christ, twice in one morning!  What the fuck is wrong with these people!?"
"If people are going to mistake me for a WOMAN, I want to look like Sofia Vergara, not Maude." Alec responded.

When the perfume arrived, it smelled nothing like she did.  I was perplexed.  But I realized I had been smelling that smell in the Spanish office long after she had left.  It was the stuff the custodians use to clean the floor.  My one hundred dollar perfume. 

The fourth grader looked at me with piercing eyes.
"The Rebellion in Baltimore" he stated.
"Rebels".
"I can't stop watching it" the little girl next to him stated, staring at me with burning eyes.

"I can't either stop either.  It is a rebellion".

April Fool

I sat in my corner in the early morning darkness watching kids ascend the stairs.  Abe kept me company by chasing a small, annoying insect that flew around us.

“Come here, you little asshole….” Abe instructed, trapping it on the side of my chair and killing it.

“I am TRAUMATIZED!”  Abigail announced with exaggerated zeal.

“Puberty class?”

“YES.  Okay, why is it okay to say ‘vagina’ but not ‘butt’?  She kept calling it ‘your bottom’, but didn’t use some weird word for ‘vagina’!   I’d much rather here ‘butt’ than ‘vagina’.  Oh my God, and then she gave us free pads and COUPONS to buy more.  TRAUMATIZED!!”.

“Cassius, you have to show your video.  We worked on it for two days in class, it is just unacceptable to refuse to show your work after all of that time”.

He tried to snatch his iPad from my hands.  It pissed me off.  Then I noticed that his nose holes were flaring and his eyes were tearing up.  He’s not a crier and I could tell that he was pissed off, too.

“Come over here, let’s talk privately”.

“WHAT is going ON??”.

“I was having trouble recording my voice in Explain Everything.  I said ‘goddamn it’ two times and slapped my iPad.  It recorded THAT”.

“Class, Cassius actually does have a legitimate reason for not playing his recording.  My bad”.

“So, did you learn anything you didn’t already know in Puberty Class?” I asked one of my newer friends while smiling sarcastically.

“Man, I knew I had three holes” the fifth grade girl responded. 

Well, apparently there was some detail to the class.

“By the end of the day, we just didn’t care anymore and someone left those free pads laying around.  Ricky asked us what they were and we told him, you know, that they were pads.  He had no idea what we were talking about and asked if he could smell them.  I almost threw up”.

That makes two of us. 

“I am not feeling getting up at 5:30 for the Tybee trip.  People need to realize that this,” she said, waving her hand around her face, “takes more than two minutes”.

I started laughing.

“The worst part is that it does only take two minutes!” I responded, looking at her pretty, effortless eleven-year-old face.

“I have been getting up at five all week just to practice.” she whispered, smiling. 

“You are going to have a great time”.

The boys in her classroom were sword fighting with their free deodorants. 

I woke up and went to work, feeling a lot more bright eyed than I normally do.  I ate my quickie breakfast of choice, a hard boiled egg, before starting my first class.  A wave of nausea hit me and I vomited in the trashcan.  Woohoo, I thought and figured it would pass.  I went to my first class.  During my second class, I broke out into a cold sweat.   I sat at the table with some kids, helping them with a writing assignment, when waves of nausea hit me.   I ended up getting a sub for the rest of the day, a first for me.  I went back the next day and finished the week without problems.  Yet over the weekend, I had an amazing vomit fest.  Multiple people asked me if I was pregnant.  I am surprised at the zeal people feel for a forty-three year old having an unexpected pregnancy.  Anyone up for a three-headed baby?  I am not pregnant. 

On the eve of April Fool’s Day, I decided to start the festivities early.  I chased Lola through the house and thought it would be funny to pick her up.  All ninety-plus pounds of her threw off my balance and I crashed into a folding door that goes to the laundry room.  Lola ran off and I went to the bathroom mirror.  I was shocked to see broken glasses, big red bruises on my forehead and cheek and bloody scratch marks.  Great. 

As a joke, all of us at work had asked for last minute personal days on April Fool’s Day.  My excuse was that I needed to get a tan on my legs.  What if I really couldn’t go to work the next day? 

Just claiming domestic abuse was an easier explanation than what really happened while at work the following day.  After work, I drove across town to the cheap glasses place to order a new pair.  It went fine, but when I returned to the car, it wouldn’t start.  I called a wrecker. 

“I’m really sorry but there is a four hour wait,” he instructed me, “you are in the middle of the epicenter”.

I got the car started and drove toward my mechanic.  I was on fumes but feared stopping the car because it probably wouldn’t start again.

After an hour in traffic, I made it. 

The following day, I was called into an impromptu meeting because of angry parents.  I was really sick of their shit. As I walked to the meeting that occurred when I was supposed to be having lunch, I implored the administrator not to throw me under the bus.

“I got you, Ms. Wagner.  I will be there.” he responded, staring at the bruises and scratches on my face.  

I haven’t had a meeting like that in years.  Parents so determined to find someone to blame instead of recognizing a problem in their kid and trying to help him with it.  References to me in the third person while I sat two seats down from them.   Refusal to shake my hand or look at me when I introduced myself. 

“I have been contacting you since October because I am concerned and want Lawrence to be successful.”

“I find that hard to believe” the mother responded.

“If SHE cared at all she would have tried harder”.

“So, where are we going with all of this?” I responded.  “The data collection, the meetings, the emails.  What is our plan?”.

“SHE should have told us about this sooner” the mother responded, turning her face away.

I bought a six-pack on the way home from work, though I have been avoiding drinking during the week.  The mechanic called.

“Hey!  It’s really not that bad!”

“Really?!” I responded.

“Yeah, just $475!”.  My heart sank.  Nearly five hundred dollars in addition to the two thousand I have put into that car in the last couple of months.

“Actually, that really sucks.  When can I pick it up?”.

Friday.   And not just any Friday but the one before Spring Break.  Finally.  I went out for drinks with friends from work and headed home.  I kissed and hugged Lola and went inside to talk to Alec.  A few minutes later, I saw the gate to our fence wide open and Lola’s little booty and curled tail exiting our yard.   We ran.  I could hear her but not see her in the vacant lot by our house.  Alec and I ran in opposite directions.  I couldn’t hear her anymore.  I ran to the other side of our house and saw Alec with his hand on Lola’s collar.

“She’s been hit!” he yelled, picking her up and carrying her up the hill. 

I grabbed the keys to his car, locked the house and told him how to get to the emergency vet.

We were there three hours.  Lola didn’t break anything and the ultrasound showed no internal bleeding.  We were presented with a four hundred dollar bill. 

I laid with her on the cold tile floor, questioning what I would do if anything ever happened to her.

That is honestly the one thing that I really can’t take. 

The Dream Keeper

 I lay on the massage table in the dimly lit room.
"Okay, clear your mind and focus on your breathing." the massage-lady instructed.
I immediately imagined Lola delicately arching her back in the original downward facing dog, then settling on the table for her massage.  My mind flashed to her sitting in a comfortable chair, her feet soaking in hot sudsy water. 
"That's it! You found your happy place!" the massage-lady stated.

"Trayvon's mother is here, she wants to see you." another teacher informed me.  Shit.  I had emailed her earlier in the day about her ass-slapping son's latest antics.  I had a feeling I was the one in trouble.
I walked into the office.  The administrator raised his eyebrows at me and left the room, leaving us alone.
"Hi, I'm Hilary.  I know we have spoken on the phone, but it is nice to meet you in person."  I shook her hand.

"I read your email and came down here right away.  I was already on the bus line on my way to school, but I decided not to go to class.  This is more important.  He is my son.  He has enough time to play and he plays enough.  I watched him when I got here and he didn't know it.  School is not playtime.  He will be in middle school next year.  This has to end.  He has to understand how to be in school."

"I have spoken to him about responsibility.  I am changing careers and I go to school all day.  When I get home, I take care of him and his brothers and sisters.  When they go to bed, I stay awake and do school work.  He has to learn to do this."

My mind flashed to the late seventies.  My mother was in school all day and raising the three of us on her own.  We were also on public assistance.  But I never really related to Trayvon or felt a like-mindedness or parallel experience. Was it racial?  Did I think my white mother with her three white kids on welfare while she went to college was somehow better?  Did I think that what Trayvon's family was doing was some kind of far fetched day dream while what my family did was realistic and practical in some way?

"I am studying to be a chef and Spanish food is my specialty.  I've told him that learning Spanish is important, that there are jobs that I could have gotten if I was bilingual.  I've told him that I might move them to Spain to learn more about cooking.  I want him to realize this is important."

I thought about what she said.  My immediate reaction was that it was a far-fetched goal.  A second later, I realized that she was not a daydreamer, but a guardian of dreams.  She had not looked at her situation and become bitter and angry.  She was still approaching life in the way a prosperous young college student with the world at their fingertips might.

I think it is a gift.

Normally when I have to speak to parents, I really have no idea what I am doing and just throw stuff out there.  I admit it.  But she wasn't blaming me and I wasn't blaming her.  I wasn't a bad teacher and she wasn't a bad parent.  We had to work together in order to help Trayvon.  We came up with a plan.

"So, we are going to try this.  If it doesn't work, we'll come up with something else.  But we are going to get him on board."

I actually really meant it.  I am committed.  I will continue to work with this child and his mother because it is important.  And I will work hard.  We have a partnership.  I will not view Trayvon as an annoyance in my day.  He is a human being that is very much at risk and I will work to help him get the basic skills that he needs to make it through school. 

I looked at "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" book that I had bought Oliver.  It was a Spanish translation.  I bought it for him because I heard that it was his favorite.  I told myself not to get to excited about giving it to him.  He is different minute to minute, sometimes giggling and hugging, only to stare past you a second later and not even notice your presence.  There is a reason why they call kids with his condition 'the child that won't love you back'. 
"Come here, Oliver, I have something for you."
He got up dutifully and walked with me to where my bag of tricks was.  He had his 'no giggle' face on.  As I bent over to retrieve the book, he caught a glimpse of the cover before I reached in.
"THE VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR!"  he called, grabbing the book from my bag and clutching it to his chest.  He immediately began flipping through it.
"Say 'thank you', Oliver, say 'thank you'"  Marsha instructed him.
"Thank you!" he said staring at the book.
"No, say it to her!  Who gave you this?"
"Wagner, Spanish teacher, thank you!" he said, staring at the book.

If you have never read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", it is a story about a little egg lying on a leaf under the moon that later hatches a small caterpillar when the sun gazes upon it.  The caterpillar eats and eats throughout the book and submerges into a dark cocoon, only to dig himself out after a couple of weeks.

When you open the last two pages, a huge and colorful butterfly covers both of them. 

Everybody is a Star

I stood in front of the class, emphatically explaining the oral assessment they would be doing and then unleashed them to practice for a few minutes before we began.  As I turned toward the computer, I felt a hand touch mine tentatively.  I turned to see Oliver standing beside me.
"I need help." he said.
A full sentence.  He had gotten out of his seat to ask me.  This was a first.
"I'll help you, Oliver.  Let's go to your seat."

I wandered the room, checking work.  Bailey sneakily handed me a birthday card he had made himself.
"Sorry it's late..." he whispered.
I hugged him.  A side hug so as not to embarrass him. 
"Oh Bailey, I don't know what I am going to do without you next year when you go to middle school."
He smiled clandestinely.
"And," I thought, "if anyone fucks with you, if anyone says one word that you are 'really' a girl and not a boy,  you just let me know. I will fuck them up."

"Do you want to see a picture of the baby?"  Alejandro asked me, smiling.
He goes by Alex, anglicizing his name for American classroom use.  We speak exclusively in Spanish.  Before the Christmas break when all of the kids were bringing in costly gift cards and treats, he gave me two Icebreakers because he saw that I eat them all of the time and a handmade card.
"YES!"
"Okay," he said, smiling, "but it is from when he was in the hospital, so he has tubes in him."

I saw Oliver's head tilt and his eyes wander.
"You are looking at my hair."
"YES."
"Do you want to touch it?"
"YES."
He petted the red streak softly and then rotated to the back, skimming the trimmed edges like a hairdresser checking his latest cut.  And then we continued working.

My mind's eye wandered and "Stand" by Sly and the Family Stone filled my ears.  I imagined Oliver standing behind a seated woman in a hairdresser's chair, working wonders like Edward Scissorhands while the client smiled happily, handing him stacks of money.

He ripped the cape off and checked his cut, got his giggle out and motioned for the next client from the line. 

Cowboy Boots for Haiti

I woke up on my birthday with Lola cuddled next to me.  I could see through the window that it was gray and windy.  I held her closer and went back to sleep.

I saw Oliver in the hallway and greeted him.  His hand was slightly outstretched and I shook it. He smiled.
"How are you?"  I asked.
"GOOD." he responded.
"Do you know who that is?"  I heard his paraprofessional question as I walked away. 
"Spanish teacher.  Wagner." he answered in his oddly flat yet emphatic way.  I was thrilled.  He said my name. 

I felt pretty frumpy.  I was wearing ugly clothes, my hair looked bad, it was just not my day.  One of my students came up and hugged me.
"You smell good." he informed me.
"Really?  I was feeling really raggedy today, thank you."

The day crept ahead as Lola and I laid in bed.  'Get up' I told myself, 'you took the day off for a reason, it's your birthday'.  But I just couldn't.

I ran into Oliver again in the hallway.  He grabbed my hand and shook it, emphatically asking me "How are you?  How are you?"  over and over again, a huge smile on his face.

I walked by a kid I didn't know in my ugly clothes. 
"I like your sweater and that shirt you are wearing." she called to me.
"Ohhh, thank you!"
"I like that red streak in your hair too."
They have no idea how much these little comments mean. 

I was leaving class as I passed Oliver and his paraprofessional in the hallway.
"Have you gotten your giggle out?"  she asked.
He squared his shoulders and put a serious face on.  But his mouth started to twitch and he broke into giggles.
We laughed too, it was impossible not to.
"Okay, is your giggle out?"
Again Oliver burst into the cutest and most genuine laughter ever.  He shook his head and his eyes watered and I couldn't stop laughing either.  It just felt so good.
A large group of school visitors walked by us.
We turned Oliver toward us and all laughed, as if someone had told an amazing joke.

"So...." Jonas began, "I have a Valentine...." he whispered, motioning that it was from him to me.
"Wow really?"
"But the question is.....," his voice lowered further "do you have one for me?"  he pressed his forehead to mine and stared at me.

I walked through the hallway and passed Oliver again.
"How are you?"  he asked emphatically.
"Good!"  I answered.
He raised his arms in a hugging gesture and I hugged him.

I couldn't believe it. 

Dog Days of Winter

"Did you have a good weekend?"  I asked Amy, a newer member of the unusual group of kids that like to hang out and talk with me while I'm on hallway duty in the mornings.  I actually don't think they like to talk 'with' me, more that I listen to them.  Which is fine.
"I went to see 'Selma'".
"Oh.  I hear it's good but...."
"Sad.  Really sad."
She went into a detailed explanation of every violent scene in the movie.  I could tell she was honestly distressed by it and that the concept of racially induced discrimination and violence was relatively foreign to her.  Which is actually a good thing. 
"They used the 'n' word'!" she stated suddenly, with an oddly fake and exaggerated pose.  She crossed her arms and pouted.   She started speaking in baby talk.
"The 'n' word is bad!"

"She filled up three rooms of the funeral home, it was amazing."
"Really?  That's awesome."
"But the casket was open...."
I was surprised.  I had just assumed she had shot herself, I don't know, as my family tradition seems to dictate.   
"The makeup was weird....she may have hung herself."

"I think gay people should be able to get married."  Amy continued the next day.
"Well, the Supreme Court might make that possible in all of the states, Amy, it is very exciting."
"I know gay people.  My hairdresser is gay and a friend of my mom's is."
I thought of all the other gay people she knew right there at school that she didn't even realize were gay.  Which again, is a good thing.  Why should it matter who her teachers fuck?
"My mom says we are even going to get a female president next time!"
"Yep, maybe, Amy."
"She said the wife of a man that was president a really long time ago will be our next president."
I racked my brain.  A really long time ago?  Like William Harding times or something?
"Oh my God, do you mean Hillary Clinton?!"
"Yeah!  That's her name!"

"Michael is at it again," my sister continued.
"What do you mean......?"
"Drinking."
My stepfather.  Hospitalized on my mother's seventieth birthday last April.   Fatty liver disease, sclerosis.   Had a broken ankle and shoulder for who knows how long and he didn't even know it, the result of drunken falls.  Had to have half of his non-broken foot cut off because of diabetes related gangrene.  Was in the hospital for months and we didn't think he would make it out of there.  The doctors said he wouldn't.  But he did.  Because the insurance cut off, forcing my mother to become his in home nurse.  He also succeeded in destroying the family business and finances of the majority of my immediate family. 
"We were barely out of the house to drive to Michigan for the funeral when he called, bragging of taking mom's 'little car out'".
"Jesus Christ".
"He bought a bottle of rum, drank it and vomited all over the house.  Mom had to call his brother, they found him covered in piss and shit and vomit on the bed."

I smiled and waved at Bailey as he walked up the stairwell.  He smiled back; I could tell that he wanted to talk more but Amy was there.
"THAT is really a girl." Amy whispered after Bailey entered his classroom.
I looked at her closely.
"Bailey is whatever he wants to be.  Bailey is whatever he feels he is." I said lowly.
"Yeah....yeah she is...." Amy answered slowly, brain gears grinding. 

"Hilary, I didn't want to tell you this part.  The other cat is dead, again, like what happened before Christmas.  Michael let the dogs get her.  Mom found her on the porch in a liquor bag."

"Good morning, Amy." I called in greeting the next morning in the stairwell.  My eyes felt fuzzy.
"My dad took me to Revolution Donuts!" she responded, and entered into the tale of the morning. 

Pee

"Teachers, please allow students to enter class late.  We have an eighteen wheeler broken down in the carpool lane."

"I am starving." I mentioned to Abe as I sat in my corner in the stairwell, watching children climb the stairs.  I tried to see the eighteen wheeler through the window, but I was not on the right side of the building. 
"Here!" he said, digging through his lunch box.
"No Abe, no, really, I can't take your lunch."
He continued digging.
"Take it," he instructed, "really, I'm fine, I don't need it."  He had produced a chocolate and coconut Kashi granola bar. 
"No Abe, really, I can't.  But thank you.  Really, thank you.  You are really generous."

"Cabinet members:  our meeting has been moved to the Media Center because of a bad smell.  I repeat:  Meeting moved because of smell."

Robert climbed the stairs with a small line of kids trailing him like ducklings following their leader. 
"Hey Mr. Weiland, looks like they are going to keep the toilets on today!"  I called in way of greeting.
A large, fake smile spread across his face.
"Guess what kids!"  he exclaimed brightly.
"We get to go pee today!"

I sat in our office during my planning, staring at the flowers online. 
"She used to have these stilts...." my sister told me a day earlier.
"She could really move in them, she could like, run all over their backyard on them.  Her hair would just be flying in the wind....she was so....free."
I bought the most brightly colored flowers I could find because they looked like her.  I didn't want stupid white flowers that looked like death.

I sat in the office while a nurse extracted my blood.  After what seemed like a long time, I watched the clock to see how many minutes it was taking.  It was nearly one additional minute before I heard the click of the removed vial and the click of the second vial.  I thought of my mother and my sister racing against the clock to get halfway across the country for the funeral.  I heard another click.

"Wow," the nurse said, relieved.
"You have the smallest veins I have ever worked on.  I didn't think I would ever get it all out.  I'm sorry, but you are going to have black bruising."
"No problem, thank you."
"No!  Thank you!  Have a great day now!"