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

The Ones in My Heart

Hot vax summer hasn't been what I thought it would be. 

I enjoyed my second stay on Tybee Island this summer, this time with my mom, sister, niece and her boyfriend.  The place we rented had beautiful porches that we could sit on and should have been an all together good time.  But my mind was on other things: Lola, Alec taking care of everything on his own, and the stupid vet not being able to digest which phone number she was supposed to call, though we filled out paperwork every morning with contact information.  

I think the worst was the night we ate at a place I had been really looking forward to and calls started coming through from the vet hours after they had been placed because of my shitty coverage, telling me that my dog was in duress.  
"She is hurting herself.  Her feet are injured.  It is not good for her to be here all day in the kennel.  We are changing our protocol for Lola and she will be the first dog in and the first dog out, everyday."

I would have taken that call.  I never liked the protocol to begin with, the ten, twelve hour days, "we'll call you when we call you" stuff, but they said it was so that they could serve as many sick dogs as possible.  All I could hear on my phone was "Lola is in duress." I came back to the table and tried to act natural; Alec was texting me telling me it was all in control.  I, on the other hand, decided not to be in control and drank 500 beers and stayed up until two o'clock in the morning with my niece.  I felt physically ill for a lot of the remainder of the trip, both from that night of drinking and my fear of what was happening to Lola.  Now, I'm grateful that they were willing to adjust their system to keep Lola safe.  

School started on Monday.  This might have been the fastest summer ever.  I had hoped to be tan and buff, but I rolled in on the first day in my rental car with wet hair and went straight to my trailer.  Lola made it through her half-way mark of radiation today.  She has eight more treatments to go.  Alec and I get up really early and prepare her for the ride.  We fast her each night and give her a million pills in the morning and flush her IV catheter with saline.  Then, I watch them drive down the street, thinking about how the majority of things that I love profusely are encapsulated in one compartment, driving slowly away.  

When I can't see them anymore, I go to work.  

Would You Still Remember Me?

I knew it was bad when I nearly started crying at the first sounds of Freebird while drinking a beer at 10:30 in the morning in a sticky, Hawks-inspired airport bar.   I’m going on vacation.

Lola started her radiation.  The first day went pretty smoothly, though we dropped her off at 7:20 in the morning and she wasn’t ready until 7:00 in the evening.  I was worried the whole day about rain.  Lola has gotten so intolerant to rain that we could easily crash the car and die if we were on one of the many highways that lead to the vet and rain began.  I also worried abut the daily anesthesia and fifty million medications she has to take. 

We worked out her transportation for the radiation.  Alec switched his schedule to nights and I rented a car for nearly three weeks so that I could get to work in the mornings while he dropped her off north of the city in our car and I could pick her up in the afternoons after work in the rental car while he works.  I told my second job that I can't start for a minute.  But, the rain. Watching the rain and being in fear and begging people to ride around with a thrashing dog for sixteen days is a lot. And, it's awful for her, on top of all the other stresses.  After dropping her off for her first day of radiation, I drove to Petco and bought the biggest crate that would fit in the back seat, secured it with carabiners and put a comfy blanket in the bottom. Then, I ordered a second one for the rental car.

I love picking Lola up from the vet.  She runs at me and drags the vet techs behind her, tail wagging.  I cry every time I drop her off.  

I am physically catching up with my family in Tybee Island, yes, Tybee again, two times in one summer. They went down to the rental I picked out months ago on Tuesday and I’m flying down there today.  It was the same price as renting a one-way car and Alec is off until Saturday, when I come back.  He is going to take her back and forth to her daily appointments.  I almost didn’t go at all, but I know Alec will take care of her.  But it has been a difficult decision and I am not sure I can even enjoy a "vacation" knowing what she is going through.  

And, I cried after dropping her off for radiation this morning.

Hot Winds on My Shoulder

We sat in the full parking lot of the animal hospital.  It's north of the city in an ugly, traffic-y area.  Because of COVID, everyone was waiting in their cars with their dogs until someone came out to get them.  And then, you watch your dog walk into this big building and just keep waiting in the car.  It was a pretty tremendous operation.  They finally took Lola into the hospital to see the radio-oncologist.  I was surprised to watch her skip in there with a total stranger, butt shaking and into the hospital.  She didn't even look over her shoulder at me.  Quite a while later, the doctor emerged.  

"I am really not familiar with that shot, we don't do it here."  she began.  
The shot.  Neat.  The reason why we got a referral here.  The thing that would blast out that tumor without anesthesia or radiation.  The reason we were now seeing a third vet in fucking Sandy Springs-middle earth.  I looked at the ground.
"I recommend surgery.  The surgeon will not be able to get all of the tumor and Lola will require sixteen radiation treatments to eradicate the rest of it after surgery.  I want to aspirate her spleen and ultrasound her organs to make sure it hasn't spread.  This is going to take a few hours, you guys should go home.  I'll get her on the surgery schedule, it could be one to two weeks and then we'll schedule radiation.  Go home.  We'll call you."

We were back at square one.  Three vets later and back at square one and my dog still had a tumor on her leg that was malignant.  I pulled out of the parking lot and bawled my head off. 

Alec started googling every vet in Georgia and even in Tennessee to try to find someone that could evaluate Lola for the shot.  I didn't care if Lola was on every vet's schedule in town, the way this was going it seemed like the only way anyone was going to every treat this fucking thing.  UGA couldn't get her in for six weeks.  Most vets didn't have the shot.  Finally, a vet in Chattanooga knew what we were talking about and was available to evaluate Lola on July 8th.  

The radio-oncologist called and said that we could pick Lola up.  The ultrasound came out clear and Lola was scheduled for surgery on July 6th.  I hung up the phone and looked at Alec.  We had a decision to make, get the surgery or delay even more to get Lola evaluated for the shot.  We drove back to the animal hospital.

The vet came out with Lola.  

"I will have the results in 24 hours for the spleen."  she informed us.  

"I looked into it too and we do do the shot.  But, the tumor is too big, so she is not eligible for it."

"Okay."  I responded.  

"She's on the schedule for surgery and I will call you with the results of the spleen aspiration."

In ways, I was relieved that the decision had been made for us regarding surgery vs. shot.  But I was horrified by the idea of my dog being put under anesthesia for sixteen days and experiencing radiation.  They said it would blister, and be painful.  Even two weeks after the end, it's bad.  But, it has a 90% survival rate for 3-5 years before reoccurrence.  

The timeline was getting crazy, too.  Lola will have to be dropped off by seven in the morning and picked up in the afternoon.  I start working on July 26th, from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon.  I am also returning to my second job three days a week.  Alec and I have one car. He rides his bike to work and I use the car to get to where I work east of Atlanta, in the mornings it takes twenty-two minutes to get there, but from the vet it would take forty-five, if something crazy didn't happen.  The vet is north of Atlanta, about 40 minutes from where we live if traffic is tolerable.  My second job is in Decatur.  Radiation wouldn't begin until around two weeks after surgery and would be scheduled for sixteen, Monday through Friday days.  It would start the day I was supposed to go on a vacation that is non-refundable at this point and last through my pre-planning week and into the second week of school.  

I was scared to death about my dog and literally grinding my teeth to nubs trying to figure out how we would get her back and forth for her radiation and keep both of our jobs.  And, I was again pacing around with my phone in my hand waiting again to find out if it had spread to her spleen.  

Days later, the vet called and said that Lola's spleen was clear.  I started crying again, out of relief.  And, last Tuesday, she had her surgery.  The tumor has been removed.  Her leg is bandaged up to her knee and she is on "house rest", meaning she can't run around or jump.  We have been spending a lot of time indoors, laying on the couch while I pet her.  

As horrible as this is, I am beyond grateful that the cancer did not spread.  Everything would be even more awful right now.  Honestly, it would be intolerable.