Chevron
by This Girl
by This Girl
The crisp fall weather and barren trees were a sharp contrast to the vibrant colors of the coats and scarves worn by the screaming second grade class as they recessed. Children swinging, skipping and reveling in a break from the tedium of reading, writing and rithmitic behaved like tiny maniacs in a ward filled with jungle gyms and see-saws.
I sat on the step to the main building, staring into the distance. My mind was on the cigarette I was wishing was in my hand and a plot to grab another cup of coffee before beginning the next lesson was formulating in my head. Caffeine and nicotine. A way to get through the morning hours til lunch, then the afternoon til recess, and finally til the children went away. An almost circadian rhythm of teaching elementary school for the 10th year. Starting out, it had been a crusade to educate and illuminate the life of a child with the glow of knowledge and curiosity.
Now, it was just a job. I cared for the kids, but as soon as that bell rang, I was gone.
Herding the children back into the construction paper bedecked halls of the school, we finished the day with art projects that were Pollock inspired not by intent, but by pure lack of imagination and motor skills. Hanging each piece to dry on a clothesline with various multi colored clothespins, I barely gave the images a second thought as I quickly turned out the lights, locked the door, and headed for my car that I could barely afford.
It was getting colder out as the day waned, and my breath puffed out in front of me as I unlocked the door. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted one of my students standing by herself, neck craned to spot a car heading to pick her up. She was small for her age, with long ashy hair and a sweet face stuck behind a bright pink scarf. She was one of the quiet ones, and never gave me trouble so I'd never really paid her any mind. My phone twirped, and looking down I saw a text from a girlfriend asking me to meet her for much needed drinks. As I pulled away, a beat up Subaru pulled up and the anxious expression on the little girls face disappeared.
The next morning dawned cold and hungover. Caffeine and nicotine and aspirin. Entering the room, I started pulling down paintings that had improved little after drying and began placing them accordingly on each students desk. Timmy painted a lion. I think. Lilly painted a flower with a smiley face. Barf. Rachel painted a tree with a racoons face peeking from a hole in the trunk. Not bad.
The next page was from the little girl standing outside by herself the previous afternoon. It depicted a gas station with a man standing in front of it. The man was wearing a white blob which could have been a robe, and had a yellow circle above his head, a childish interpretation of a halo. I had no idea what it was meant to depict, but with my pounding head and the countdown to the arrival of my students, I gave it little thought.
As the kids filed in noisily, I loudly announced the schedule for the day that I had meticulously written on the board. Addition, subtraction, telling time...lunch came and went, and then recess. The kids all screamed out the door, save the little girl. She slowly came towards the front of the classroom, where I was putting on my coat.
"Ms. Leehman?" she asked, quietly getting permission from me for her to speak. I looked down at her and was about to urge her to get her coat as well when I noticed the dried tears on her round chipmunk cheeks. Something inside of me shifted. I forgot the headache and the fuzziness behind my eyes, and finally looked at this hurting little person who was now looking at me with fresh tears welling up in her eyes. I was seeing her, my student, for what seemed like the first time. I was feeling it again, the fire that urged me to protect this little girl and to make everything okay for her.
Holding my finger up to her to wait, I called to one of the teachers in the hallway to cover my recess shift. I gestured for her to join me in the reading circle, and when we had both settled into our bean bag chairs, she told me. About how her dad had two jobs, and worked nights at a gas station to keep a roof over their heads. How some man had killed him for the money in his cash drawer and snacks from the front counter. How now it was just her and a littler sister with their mom, all scared, all lost, and all mourning. She explained it as a child would, with an adult tone creeping into her words that broke my heart. Tears flowed, from both of us, and though I was told to never show affection to the kids, I grabbed this little girl and hugged her until all her tears had gone. And I started to talk.
"I know it's going to hurt. And I know it's going to be hard. But you talk to me whenever you need to talk. Let me know if there's anything you need. Ever. My door is always open. And the principal and I will talk to your mom. Ok?"
She nodded. With one last squeeze, I walked her over to her coat, helped her to put it on, and walked with her to the double doors leading to outside. I sat on my step. She sat with me. We watched the other children playing in silence. I watched the kids with new, refreshed eyes and realized that the politics and the rules and the standardized testing didn't mean anything. The grading papers and the wasted weekends crafting assignments didn't mean anything. My shit didn't mean ANYTHING. These kids meant everything.
And I was going to do my best for them. And for this little girl, whose name was Sarah.
I sat on the step to the main building, staring into the distance. My mind was on the cigarette I was wishing was in my hand and a plot to grab another cup of coffee before beginning the next lesson was formulating in my head. Caffeine and nicotine. A way to get through the morning hours til lunch, then the afternoon til recess, and finally til the children went away. An almost circadian rhythm of teaching elementary school for the 10th year. Starting out, it had been a crusade to educate and illuminate the life of a child with the glow of knowledge and curiosity.
Now, it was just a job. I cared for the kids, but as soon as that bell rang, I was gone.
Herding the children back into the construction paper bedecked halls of the school, we finished the day with art projects that were Pollock inspired not by intent, but by pure lack of imagination and motor skills. Hanging each piece to dry on a clothesline with various multi colored clothespins, I barely gave the images a second thought as I quickly turned out the lights, locked the door, and headed for my car that I could barely afford.
It was getting colder out as the day waned, and my breath puffed out in front of me as I unlocked the door. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted one of my students standing by herself, neck craned to spot a car heading to pick her up. She was small for her age, with long ashy hair and a sweet face stuck behind a bright pink scarf. She was one of the quiet ones, and never gave me trouble so I'd never really paid her any mind. My phone twirped, and looking down I saw a text from a girlfriend asking me to meet her for much needed drinks. As I pulled away, a beat up Subaru pulled up and the anxious expression on the little girls face disappeared.
The next morning dawned cold and hungover. Caffeine and nicotine and aspirin. Entering the room, I started pulling down paintings that had improved little after drying and began placing them accordingly on each students desk. Timmy painted a lion. I think. Lilly painted a flower with a smiley face. Barf. Rachel painted a tree with a racoons face peeking from a hole in the trunk. Not bad.
The next page was from the little girl standing outside by herself the previous afternoon. It depicted a gas station with a man standing in front of it. The man was wearing a white blob which could have been a robe, and had a yellow circle above his head, a childish interpretation of a halo. I had no idea what it was meant to depict, but with my pounding head and the countdown to the arrival of my students, I gave it little thought.
As the kids filed in noisily, I loudly announced the schedule for the day that I had meticulously written on the board. Addition, subtraction, telling time...lunch came and went, and then recess. The kids all screamed out the door, save the little girl. She slowly came towards the front of the classroom, where I was putting on my coat.
"Ms. Leehman?" she asked, quietly getting permission from me for her to speak. I looked down at her and was about to urge her to get her coat as well when I noticed the dried tears on her round chipmunk cheeks. Something inside of me shifted. I forgot the headache and the fuzziness behind my eyes, and finally looked at this hurting little person who was now looking at me with fresh tears welling up in her eyes. I was seeing her, my student, for what seemed like the first time. I was feeling it again, the fire that urged me to protect this little girl and to make everything okay for her.
Holding my finger up to her to wait, I called to one of the teachers in the hallway to cover my recess shift. I gestured for her to join me in the reading circle, and when we had both settled into our bean bag chairs, she told me. About how her dad had two jobs, and worked nights at a gas station to keep a roof over their heads. How some man had killed him for the money in his cash drawer and snacks from the front counter. How now it was just her and a littler sister with their mom, all scared, all lost, and all mourning. She explained it as a child would, with an adult tone creeping into her words that broke my heart. Tears flowed, from both of us, and though I was told to never show affection to the kids, I grabbed this little girl and hugged her until all her tears had gone. And I started to talk.
"I know it's going to hurt. And I know it's going to be hard. But you talk to me whenever you need to talk. Let me know if there's anything you need. Ever. My door is always open. And the principal and I will talk to your mom. Ok?"
She nodded. With one last squeeze, I walked her over to her coat, helped her to put it on, and walked with her to the double doors leading to outside. I sat on my step. She sat with me. We watched the other children playing in silence. I watched the kids with new, refreshed eyes and realized that the politics and the rules and the standardized testing didn't mean anything. The grading papers and the wasted weekends crafting assignments didn't mean anything. My shit didn't mean ANYTHING. These kids meant everything.
And I was going to do my best for them. And for this little girl, whose name was Sarah.
