Window Boy

by Andrea White

  “Hello, Mr. Davis,” Principal Cullen says. “I’ve seen you a few times in the halls, but I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. I’m Principal Cullen. Come in.”

  Miss Rawles stops typing and looks up. “A girl pushed him here. I don’t think that he can.”

  Of course, Sam could operate his wheelchair if Ann hadn’t been diligent and engaged the brake, but he doesn’t think that he should argue with the secretary.

  “Miss Rawles, will you escort Mr. Davis into my office and take notes while I interview him?” Principal Cullen says.

  Miss Rawles pushes Sam into the principal’s office, parks him across from his desk and closes the door. Principal Cullen’s office is small, with a large desk and a bookcase. Its bareness causes the paddle, hanging next to a diploma on the wall, to stand out.

  Miss Rawles sits down in a chair and immediately starts scribbling on her pad. What are you writing? Sam wonders.

  “Your mother promised that your nurse would accompany you every day. Where is she?” Principal Cullen asks. Sam knows that he and Miss Perkins are in some kind of trouble.

  That morning, Miss Perkins had surprised Sam by telling him that she had to go to the doctor’s. Sam doubts whether he can make the principal understand his version of the word ‘doctor.’ Enunciating a “d” and a “t” in one small word is difficult. So he takes a deep breath.

  “GGGone.” It’s a fair imitation, Sam thinks.

  The principal frowns at Sam. “Hum.” His fingers form a bridge as he stares at the ceiling for a moment. He looks around his office and grabs a dictionary from his bookshelf. He opens it, and walks over to Sam and presses it close to his face. The principal is a big man, and he has to bend over to press the book close to Sam’s face. “Tell me, Mr. Davis. Can you read this?”

  The print is too tiny—too small for Sam to see. “NNNo,” he says. Since he misses Miss Perkins, he adds as she has taught him, “SSir.” But he’s not feeling respectful. He’s feeling angry.

  Principal Cullen shakes his head and looks at the secretary who is busy writing. “Did you get that, Miss Rawles?”

  Miss Rawles looks up. “Yes.”

  Sam wants to tell Principal Cullen that he can read big type. To make his point, he tries to show the principal the cards that Ann designed for him, but in his excitement he loses control of his hand and pounds his tray.

  Principal Cullen shoots him an annoyed glance.

  “I understand the parents’ concerns, all right,” Principal Cullen says to Miss Rawles.

  Sam gives up on showing Principal Cullen the cards.

  Principal Cullen smiles. “I think I have a simple solution to the problem.” He turns to Sam. “Mr. Davis, I believe that you belong in a special school.”

  Special school?

  Sam shudders. All of a sudden, Sam is certain that any school that Principal Cullen thinks is special, he is sure to find especially awful. “SSSchool good.”

  Principal Cullen gives a hearty laugh. “I think you’ll like being with kids of your own ability even more.”

  Sam wants to tell Principal Cullen how much he respects Mrs. Martin. “LLLike tteacher,” he says. But he can tell that the principal isn’t listening.

  “Miss Rawles,” Principal Cullen says. “Go ahead and take Mr. Davis back to Mrs. Martin’s class.”

  ‘Yes, sir,” Miss Rawles says.

  Principal Cullen sits down behind the large desk. “Good to meet you, young man, and good luck,” he says.

  Sam is used to people not understanding him. But Principal Cullen is an educator. Sam’s not sure what he expected, but he feels a deep disappointment.

  Miss Rawles drops her notebook on Sam’s tray. She disengages his brake and begins pushing him back to class.

  Sam can’t help reading her childishly large handwriting: “EXIT INTERVIEW WITH S. DAVIS. WITNESS V. RAWLES. CAN’T TALK. CAN’T READ. NOT ON GRADE LEVEL.”

  Sam has been unfairly judged and has been found wanting. Without even practicing his sentence in his head, he protests, “IIII…can…read.”

  Miss Rawles doesn’t answer. Instead, she snatches her notebook from the tray and pockets it.

  When they arrive at Classroom 114, Miss Rawles tries to force Sam’s chair through the door. He has to pull his feet out of the way so that his toes won’t hit the frame.

  In her final maneuver, Miss Rawles slams her hand. “Darn you,” she exclaims.

  Sam doesn’t know if she’s angry with him or the door.

  As they enter, the kids’ eyes are trained on him. He has to use every ounce of self-control to keep himself from screaming, Darn you, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After class is dismissed for lunch, Mrs. Martin approaches Sam. When she leans down next to him, he notices dark circles under her eyes. “Sam, I’ve got to make a phone call to check on my twins. A horrible bug is going around, and my daughter caught it. Miss Perkins said she would be back for lunch. Are you O.K. if I leave you alone for just a minute?”

  Ann has already gone. Sam looks doubtfully around at the empty classroom, but he finds the courage to say, “YYes.”

  “You need to practice talking more. You’re really good,” Mrs. Martin says.

  “TTThanks,” Sam says.

  Mrs. Martin smiles at him. “Miss Perkins says that you can stand and walk a few steps. You ought to practice walking, also.”

  Sam doesn’t like to walk. He’s heard too often that he might fall and break his leg.

  Mrs. Martin yawns. “I hate to leave you alone, but I’ll check on you soon,” she promises as she walks out the door.

  Sam looks at the clock. It says 12:06.

  Miss Perkins is never late to important stuff like lunches. Could she have gotten in an accident?

  If something awful has happened, Sam wonders how long he will sit next to the potted plants before someone notices him. Will Mrs. Martin remember to come back? Who will take him to the restroom? Since the class doesn’t have an afternoon break, Ann won’t be able to speak to him. Sam doesn’t want to be alone. He might think about Principal Cullen’s paddle. The pleased way the principal had said the words “special school.”

  Mickey Kotov walks by and glances into the classroom.

  Miss Perkins always says, “Be careful what you wish for.” As if he were on the basketball court, Mickey pivots and makes a fast break toward Sam.

  Sam had wished for company, but he’s attracted the wrong kind.

  Mickey’s T-shirt still hangs loose from his visit to the principal’s office. Sam wants to sympathize. He longs to say, Principal Cullen is a bully, but Mickey doesn’t give him a chance. As he strides over to Sam, Mickey starts talking so fast that spit shoots out of his mouth.

  “I warned you, didn’t I? Why do you keep spying on me, Vindow Boy?”

  Vindow Boy? At first, Sam doesn’t understand Mickey’s funny accent. Then, it occurs to him that Mickey is saying, Window Boy. So Mickey has seen him at night.

  “I know you want to play. You ever arm-vrestled?” Without waiting for an answer, Mickey says, “It’s fun.”

  When Sam doesn’t move, Mickey continues, “I bet your spazzy hand can grab mine.” He puts his elbow down on Sam’s tray and says, “O.K., now let’s go over the rrrules.”

  Sam would rather have a broken leg than a broken right pointer finger. If Mickey breaks a bone, he worries that his finger will never work as well again. As he pulls it toward his chest, his heart begins fluttering. Who will he be without his finger? He uses it to write. It’s his only way to communicate complicated thoughts.

  Mickey leans towards Sam.

  Sam wants to beg Mickey to spare his right hand, but he’s breathing too hard to attempt speech.

  “Hold out your hand,” Mickey repeats his command.

  When Sam really concentrates, sometimes, he can propel his legs into a flurry of activity, perhaps just confusing and chaotic enough to scare this boy away. Just as he starts to will his legs to kick, Sam hea
rs someone enter the room. He prays that it’s his dear sweet Miss Perkins.

  Mickey turns toward the noise.

  Charlie Simmons is standing in the doorway. He’s much taller and stockier than Mickey. While Mickey’s hair is shaggy, Charlie’s is neatly brushed and oiled. “What rules?” he asks.

  Mickey sneers. “Old Sam and I are arm wrestling. You want to try to beat me, too?”

  Sam’s heart thumps in his chest. What if Charlie doesn’t understand? What if he thinks that Sam wants to play Mickey’s game?

  Charlie’s gaze seeks out Sam. In response, Sam puts all his fear and frustration into a backward roll of his eyes.

  Charlie steps inside the room. “You leave Sam alone,” he orders Mickey.

  “You think you’re so great! You and that loser basketball team” Mickey shouts.

  Charlie clenches his fists and rushes towards Mickey.

  Mickey swings at him and misses.

  Charlie rams Mickey into Mrs. Martin’s desk. It shifts a few inches to the left, and her empty flower vase clangs on the desktop.

  Mickey jumps forward. His hands are balled into fists, ready to fight.

  Charlie charges again.

  Sam thinks of Mickey’s sweaty face when he was leaving the principal’s office and his untucked shirt. He remembers Mickey’s moans as he was getting beaten. Even though Mickey is mean, he can’t bear to think that Mickey will get swatted again. In fact, both Charlie and Mickey are going to get into trouble.

  Sam takes a deep breath. “NNNo!” he thunders.

  Mickey’s fist freezes in midair. His mouth hangs open in surprise.

  Sam remembers that Mickey hadn’t been in class the day that he spoke out in history. Sam knows that Mickey never talks to the other kids. Maybe Mickey hasn’t figured out that Sam can speak.

  “Yeah.” Charlie reacts to the astonishment written all over Mickey’s face. “He can talk. He’s a real person, not just a lump in a wheelchair.”

  It’s then that Sam realizes that this is the moment that he’s dreamed of for so long. He has the attention of both Mickey Kotov and Charlie Simmons.

  He remembers Winnie’s good advice: Right now, your purpose is to get Mickey Kotov on that basketball team.

  Sam has never practiced the words “point guard.” He doubts whether either of the boys will understand him, but he aims his finger at Mickey, anyway. He does his best to force his tongue to say the words, “ppynt gaaard.”

  Both of the boys stare at Sam as if he were a lunatic, but Charlie drops his hand from Mickey’s collar.

  Mickey’s fists hang by his side.

  Charlie wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Is he saying point guard?” he asks Mickey.

  “That’s my position at my old skool,” Mickey says. “How did he know?”

  Charlie shrugs. “Beats me.”

  “Ppynt gaaard,” Sam insists as Miss Perkins bustles through the door. He has lots more advice: Not only that, Charlie, you should be center. You should stay down low and get rebounds. You can’t dribble.

  Miss Perkins’ mouth forms an “O” as she takes in the sight of the boys’ rumpled shirts and tousled hair.

  Miss Perkins touches each boy lightly on the shoulders as she passes. She picks up the fallen vase and rights it on the desk. “You two need to go play in the cafeteria.” She hurries over to Sam. “I’m so sorry. It’s raining. The buses were late. But I’m here now. Not to worry.”

  Charlie casts a protective glance in Sam’s direction.

  Sam smiles at him. “TThanks.”

  Mickey rushes out the door. Perhaps he is afraid that Miss Perkins will report him to the principal.

  Charlie follows at a slower pace. He seems to want to talk but all he says is, “See you on the court, Sam.”

  When Miss Perkins sits down next to Sam, she pulls his lunch sack from The Suitcase. She gets out a jar of mashed potatoes and digs for the spoon.

  Sam waits patiently. He’s glad that Miss Perkins hasn’t been in an accident, but he can’t help wishing that she had arrived just a few minutes later. He was on the verge of something. On the verge of fulfilling his purpose—the purpose that Winnie had talked to him about. And now his chance is ruined.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After school, Sam begins work with Mrs. Martin, Miss Perkins hovering anxiously over him. Although when Mickey had been about to break his hand and he had desperately wanted to see his caretaker, now he wishes that she would have another doctor’s appointment.

  “Your essay has to be about a wartime hero. I assume you want to write about Churchill,” Mrs. Martin says. She takes a sip of hot coffee out of her Styrofoam cup.

  “I’m sure that’s right,” Miss Perkins breaks in.

  Sam knows that Miss Perkins is excited for him to get a chance to show Mrs. Martin all he knows. So why won’t she let him do the talking?

  “Sam?” Mrs. Martin repeats her question.

  “YYess,” Sam says eagerly.

  “Let’s start with a title,” Mrs. Martin says.

  “If you move the alphabet sheet closer, he can reach it easier,” Miss Perkins points out.

  After shooting a glance at Miss Perkins, Mrs. Martin moves the alphabet sheet closer to Sam.

  “I can write down the letters for you,” Miss Perkins offers.

  Mrs. Martin turns and looks at her hard. Miss Perkins is just trying to be helpful, but Sam senses that Mrs. Martin wishes that Miss Perkins would be quiet, too.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Mrs. Martin says. “Doesn’t Sam live close by?”

  Miss Perkins nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Let me have Sam for the afternoon.” Mrs. Martin looks at her watch. “Would you mind coming back in an hour?”

  Sam grins at Miss Perkins to show her that this plan is fine with him.

  “That would be a real help,” Miss Perkins says. “I could use the time on my chores. I’ll be back at 4:30.”

  “Don’t be late. My mother says my daughter is doing better, thank goodness. But I need to get home,” Mrs. Martin says.

  “I’ll be right on time,” Miss Perkins says.

  Mrs. Martin mutters to herself, “Maybe starting with the title is too hard.”

  Miss Perkins picks up The Suitcase. “Sam has written essays for me. He knows all about titles.”

  Without glancing at Miss Perkins, Mrs. Martin says in a firm tone, “4:30.” She turns to Sam. “Why don’t you answer this question? What do you admire most about Winston Churchill?”

  “His bravery,” Miss Perkins calls from the doorway. As she exits, Sam feels ungrateful but he is glad that his shadow is gone. Not only his shadow but also his interpreter. And he reminds himself that it’s not her fault that she cannot always express things just as he would say or mean them.

  What does Sam admire most about Winnie? As usual, he has to admit that Miss Perkins is right. It’s his bravery. After France surrendered to Germany in June, 1940, Britain, undermanned and under-funded, fought on alone. Winnie turned the terror of a possible defeat into a challenge. Sam remembers the speech Winnie gave after the surrender of France: Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, ‘This was their finest hour.’19

  Sam loves the knack that Winnie has of making danger and loneliness seem like opportunities. He also admires the way that during the war, Winnie never acted afraid.

  Suddenly, Sam notices Mrs. Martin’s hand hiding her yawn. She is nibbling on her fingernails in impatience. Her dark eyes dart to the clock, then back to the alphabet sheet, pencil and notepad.

  He wonders how long he has been lost in thought. He starts writing.

  He taps the I, then the A…D…M…I…R…E and she begins writing them down.

  The thought of referring to the name ‘WINSTON CHURCHILL’ over and over again exhausts Sam. He decides to use W
C.

  When Sam selects these initials, Mrs. Martin nods as if she understands. He starts pointing as fast as he can. BECAUSE WC’S SENSE THAT HIS LIFE HAD A PURPOSE KEPT HIM FROM BEING AFRAID. Mrs. Martin is having a hard time keeping up, and he slows down. He loves talking to someone about the things that he thinks about all the time.

  WHEN WC WAS FIGHTING IN WORLD WAR I, A GENERAL ASKED WC TO MEET WITH HIM AT A SITE THREE MILES AWAY. AS WC MARCHED TO THE MEETING, THE ROAR OF SHELLS WAS CONSTANT. WHEN WC ARRIVED, HE WAS ANNOYED TO LEARN THAT THE GENERAL NO LONGER WANTED TO SEE HIM.20

  WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THE MEETING? WC ASKED AN OFFICER.

  NOTHING IN PARTICULAR, THE OFFICER TOLD HIM.

  WC WAS FURIOUS. HE BEGAN ANOTHER LONG, SLIDING, SLIPPERY, SPLASHING WADDLE BACK TO THE TRENCHES. WHEN HE ARRIVED AT HIS UNIT, ONE OF THE MEN HE SERVED WITH SHOUTED TO HIM. YOU’RE IN LUCK TODAY.

  HARDLY, WC REPLIED, THINKING OF HIS LONG POINTLESS TRIP.

  YES, YOU ARE. FIVE MINUTES AFTER YOU LEFT, YOUR DUGOUT WAS BLOWN UP. WC’S ROOMMATE WAS DEAD, KILLED BY THE EXPLOSION.

  WC SAID, THERE CAME THE STRONG SENSATION THAT A HAND HAD BEEN STRETCHED OUT TO MOVE ME IN THE NICK OF TIME FROM A FATAL SPOT.

  I ADMIRE WC BECAUSE HE HAS ALWAYS FELT THAT HAND ON HIS SHOULDER.

  DURING WORLD WAR I WITH THOUSANDS OF MEN DYING IN THE BATTLEFIELDS AROUND HIM, WC WROTE TO HIS WIFE, I BELIEVE THAT I AM TO BE PRESERVED FOR FUTURE THINGS.21

  WHEN HE WAS FINALLY ELECTED PRIME MINISTER, WC SAID, I FELT AS IF I WERE WALKING WITH DESTINY, AND THAT ALL MY PAST LIFE HAD BEEN BUT A PREPARATION FOR THIS HOUR AND FOR THIS TRIAL. I WAS SURE I SHOULD NOT FAIL.22

  Despite the dark circles under her eyes, Mrs. Martin is smiling eagerly at him now.

  WC ALMOST GOT KILLED MANY TIMES. He pauses. His finger is aching, but he finds the strength to continue. HE LOST A LOT OF ELECTIONS. WHEN HE BECAME PRIME MINISTER DURING WORLD WAR II, MOST PEOPLE THOUGHT THAT GERMANY WOULD WIN THE WAR. AFTER WC LED ENGLAND THROUGH ITS MOST DANGEROUS PERIOD IN HISTORY AND THE WAR IN EUROPE WAS WON, THE VOTERS VOTED HIM OUT OF OFFICE.