“I just heard. Some kids.”
Why does everyone know about my teacher? “She’s the best teacher I have. I don’t want her to leave.”
He stops and eyes me. “Maddie, you wouldn’t understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“She did something that’s a big sin.”
“No, you’re wrong. Miss Stanley prays to Saint Rita, and Saint Rita answers her prayers.”
“Well, it’s true. She sinned.”
I want to argue, but instead I keep standing there watching him go back to sorting little metal pieces and putting them in their special drawers. Rob is smart.
“So, Father Stevens is making her leave?”
“Probably, but she also has to.”
“Can you please tell me? I really want to know. She’s my favorite teacher.”
“Haven’t you noticed she’s sort of fat these days?”
Oh, that’s what’s different. I nod. She’s nowhere near as fat as Mrs. Ellen, but she does look different.
“That’s because she’s pregnant and is going to have a baby.”
“That’s impossible; she’s not married.”
Rob rolls his eyes. I wonder if it happened the way the Blessed Virgin became pregnant with Jesus, but that wouldn’t be a sin.
“You don’t understand.” He turns away from me and continues to sort through the nuts and bolts.
~CHAPTER 38~
2005
MATT, THE GENTLE GIANT, is shuffling down the hall with a wiggly second grader at his side. David and Goliath. The curly-haired boy breaks into an exuberant gallop. I hear Matt’s patient, firm voice calling out, reminding him of the no-running rule. Curly-haired David is back at Matt’s side now, giggling and hopping like a bunny. I wave at Matt when he turns back toward his office, controlling my own impulse to gallop ahead.
“Matt, do you have a few minutes?” I follow him into his warm, spacious office.
“Yeah, about ten before the friendship group starts. By the way, you did a fabulous job facilitating the meeting with Kaylee’s teachers.”
“Thanks. Shelby sure was impressive,” I say. Matt simply nods. “Obviously, she’s still dealing with it,” I offer, but he doesn’t say a thing. “To share with all of us that she had to repeat first grade, that took courage.”
“True. But like she said, she had a late birth date and just wasn’t ready.”
“But Matt, still this is a big admission. It still haunts her.”
“She seems to me to be at peace with it.”
I stare at him. He doesn’t understand. In fact, like my own brother, he skipped a grade, so how could he understand?
“Well, I’m just glad she made it clear how hard it would have been on Kaylee. Teachers rarely get this.”
“Hmm. So, what’s up?”
I glance at my watch. Five minutes before the friendship group. “I met with Diane Adams this morning. She’s worried about Grace. Evidently, even though the highly capable folks know she’s in special education and needs accommodations, they’re basically treating her like all the other kids, and it’s not working.”
“Are you going to talk with them?”
“You know it. She’s working her heart out trying to keep up. It’s taking a toll on her self-esteem. Matt, she’s brilliant but doesn’t think so.” My voice chokes as I weep inwardly at this thought. “So, yes. I’ll definitely have a word or two with Geraldine.”
“Maybe you should try to make time to talk with Grace,” Matt says.
“Of course. And that’s what I planned on until I realized just how many new referrals I’ve received. I’ve been totally slammed. You know how it is during spring.” My heart picks up speed. “Actually, I was wondering if you might have time to see her. She could use some counseling.”
“Dr. Mary.” A tentative smile plays along the edges of his lips. “You already have a relationship with her.”
“Matt, I wouldn’t be asking if I thought I could fit her in. Besides, you’re the counselor.”
He flinches, says nothing, and I feel like shit. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, and quickly add, “I just don’t have a lot of time.” I move toward the door.
“Wait.”
I pause and look at him, hoping he’s changed his mind.
“So how are things going with Irene?”
“Fine. I guess.” I open the door to leave.
“Hey, wait a minute. Are you sure things are okay?”
I sigh and turn toward him. All I see is sincerity; he’s one damn good counselor. And he’s the only one who knows I’m even in therapy. I step back in.
“It’s going better than I thought it would.” I pull out a chair from the small round table and sit down.
“Yeah?”
“In all honesty, I’m sure therapy had a lot to do with how that meeting went with Kaylee’s teachers.”
“Dr. Mary, you’re back in the game.”
I think of Grace and wish he were right. I force myself to smile anyway.
“The thing is, I often feel as though I’m living parallel lives—my past and present. The past keeps popping up in unexpected ways, and I never know what will trigger a gush of tears. But on the way to work today, I decided I’ll go to the new sculpture exhibit at the Minneapolis Art Institute this weekend instead of doing the usual.” Which would have been too embarrassing to say: sleeping until noon, spending hours with Vespers writing random thoughts.
“Great! Sounds like progress to me. Therapy can start out feeling like uncharted territory. When Beth and I got together, I began acting way too much like my father, who was one mean son of a bitch. He gifted me with a terrible role model for being in a relationship, and I cared too much to let my relationship with Beth suffer due to my own issues.”
“You’re so brave.” I think of my failed marriage. Therapy simply didn’t occur to either of us.
“I’ve seen a few counselors over the years. Irene is good. She helped me sort out a lot of old garbage. I think it helps to know what to expect.”
I thought I knew.
“How’d the homework go this week?” Irene asks.
I put on an air of confidence. Something about sitting on this sofa in a scheduled time frame fully activates my competent, intelligent persona. Or perhaps this persona emerges in reaction to the humility I feel at having been given homework in the first place.
“Ah, yes. No time to write it down, but I definitely paid close attention to the situations that angered or upset me.”
“And?”
With ease, I share my outrage at the highly capable program, at Geraldine, the incompetent coordinator, at their failure to acknowledge Grace as both having dyslexia and being gifted, the need for the program to be under different leadership. I share a few other instances of my noticing and pulling back from reacting, of calming myself down. A bubble of silence follows. I’m comfortable with it, sure that I’ve received passing grades on my homework.
“And what are your thoughts regarding your resistance to seeing Grace?”
I catch my breath, my face reddens, and anger ignites. “Like I said, I’m extremely busy. I have six new evaluations due within two weeks.”
Her serene expression makes it clear she’s not buying this. Not only that, she isn’t even going to argue with me, which, by now, I should expect.
I turn toward the window, welcoming the quiet moment as I scramble to pull myself into a state that resembles competence.
“I can see you care deeply for this child,” she says. All I can do is nod. “You feel a tremendous amount of empathy with her struggle to overcome her disability and to assert her pride in herself.”
I nod again, the anger melting away. I drop my head so she won’t see my eyes filling. A tear slips onto my lap and I hold my eyes wide open, hoping to contain the rest. Damn, this is hard.
“Who does she remind you of?”
I squeeze the couch cushions an
d notice the breeze from the partially open window. It’s so inviting I imagine myself floating out into the open sky . . . but here I sit, smack in the middle of the couch with a tissue box in front of me. I breathe deeply, turn toward Irene, and give an honest answer. “Myself.”
For a fleeting moment, I see her: Maddie. Hand raised, swinging back and forth. She has the answer to her teacher’s questions. I feel the heaviness of the black coat. Its weight sinks my body deep into the couch. No longer can I contain the flow of tears streaming down my face. I’m shamelessly grabbing tissue after tissue. When will this misery end?
~CHAPTER 39~
1967
“STAR, PART, small, walrus.” I’ve never read so many words, and not one had I worked to memorize. It’s like meeting someone new and knowing right off what to say.
“Mrs. Ellen, look how fast I’m reading these!”
“When letter e shows up at the end of the word, letter a changes its mind about giving up its own sound,” says Mrs. Ellen. “Sort of like saying, ‘Wait a minute. If you’re going to join this party, I want everyone to know my name.’ Like with most words ending in letter e, it feels a need to say its own name. Except,” Mrs. Ellen says, and she cups her ears and leans forward, whispering, “hearing letter a say its name is hard. You have to listen carefully.” She winks and then continues. “Instead of hearing the clear sound of a as in came, you’ll hear something that sounds like the word air, such as the air that you breathe.” She sucks in a huge breath of air and holds it long enough to turn her cheeks redder than a radish, making me giggle.
“Listen carefully,” she says in a regular teacher voice. “Say the long sound for letter a—its name.”
This is easy enough.
“Now, say it again and add the r sound.”
I give it a try, a, followed by errr—it does sound like air. Mrs. Ellen is smart.
Mrs. Ellen is now pointing to the first word on the next Read It list. It’s care, and now I know why it’s not read as car or carry.
Two minutes before the afternoon recess bell, Mrs. Zinc passes out the list of spelling words for the week. I shove it in my take-home folder, clear my desk, and prepare to dash to the front of the line as soon as the bell rings. Paulette is busy putting her things away when her spelling list travels over to my side of the desk. Just as I’m about to swipe it back, my eyes catch hold of the first word on the list.
“I know this word.”
Paulette turns and looks at me.
“I know this. The word is believe.”
Paulette snatches the list up. “You’re right,” she says, then neatly tucks it into a folder.
This has never happened before, and it makes me curious. Maybe I know the other words. I grab my take-home folder and pull out my spelling list. The words look like they usually do: a bunch of letters thrown together. But I did get the first word, believe, an important word, the word Yram pointed me to in the book. For the first time ever, I really want to know the other words.
“Paulette, will you read these to me?”
Paulette is still straightening her desk for recess. “Madelyn, the bell’s going to ring any moment.”
“I just want to know what the words are.”
“I thought your mother helped you with that.” Paulette’s mad at me for not playing jump rope with her. A moment later, the bell rings, but I stay at my desk. When everyone has left, I grab the spelling list and go to Mrs. Zinc who holds the door open.
“Mrs. Zinc, I know this first word. It’s believe.”
“Very good, Madelyn.”
“Can you tell me the other words?”
“Sure. And remember, from now on, you only need to practice the first five for the spelling test.”
I had forgotten this new rule. I hadn’t looked at Paulette’s test for three weeks in a row. Mrs. Zinc must have decided there were too many words for me to learn all on my own.
“Here are the words you need to know.” Mrs. Zinc points to the string of letters after believe. “The words are possible, through, special, and secret. Now you better get going or recess will be over.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Zinc.” I shove the list back in my take-home folder and begin to say them over and over so I won’t forget. Possible, through, special, secret. I then make up a sentence to help me remember: Believe anything is possible through a special secret. I get in line for tetherball, and when it’s my turn, I say to myself one word for every hit. Believe. Anything. Is. Possible. Through. A. Special. Secret. When the bell rings, ending recess, I know I won’t forget the words. Now all I need to do is memorize the letters so I can spell them.
On my way home, three seats behind Mr. Lakowski, snugged up against the window, I pull out the spelling list. The letters to believe jump out at me. The others are just letters in a row, but now I have a way of knowing what the words are. I say my sentence and touch the words in order, looking carefully at the letters. Believe anything is possible through a special secret. After six times through, the letters finally begin to look as if they belong together.
My three brothers and I tumble off the bus onto our dirt driveway. It’s a day to show both Danny and Jack that I’m the fastest one. I look back once as I race ahead. They’re trying to keep up and can’t. Rob, who has never raced, is also jogging. I pretend to not notice him. I gulp down a glass of water as soon as I reach the house. Jack and Danny hit the pantry for a snack, and then Rob comes in. His breath sounds funny, wheezing. I try not to look at him so he won’t be embarrassed. He also gets a glass of water.
“Will Dad let you do track?”
“No. But don’t tell him I’m going to try out to be manager. My math teacher told me about this. It’s cool. If I get the job, I’ll be the one to help keep the score, and I can still practice when I’m not having a breathing problem.”
I look away. He’s so much stronger than all of us, and it doesn’t make sense that he can’t breathe the right way when he runs.
He’s holding The Hobbit. It’s three or four or five times thicker than The Fairy Angel’s Gift. Probably lots more small words too. Even though he’s smart, I don’t think he’d understand the story hiding under my pillow . . . at least not the hidden chapters.
“Are you almost done?”
“Yeah, I’m going to finish tonight. But my teacher will keep reading it for the next couple of weeks.”
“It’s sad to end a story. My teacher finished The Fairy Angel’s Gift. I miss listening to it.”
He looks at me in a funny way as if he doesn’t understand. And I remember, for him, books never really end; he can read them over and over.
“You know, Maddie, when you’re old enough, I think you’ll be great at track.”
“Thanks.”
Off he goes to read, and that’s what I do too. Knowing four more words, I’m certain I’ll read even more. I begin by taking another look at my spelling list. “Possible, p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e.” Then I hold the book, gaze out my bedroom window at the oak tree, and open it to wherever. I place my finger in the middle of the page and start scanning, expecting one of my spelling words to jump out at me, and one does—the word special. And it sits next to a word I can sound out—web. This must be the part about Gwendolyn and her special web. The letters surrounding these two words make no sense, but that’s okay. I’m ready to find a web like Gwendolyn’s, and I know exactly where to go.
Outside my bedroom, I hear Danny and Jack laughing with the TV. I tiptoe past them, go through the kitchen, and then dash out the door to the hiding place. I can hardly believe it—there’s a new web stretched across the opening. It sparkles in the late-afternoon sun. I grab a stick to remove it but stop before touching it. It’s new and perfect. It too is a special web.
I look more closely. Each square of space between the thin lines of web makes a pattern reminding me of Grandma O’Leary’s quilts. I wonder if Grandma knew spiders also made quilts. I still don’t like seeing spiders, but I want to touch the web. I put my finger to it, an
d when I pull it back, the web vibrates as if it has come alive. On the opposite side, I see the small sandpaper-colored spider move out from its hiding spot and place one tiny flawless leg on its marvelous web.
I drop to my belly and inch myself into the hideout without disturbing the masterpiece. I wait. Finally, off in the distance, I spy a flicker of lavender wings. I scoot out to follow, but Mom’s green station wagon pulls into the driveway, and Jack and Danny come racing out to meet her. I’ll join up with Yram later.
“It’s dinnertime,” yells Danny. I lift myself up from my bedroom floor where I had sat leaning against the bed, paging through my book. I don’t see Uncle Joe’s truck out the window. I’m sure I would have heard it anyway. It feels weird to be glad that he’s not here for dinner. In the kitchen, I smell sweet tomatoes, rice, and hamburger bubbling together in my favorite casserole—Texas Hash. Mom’s pulling the casserole out of the oven, and Jack is looking in the fridge for ketchup.
“Will Uncle Joe be coming?” Jack asks.
“I don’t know, honey. If he gets here, I’m sure there will be plenty of leftovers.”
A wave of sadness settles into me. I’ve always been happy to see Uncle Joe, but not tonight. I’m still mad at him for acting like Father. And he didn’t tell me the truth.
Once dinner is over, Danny begins to clear the table without anyone asking him. He sees me noticing.
“Maddie, have you discovered any more hidden chapters?”
“I sure have. As soon as we get all these dishes into the kitchen, I’ll tell you.” I let him do most of the clearing. I pull out the dishpan and start the water before I begin the story. “It’s not as easy as Mary thought to break the spell. Remember, she got poisoned and no longer believed she could read. So, of course, she couldn’t teach Alice. What she really wanted was to find Yram, because she thought since Yram helped Ethan, she could also help her.”
“But you said it was too dangerous for Yram—there’s the rumor and hope snatchers.”
“That’s right. But Mary wanted to believe this wasn’t true, that she could still find Yram. She also didn’t want Ethan to know that she now didn’t think she could read. She remembered how Gwendolyn had helped Yram, so she found her way into the Forest of Wisdom. Just like Yram, she was very afraid. Gwendolyn is wise, but she’s still a large spider.”
Once Upon a Time a Sparrow Page 19
