by EJ Valson
Along the baseboards were knickknacks such as antique bicycles and giant alphabet blocks with U.S.A. painted on them. Also, in each hallway, there was at least one bench, flanked by a side table. The benches were adorned with red, white, and blue pillows and the tables sported tablecloths, lamps, and more knickknacks.
Adorable was the only suitable word to describe this place. I would want to learn here if I were a child, it was so warm and inviting. Heck, I’d like to spend Christmas here. It looked like my grandmother’s house!
The more old-fashioned memorabilia I walked past, though, the more I wondered how it had survived in this place. This was a facility filled to the brim with small children— children with flailing arms and clumsy feet. How did this stuff manage not to get broken? Weren’t the decorative bicycles ridden down the hallways by ornery boys? I was curious to watch the kids move from corridor to corridor so I could see for myself how often things were broken or damaged.
The radio on my hip buzzed again, startling me as it echoed in the hall. I couldn’t understand what had been said, and I was amazed how everyone’s voice sounded exactly the same coming through the speaker.
Worrying that I had missed hearing a command, I panicked. I pulled at the small device on my hip but was unable to get it off. Hold on! I wanted to yell into it.
“On it,” someone’s robotic voice answered.
Whew, I thought, relaxing my grip slightly on the gadget attached to my waist. I ceased my senseless pawing at it and tried to think rationally about how to unfasten it.
Got it.
And perfect timing, too.
“Erin, can you go to Mrs. Stevens’ room and sit with the children for a while, please?”
It was Charlotte’s sweet but commanding voice ringing in the radio. I was surprised that I recognized who it was, though. Of the few exchanges I had heard on it so far, everyone sounded like an old truck driving woman who’d been smoking heavily for twenty years.
“Sure. Where’s…she…at?” I answered, depressing the button firmly and speaking as clearly as I could back to her. I knew that if someone happened to pass me, I would probably look like an old woman using a cell phone for the first time: awkward and entertaining.
“You don’t have to talk like that,” she giggled. “Just speak normally.”
“—Kay.”
“She’s in the third grade wing, her son is in the fourth grade here and he threw up this morning. She has to go make some phone calls and get him a ride home.”
“Poor thing. All right.” I tried to recall the map of the school that I’d memorized a few days ago and headed off to the third grade classrooms. “So do I just sit there?”
“Yes. They are doing their journal time right now, so just make sure everyone stays seated and is working quietly. And monitor trips to the restroom.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m almost there— I think.” I searched the nameplates on the wall. “Found it.”
“Call me if you have any trouble.”
“Right. Over, boss.”
“You’re a dork.”
After introducing myself to Mrs. Stevens, and taking over the class for her, I realized after she left that I really had no impression of her at all. The short, squatty woman had been bustling about when I entered the room, and scurried out the door almost immediately after my arrival. We didn’t even speak, nor did she acknowledge my presence with anything other than brief eye contact and a half-nod.
She then snatched up her cell phone and waddled past me out the door, mumbling sentence fragments like “How am I supposed to find someone . . . first day of school . . . take him to the doctor . . .” Though she did have an air of sympathy in her voice for her son, who was apparently ill, she was also quite put out that her morning had been interrupted.
Monitoring journal time was every bit as uncomplicated as I had imagined it would be. The third graders seemed to know the rules already and were content with quietly filling in their journals. Some were at their desks, a few were sprawled out on the floor beneath the white board, and there was a small gathering of workers in the reading center.
This section of the classroom was adorable; it looked like a miniature library. There were tiny chairs and bean bags, and shelves that were just high enough to make the area into a little enclosure. There was some whispering going on in that part of the room. Clearly the kids felt they had found a spot that was secluded enough to share secrets rather than do their work, but they were so quiet that I didn’t feel the need to say anything.
Forty minutes later, Mrs. Stevens reappeared. She looked flustered and annoyed.
“Thank you,” she said curtly, barely looking in my direction. Then she clapped her hands loudly. “All right, class. Please put your journals in the blue tub . . .”
And with that, I assumed I had been dismissed. I left quietly, tossing my empty coffee cup into the trash on my way out.
“I’m done, Charlotte,” I reported into the radio. I walked into the hallway and looked at the bulletins boards while I waited for an answer. Several minutes passed before I got one.
“Okay,” Charlotte finally blurted from the speaker. “Just hang tight, alright?”
“Okay.”
Not wanting to hang around outside cranky Mrs. Stevens’ room, I roamed the halls once more swathed in boredom. Wonder how often I’ll be doing this, I thought to myself. I hated not having something to do.
Curiosity soon became an unwelcome motivator, and I found myself ambling toward the second grade wing. Maybe I would just peek in Danna Thayer’s room and catch a glimpse of what Claire looked like. My mind had been idle for far too long this morning, and I was now cooking up ways to get myself into trouble for sure. I was anxious to meet this woman that might give me some insight into the strange confrontation between Charlotte and Danna several mornings ago; so many days ago that it seemed like a month. I had pushed the scene so far back in my mind it was practically a distant memory, trumped easily by the excitement of the first day of school I’d been mentally preparing for.
Maybe Claire and I would hit it off right away and she would dish on the topic that had had my two colleagues on their toes, anxious and enigmatic. I would also just love to make a new friend, if nothing else. It seemed like the only people I had talked to in the last three months were my immediate family and Charlotte. I suddenly felt like a hermit.
Nearing the classroom where I had witnessed the unusual weightless desk incident, a rush of unease crept through my veins. I shivered a little, not knowing why. I couldn’t explain to myself just why I felt so nervous in this place. It wasn’t the apprehension I had expected—the jitters that come with any new job. It just seemed like the air was saturated with tension all the time. Sometimes it felt like I was walking on eggshells, particularly when I was around Charlotte, which was most of the time. I had only been here a few times, and didn’t feel like I should already be as uncomfortable as I was. I hadn’t even really met anyone besides Danna yet.
I perused around in the hallway for a bit, pretending I had only happened into this part of the school. I tried to imagine what Danna’s face would look like if I simply walked into her classroom. Probably some assortment of fear, panic, and secrecy.
That’s it, I thought suddenly. I had remembered the definite uneasiness I had been trying to place moments ago. I felt like a high school girl who wasn’t a part of the good clique. Like there was a secret that I wasn’t allowed in on . . . like everyone was laughing at me . . .
Behind me there was shuffling and whispering. I turned slightly, but not obviously, and noted the figure just inside the doorway. A smallish woman was speaking softly to herself, cradling a massive stack of papers in one arm, shuffling through them with her free hand. She was rambling off numbers to herself . . . 20 copies . . . 40 of these . . . on lavender and yellow . . .
She hadn’t noticed me, so I didn’t yet feel the need to pull my stare from her. And staring was the only word for what I was now doing. As she ma
de quiet mental notes about the copying chore she’d just been given, I gawked, and took in the creature standing not six feet away from me.
Although she was relatively short, this woman had a slender physique that was both powerful and feminine at the same time. Her faded jeans hugged her perfectly proportioned legs, and her t-shirt – tattered at the sleeves from years of wear – clung snugly to her tiny torso. Her clothes looked as if they had been purchased from a garage sale or consignment shop, or were given to her by some teenager who had outgrown them. And although her slightly ratty outfit was not at all appealing by itself, it looked one million times more attractive because this woman was wearing it.
Her long, graceful fingers gently thumbed through the last of the papers in her elegant arms, which looked as if they were covered in milky silk rather than skin. She had an olive-toned, dainty face that was very near perfection, full lips, and thick auburn hair. I immediately took stock of myself and felt self-conscious. She was quite literally the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
In the few seconds it took for me to observe her outward appearance I had also realized that, while she was quite stunning, it was an understated beauty. A humble beauty, rather than a forced one. She couldn’t help it.
“Claire,” someone half-shouted from inside the room. “Would you mind bringing the lunch list back with you when you’re done?” I knew that voice, it belonged to Danna.
“Certainly,” Claire sung without taking her eyes from her papers. “Be back in a few.” Even her voice was beautiful.
Embarrassed that I had been staring so fixedly at her, I spun my gaze back to the bulletin boards on the wall. Claire patted her papers back into an orderly bundle and strode slowly down the hall.
I should introduce myself now, I thought hurriedly.
As she passed me, I looked her way casually, as if I had merely noticed anyone walking down the hall. I slapped my most innocently inquisitive look on my face and spoke.
“Are you Claire?” I asked knowingly.
“Yes,” her face broke out into a nice to meet you expression and her perfect smile dazzled me.
“I’m Erin, the new building assistant.”
A look of immediate understanding replaced the previous one of mere cordiality and she sang again, “Oh yes! So nice to meet you! How is your first day treating you?”
“Good. Well, boring actually. I haven’t done much yet.”
She instantly began speaking to me as if we had known each other our whole lives.
“Oh that’s just because it’s your very first first day. Believe me, once people start to recognize you, everyone will have you running for them. Be thankful you’re bored for now, it won’t last long.” I was immeasurably at ease listening to her speak. It was like talking to Charlotte, and I felt an easy friendship waiting to be formed.
“That’s what I hear,” I said, shrugging. “I’d rather have something to do though. I’m going nuts and it’s not even lunchtime yet.”
“Well then, come with me. We’ll go make copies together.” Easy as that. A new friend. We turned together and headed for the resource room.
Meeting Claire felt sort of like becoming a mother. The very nanosecond I gave birth to Violet, I had something in common with every woman everywhere. Just mention that you have a kid and the cashier at the dry cleaner has advice for you, and the elderly lady in front of you in the grocery store has animated stories to share. Everyone’s a friend, a fellow combat in arms in the frontline of motherhood.
Claire was easy to talk to in the same way. We knew nothing about each other, yet only a few yards down the hallway and we were already laughing at each other. I felt so relieved to have found what might just prove to be a truly comforting companion here. A friendly face in a sea of strangers. By the time we reached the resource room, I was completely at ease with her.
In the few minutes we had walked together, Claire provided me with an overview of her experiences in this school. She told me of all the momentous and unforgettable first days of school she had seen since volunteering here for the first time, years ago. I just laughed along with her, feeling a little more thankful for the dull morning I’d had so far. We then chatted lightly while she made copy after copy for Danna, and eventually parted cheerfully.
Charlotte eventually radioed me some new instructions, which were to provide an extra set of eyes on the playground for first recess. I spent the entire recess period searching diligently for Violet, only to find out later that her class had not been outside yet. By the middle of the day, I was going crazy not being able to see her, to see exactly how she was adapting.
I had now made it to the resource room, after an order from Charlotte sent me on a search for extra car rider name tags. During this fruitless quest, I found it impossible to concentrate on what I was doing. I kept looking at the clock every few minutes wondering what Violet was doing, and more importantly, if she missed me as badly as I missed her.
The two large clocks in the resource room had oversized faces with long, prominent hands indicating the time. Its loud ticking was ominous in the motionless room. I searched and searched for the elusive name tags to no avail, and radioed in that I couldn’t find any.
“No big deal,” Charlotte had replied.
If it was no big deal, then why was I spending my time looking for them? I had the sneaking suspicion that she was just trying to keep me busy. I looked at the clock again, and it ticked at me loudly. Eleven thirty eight. Violet’s lunch would be starting soon, I thought. I was pretty sure her class was scheduled for the cafeteria at eleven forty five. I wonder.
“Er-bear, you there?”
Nevermind. Another task. Oh well.
“Nicknames aren’t very professional—Charlie.”
“True. But yours is so cute,” she reflected robotically through the speaker.
“True,” I repeated. “What can I do for you now?” I was eager to please my boss, but quite bummed that I wouldn’t be able to…
“Go to lunch,” she suggested. Really?! “Vy would love to eat lunch with her Mommy.”
“Okay, cool,” I said casually. Then, resisting the urge to suppress my enthusiasm, I added “Thank you!”
Practically skipping down the hall nearly landed me on my face, I was so eager to soak up any details Violet would have to share with me. Perched near the entrance to the cafeteria – it had taken me less than a minute to skirt my way to the other end of the building – I eagerly scanned the long files of miniature people for my daughter. Frustratingly, I couldn’t remember what John had dressed her in this morning, so I was forced to search a hundred tiny faces before I finally spotted her.
I smiled and skipped in beside her in line, not calling attention to myself, and was amazed at how long it took her to realize that I was there. Several silent yards of walking later, she glanced up at me and flashed her biggest grin, but made no sound. Apparently there was no talking in the hallway.
The no talking rule was a great one, I thought, to help everything go more smoothly and help create order. How had these kindergarteners learned the rules in only one day, though? Every little person was remarkably quiet; either holding a lunch pail or walking with their arms folded awkwardly behind their back. Amazing.
There was a woman standing in the middle of the cafeteria when we entered that was directing each class to their table. She was speaking so loudly that she didn’t need the bullhorn hanging loosely at her side.
Violet, her class, and I found our table and filed in around it. I had to lop one leg over each side of the bench and straddle it because the table was so small. We sat by someone named Jason on one side, and Violet’s new friend Chelsea on the other.
My every wish quickly came true as Violet began filling me in on her morning. She spared no detail, and I had to remind her often to take bites of her sandwich in between thoughts.
