by

pieces of paper

Image

Last year I was a 3rd grade teacher. This year I teach 5th. Last year I didn’t have to deal with silly notes being passed around among the students. This year I do.

Those little pieces of paper have covered everything from Hi! to Are you coming to my party? and down the line, asking Who do you like?, or commanding Don’t be friends with so and so. I would walk up behind the receiver and snatch the note from their small 5th grade hands and drop it onto my desk, where it sat, forgotten. In general, kids would either giggle or open their eyes wide, forming their mouths into an oval shape. And then the lesson would continue. As the days progressed, those ripped from the pages of their notebooks shreds of paper began to become more of an issue, which caused my attitude to change from such a cool and nice teacher to students being more secretive and less complimentary. Most of them began tossing me yikes! glances, hoping not to catch my eye for fear of getting in trouble.

My favorite note of the year, thus far, has been a quick drawing of me, looking mad, with the words stating Mean Teacher! But even better, they included Rudy in the drawing, also looking mad, calling him Mean Teacher’s Husband! As usual, I dropped it on my desk, but this time, with my back to the class of kids I smiled. Never before have I been called Mean! Never. I knew then that the environment in my 5th grade classroom differed greatly from the innocent charm I love you, Teacher! of 3rd graders.

by

oh!

shampoo2

Oh, my effing God! Liz shouted from behind the shower curtain.

Chris, who was in the kitchen doing dishes, lowered the amount of hot water he was using, assuming his girlfriend was bitching about the lack of warmth spraying down from the nozzle. He yelled something back in the line of Sorry!

Liz, who really just wanted to wash her hair was staring at three bottles of conditioner. There was not a drop of shampoo anywhere.

A few days before, she had gone to Target™ to purchase a much needed bottle of soapy suds only to discover, later, back at home, that she had unwisely grabbed another bottle of fucking – her word, not mine – conditioner! So, a couple days later, feeling heavy-footed and desperate, she again! and Chris made the trek back the beauty aisle to buy some sweet smelling shampoo. Inside the store, Liz thoroughly examined her preferred bottle of hair product, making sure she did indeed select shampoo and not conditioner. Satisfied, she placed the cylinder-shaped container on the seat rack. As they began to walk away, Chris, on a thrift bend, noticed a buy this and get this free pack for a lesser price than the carefully selected solo shampoo that Liz had chosen.

And, it’s the same brand, but cheaper, he said with authority.

Liz looked at the package, saw that it was the same brand, and threw it into the store’s standard red shopping cart.

Back home, as Chris began cleansing a few dishes, Liz climbed over the tub’s rim, and stood under the shower’s head.

Ohhhh myyyyyyyy godddddddddd!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We bought more fucking conditioner!, she cried.

by

news

IMG_1031

Rudy and I were ready for a child, having had planned for an additional family member to join us for the past several months. We both believed there was no perfect moment to bring a baby into the world, but rather that bringing a newborn child would be perfect. Thus, the joy of reproducing began.

At the time, I was working for a medical laboratory, as their secretary. My job was to answer the phone, file information, and update clients payments. I had only been there for about three months, when, one morning, instinct told me I was pregnant with my first child. When my wondering words fell into the ears of a coworker, an expert phlebotomist, someone who draws blood, she immediately pulled me to the back room and performed a quick blood test.

Later, that same afternoon, the two of us, husband and wife, were sitting at a nearby Burger King, unexpectedly having lunch together.

So, why did you call me for lunch? he asked. I don’t think you’ve ever done that before. Everything OK?

Oh, yeah. Everything is great, I said calmly, quietly. I reached for his hand. I have some good news.

Rudy looked at me, trying to read my face.

Yes? he cautiously asked.

I stretched over the laminate tabletop and kissed him on the nose. A smile spread across both our faces.

Really? he exclaimed. Then he jumped up, pulled me up out of my swivel seat, and hugged me.

by

music

beats

Head phones on his ears.

Head bobs up and down, to and fro.

His shoulders bounce.

Gyrate.

Arms jut out and then swing back in.

His hips swivel.

Feet tap.

His whole body spins.

Knees bend.

Lowering him.

Then shooting his body into the air.

Hands over the Beats.

Holding them in place.

As he dances.

And sings.

He yells out.

Shouts.

Follows along.

As the music blares.

Screams the lyrics.

Pushing them into his memory.

by

liar

image

“I didn’t take it!” Alex shouted, just as the pen he was accused of taking fell out of his notebook.

“Here we go again,” Marsel said, a little too loud.

The teacher stopped talking, irritated with Alex’s lies.

“What! Who put it in my folder?!” Alex continued ranting, looking around the classroom. Some of the kids laughed and some just stared, while a few simply rolled their eyes.

This wasn’t the first time Alex made claims, making up later to be discovered lies. Everyone, including Mr. Jones, figured once again that Alex was just trying to make waves. Looking for attention. It’d been a few months since the first time Alex stole something and lied about it. He was later outed by another student who was told by Alex himself that he did indeed steal the item in question. And regardless of the mess he was causing for himself, the lies just kept coming. Every day, nonstop.

Alex lied his way through another school in a neighboring district. He was transferred out because, well, his parents were hoping that a change of location might help him get a fresh start. A new beginning, with new friends. An opportunity to try again to apply himself.

Unfortunately, location had nothing to do with Alex’s lying. Small lies were getting bigger and bigger. And no one, especially not his teacher, believed anything he said. Not even the day Alex said “It wasn’t me! I didn’t take it!” when Mr. Jones told him to return his iPhone “Now!” But, no matter what he said, or did, to prove his innocence, Alex could not convince anyone that it was not him that took Mr. Jone’s cell phone.

Which worked perfectly for Marsel. She had been planning the theft for several weeks, and knew that it would be Alex who was blamed. Alex who wouldn’t be believed. Alex who would get in trouble. Alex who, this one time, really was innocent.

by

kissed

kissing

He stood there. Looking at her. And she stood there. Looking at him. I thought you were going to do it, her friend challenged her. So she leaned in and kissed him. On the cheek. And, well, he returned the affection, kissing her cheek, gently. Then she and her friend walked away. She slowly turned back, toward him. And smiled. He smiled back.

Not five minutes had passed when she returned. She stood in front of him. They looked at each other. Go on, her friend encouraged. She closed her lips. Puckered them. And closed her eyes. He responded. He, too, formed his lips into a kissable formation. But he didn’t close his eyes. He wanted to see it happen. Their lips carefully pressed against each other. And, slowly, they backed away from one another. He looked at her. He smiled. She looked at him. She smiled. And then, again, she walked away with her friend. Never looking back. He watched her go. A dreamlike expression plastered on his face.

by

job

Image

You are 16 years old. The age of first time employment. So independent. So fun.

Until. Someone with your same last name makes some big mistakes. Money mistakes.

And. Unknown by you. It’s your name that gets marked. As in strikes against your work ethics.

Over time. Not too much time, though. You get called into the manager’s office. Told your register was under the receipt amount. How can that be? you wonder aloud.

But you assume he doesn’t care. Or just doesn’t want to listen to your excuses. (Which aren’t even excuses. just facts).

But.

Because.

You have so many demerits next to your name, the assumption is you are not a good employee at all. So you’re fired.

Later. Months later. The person with your same last name mentions that you got in trouble because of her. But she neglected to say anything because she needed the job. Even though you did too.

You will forever believe that it was another employee who, for whatever reason, sabotaged you. By stealing cash from your work station that particular night. Let you take the blame and lose your money making employment.

And to this day. Whenever you think of your first job.

Other than the memories of eating a fish filet on your break, greeting customers who went to school with you, and having a crush on the nice, young manager (not the one who fired you), all you recall is being told to turn in your greasy uniform. And don’t come back.

Then you smile, because you really don’t care. And probably never did.

by

i

IMG_1007

when i was in 5th grade i was way too shy, trying to figure out what it meant to be part of a group of friends. i felt clueless, yet somehow i managed to hang with what may have been the popular group. or maybe they were on the verge of discovering fame. all i knew was that they seemed to be the kind of friends that made sense to me. girls who just wanted to have fun.

during those early years, i was what one may have called a wallflower. a listener. an observer. someone who found interest in the way others related. simply by watching. and absorbing. without much talking. i don’t know if anyone was aware of my awkwardness. but i was. i felt insecure. as if they had so much more to offer than i ever did. but what they had to offer i couldn’t even begin to say what that was. really. those girls were just like me. surviving. trying to find a place in an elementary world.

as the years progressed. and i grew. and continued to learn the dynamics of relationships through listening and observing. i found myself. realizing that i had something to offer. to give to the world. when i was in the 5th grade.

by

honor

Tony didn’t understand why the bully was picking on him. Always laughing at him. For no apparent reason. Seriously, was it because his leather backpack was so huge, that it looked strange on his eight year old frame? Or was there something else? Tony didn’t know, never asked. He just endured the bully’s taunting day after day. And what was even more confusing to Tony was that the eight year old bully wasn’t even in his class. The bully was in some other part of the school, in another classroom, with a different teacher and his own set of peers. But, for whatever reason the bully decided that Tony would be his target for the school’s year. A target to harass, to antagonize, and, it seemed, to make Tony’s life miserable.

One afternoon, instead of hanging out with his pals, before each kid headed home for lunch, Tony left immediately after the bell, wanting to avoid the bully. He walked a half mile along the dirt road, anticipating lunch with the live-in helper. As he walked, he kicked a rock, just as he always did, using the big ‘ol boots his parents had bought him just for his rock kicking walks. Boots that held up to the beating they were given, regardless of how many time he scraped them through the dirt, aiming the perfect aim toward the rock, sending it flying far and away. As he walked and kicked, tears fell from Tony’s eyes. Tears from anger. Anger towards the bully who just wouldn’t leave him alone. When he walked into the house, the helper asked him what was wrong. He responded, saying Nothing. Changing the subject, the live-in helper asked Tony about his slingshot, the one he made during the past weekend with some of the other neighborhood kids. That’s when, consciously or not, Tony realized he should take the slingshot back to school with him. For fun. For whatever reason.

As he walked back, returning to school, pockets full of rocks, Tony played with the slingshot, flinging the pepples as far as he could. He even took the time to stretch the sling, expanded it as far back as he could manage. All the while he was carrying his heavy ladened backpack on his slight body. As he neared his classroom, he shoved his toy out of sight. After an afternoon of physical and other hands-on activities, after the final bell rang, as Tony was walking near the basketball court, he heard the bully and his friends laughing at him. Laughing so much that Tony’s anger came full force. He walked across the road in front of the school, and sat down. Just sat. And then he pulled out the slingshot, without any idea as to what his intentions were. He just wanted to practice flinging rocks again. Possibly curb his anguish. Then, out of nowhere, the bully came out of the school laughing, laughing, and laughing some more at Tony. Laughing and pointing. Tony had had enough. He walked up to the bully. Stood three feet away. And BAM! he slung a rock right at the bully. Causing him to fall to his knees. And then, still full of built-up anger, Tony kicked and kicked the bully with his big ‘ol boots. Just kicked him. Over and over. Breaking his teeth. Until someone grabbed him. Lifted him up and away from the bully. To stop any further damage. Tony’s feet kept kicking air. He couldn’t stop. Until he realized that whoever was holding him was grasping him rather tightly. Tight enough that Tony realized he needed to be released so that he could breathe. So he stopped kicking and was set back down on the ground. His anger subsiding.

Later, after his parents were told what Tony had done, and after a good spanking with a belt, and after they had to pay for a pair of new front teeth, Tony was stilled. Calm.

The bully never bothered him again. Because Tony defended his honor.

by

grades

IMG_0636

She talks. Alot. During class. During recess. In the library. While on the computer. At the lunch tables. Talk. Talk. Talk. She’s what you’d call a social butterfly. And a gossip. Someone who knows everything about everyone. I know because she tells me. Gives me the scoop about her life. Their life. Everyone’s social life.

As much as I understand the social aspect of growing up. Of life. Of being a student. I also know the importance of getting good grades. Grades that build upon each other. Year after year. Success after success.

Seriously, people, I tell the kids. You really need to understand how important the grades you receive are. They are a reflection of your determination.

As I was giving my speech, she was talking to the girl. To the boy. Both sitting behind her. I’d look at her. I would stare. And she’d quickly turn around. Until I began lecturing again. About how some day they’d all be going off to college. To educated themselves even further. Go to great colleges. Because they were getting great grades. Because they persevered.

And again, she talked. To the girl next to her. To the boy in front of her. She even passed a note to the girl diagonal from her. A note I had to intercept. A note that interrupted my train of thought. A note that had nothing to do with school. But everything to do with who was dating who, and who be stilled her heart.

On the day I handed out report cards, the grade reports of all my students. Many kids happily accepted the take-home-share-with-your-parents-news while others cringed at the thought of what lay inside the sealed envelope.

I watched her skip out the classroom door. Across the blacktop. And then she ripped opened her achievement marks. She tossed her head back. Wasn’t surprised by the comment I wrote. The comment stating she needed to focus more, talk less. She leaned her face down. Concentrating on the not-so-great marks she received. Then she looked at her friend’s report. Seeing how they compared. They laughed. As if everything was A-OK. That life was just grand.

Suddenly, she was at my classroom door. Having returned unexpectedly. And all she said to me was It’s your fault I didn’t get good grades.

Explain that to your mom, I responded. And she walked back out. Onto the blacktop. And sat with her bestest friend. Watching the cutest boys in school. Giggling about this and that. Him and her. About everything except the importance of good grades.