The September after my mother
left, I started second grade. Someone had told my teacher, Mr. Mendosa,
about my mother, and he asked me to
stay behind at
recess one day
early in the school year. Though no one had said anything to me, it was
widely known that my mother had left us and
moved into the guest house of one of the richest families in the valley, the Falks, who had made their fortune in
backhoes.
Mr. Mendosa leaned against a
bank of desks. “If you need to talk about anything,
you can always come to me.”
I
nodded.
“Or, if you’d feel more comfortable talking to
a woman,” he said more quietly, “
Lori said you can talk to her anytime.”
Lori was Beth’s
sign language interpreter and Mr. Mendosa’s wife. Mr. Mendosa was my first male
teacher. I had been excited when his name and classroom number came in the mail the month before school. “Your teacher is: Mitch Mendosa. Your classroom is:
11.” They were young, and they had just moved to
the valley. Mr. Mendosa had a handlebar
mustache, and his family was from
the coast. They owned the grocery store in
Mendocino, and they were
Portuguese, which was why his last name was spelled “s” instead of
“z.” Lori was pale with permed blond hair. She wore gloves when she wasn’t signing to
keep her hands warm. I’d once patted her gloved
hands at recess. “Why do you wear these?”
“Because I have poor
circulation.”
I hadn't asked what that meant.
I looked up at Mr. Mendosa. His smile was
tight across his face.
“Oh,
okay.” I wanted to say something more.
“Thank you.” I searched for something I could
share with him and Lori. Maybe he could call Lori in from recess and
the three of us could sit down and talk. I had a fleeting thought that they would make
good parents.
“
How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay.” I answered
absently.
We were
silent. The
chalkboard was white with dust. The sky outside was
cold grey. Beside the door was a poster the second-graders were drawing together of an
imaginary town. Brian had drawn a restaurant
like the Drive-In his mother owned. Christina had drawn a
horse ranch. I had drawn a
motel at the very end of the
main street. “The biggest
street in a town usually goes through to the next town,” Mr. Mendosa had explained after I’d drawn it in.
I could hear
the other kids outside, their yelling far away.
“I know this must be a really hard time for you, and I just want you to know that it isn’t
your fault that
your mom and dad are apart.”
I felt a
wave of shock at his words. My
fault?
But I was a
good girl, even when I had to do boring stuff like sitting around at
Aunt Jean’s house while the adults talked about
farm stuff on Sunday afternoons or going to work with
Dad and waiting in
the pickup while he
pruned apple trees.
I felt
my heart shaking again in my chest, looking at the
threadbare brown carpet on the floor between my teacher and me.
I
ate all my food, even the weird stuff only Mom liked, like
liver or
cream of celery soup. I would try anything.
I suddenly felt tired and
far away.
I was
smart and I got
good grades and I was
funny and I had a good
singing voice.
What more could I do?
“
I know.”
He was still smiling at me when
I raised my head. I
smiled back,
looking away almost instantly,
red-faced. “
All right, then. You’d better get out to
recess.”
“Um, thanks.”
I
walked slowly down the breezeway toward the playground, running my hand along the
cold wall.
I didn’t really feel like going out to play. If my mother didn’t want to leave me, then why did
she?
from The Book of Revelation
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