Just Another Kid (21 page)

J
ust as February arrived, so did my permanent visa. There in the mail when I came home one evening was the thick, official-looking packet, containing my passport, my birth certificate and all the necessary papers I had waited so long to receive. Overwhelmed by sudden relief and excited beyond containment, I immediately phoned Ken, my fiancé, even though it was the middle of the night, his time. In fact, I spent a bomb on phone calls that night. Soon after talking to Ken, I rang my best friend in Wales, whose cottage was only a few hundred yards down the road from mine, and told her I was coming home at last. After a few drowsy moments of surprise from her end, she greeted my news with the expected joy. We hadn’t talked to one another the whole time I’d been gone, and despite all our letters, there suddenly seemed a world of catching up to do. We nattered on as if we were still only yards away. Afterward, I called my family in Montana and finally another girlfriend out of state. My euphoria went unabated. After all these long, long months of waiting, it was
over
. I could return at last to Wales as a permanent resident. I could go home.

Only after all the phone calls and a nostalgic look through the photo album did I begin to return to reality. As I was making myself a late supper, I got to thinking about all the things that needed to be done before I could pack up for Wales. There were accounts to close. Things to get from my family’s house in Montana. Selling the car. I went through a surprisingly long list before I thought about the class and the classroom. But then I did.

Frank had known all along that this was not a permanent placement for me, nor had he ever intended that it should be. Both of us had initially believed it would be a whole lot less permanent than it, in fact, had turned out to be. In the early weeks, I’d anticipated every mail delivery eagerly, expecting the visa to turn up. Frank had actively pursued finding a qualified special education teacher to take over the position when I needed to go. But as the weeks became months, the class became mine. I ceased to think of it as a temporary job; I ceased to think of the time when I would not be there. It had been ages since I’d inquired how Frank was doing. To my knowledge, he had never found another teacher. I wasn’t sure he was even looking anymore.

What now? I desperately wanted to get home. As involved and interested in my work as I was, I was lonely without Ken and my friends. And there was so much to do. Ken and I were planning to be married in June, but before then, I also wanted some time in Wales to tidy up the last aspect of my single life. My best friend and I had made so many elaborate plans for climbing the Welsh peaks, hiking the Pennine Way, bicycling in France and all the other things I knew we’d probably never get around to doing together once I was married. We’d intended to do most of them through the course of this particular winter and spring. If only I’d had this last eight months there … Confronted with the knowledge that I could, at last, go back, I was overwhelmed with homesickness for everything I had been missing—from Ken and my friends to the ivy growing on the garden wall.

But how could I leave at this point? After five months together, I was fully aware of my responsibility to the children and the class. I had more projects going, more work in progress, and more things half-started than at any other point thus far. The program was in full swing, my influence on it substantial. Could someone else pick up at this point? Could he or she carry on without losing any of the children or any of the progress?

Still, I wasn’t indispensable. I knew that. Maybe new blood would be good. Maybe new blood could make a difference to those children and circumstances I was failing, like Geraldine and her antisocial behavior or Shemona and her mutism.

I was full of mixed feelings the next morning when I went in to work. After putting my belongings in the classroom, I went in search of Frank to see just exactly where I stood. If he didn’t have a replacement lined up, there was going to be a wait, whether I decided I wanted to go now or not. On the other hand, if he did have another teacher ready, it was going to shift all the decision making onto me.

Frank wasn’t in his office yet. I stopped for a cup of coffee and a quick chat with some of the front-office people and then returned to the room, where I found Ladbrooke just arriving. She was removing her coat. The cold weather had given her a ruddy glow and made her nose run. She snuffled and smiled cheerfully when she saw me.

“Hello.”

“My visa came last night.”

A puzzled expression crossed her face.

“My visa. My British visa. I can go back now. I called Ken last night and told him to get ready.”

Ladbrooke knelt and pulled off her boots. Taking her jogging shoes out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, she slipped them on and knelt to tie them. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You know. I’ve told you, haven’t I, about all that hassle I had getting a permanent visa to live in Wales?” And suddenly it occurred to me that I probably hadn’t told her in any substantial way. She had arrived too late on the scene to have been part of my earlier efforts. By November, when Ladbrooke joined us, I was already resigned to an eternal wait. And crucial as the matter was to me, like most of the other occurrences in my personal life, was not something I seemed to get around to talking about with Ladbrooke.

I gave her a brief summation of the convoluted story.

Ladbrooke had remained kneeling over her shoes as I talked, but when I’d finished, she slowly rose. Her brow puckered. “What do you mean, you’re going? When?”

“It depends on things. Mostly on whether or not Frank has a replacement lined up for me.”

“You mean,
now?
”

I nodded.

She grew wide-eyed with disbelief. “Oh, you can’t mean that, Torey. You don’t mean now, do you?”

“Well, I don’t know. Probably not. It all depends on Frank, really. You have to understand, this hasn’t been a permanent job for me. We’ve all known it was just until my visa came through.”

“But what’s going to happen if Frank does have somebody? Are you going then? Are you leaving?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. I’m just going to have to wait and see.”

“You
can’t
leave. It’s right in the middle of everything. Look at everything we’re doing. You can’t leave the kids at this point, can you?” Her shoulders dropped in a desolate gesture. “Can you?”

I smiled warmly. “Well, let’s not worry about it for the moment, okay? I need to talk with Frank, and until I do, there’s no point speculating.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You have nothing to worry about.”

It was a difficult day. I had made a serious mistake in talking to Ladbrooke when I did. I hadn’t stopped to consider how she might feel about it. Overcome with my own excitement, I had simply blurted everything out without thinking. But the news upset her, and she remained defensive the whole day. The children had a rotten day as well. I don’t know if they were reflecting Ladbrooke’s and my conflict, or if it would have been a bad day in any case. Whatever, every minute was damned hard work. This certainly did not decrease my longing to leave. If anything, I ended the day feeling that probably anyone could do a better job with this lot than I was doing.

Not until after school did I catch up with Frank. When I did, I discovered that he’d found a replacement. She was a behavioral specialist living in a nearby community and working there as a substitute special ed. teacher. He showed me her credentials. They looked impressive. She was available at two weeks’ notice.

I slouched down in the big chair across from Frank’s desk. I hadn’t wanted to hear that. As I listened, I realized I’d been hoping he would tell me that he hadn’t found anyone. That would have saved me from being responsible for the consequences.

“Do you want me to contact her?” Frank asked.

I stared down at my hands in my lap. “I don’t know which way to go, to be honest,” I said.

“Perhaps it would be best if I did get hold of her. Two weeks isn’t long, but if you want to leave … If we just let her know she might be needed, then, if you decide to go, she’ll be prepared. Maybe she could even come over and look at the class while you’re still here.”

I sat, weighing the matter. How on earth was I going to be able to leave? Of all the times for my visa to come through, why now? If it had been earlier and things weren’t yet started, I could have gone. If it had been later and things were finished, I could have gone. But now?

I sat a long time without answering. Finally, I shook my head. “No, don’t get hold of her yet, Frank. Okay? Give me a few days to think it over.”

Frank was grinning. I think he already knew I wasn’t going.

I think I already knew too. A heavy, jaded feeling descended on me. I dreaded the thought of phoning Ken to tell him of this change in plans. I dreaded the disappointment I knew I was going to feel when I was in my apartment, alone, without the distractions of school. Here, now, it was easier to accept the idea of staying. There, on my own, it would be another matter.

Back in the classroom, I found Ladbrooke at work at the table. She did not look up when I entered, but, rather, continued to write. I took my own work from the top of the filing cabinet and came over to sit down.

“What did Frank say?” she asked, her tone conversational. She still continued to write.

“He has someone. An E.D. specialist from Medicine Bow. Her name’s Muriel Samuelson.”

“Oh.” Ladbrooke was looking at me then, although she hardly lifted her head. Her examination was thorough but brief, and then she returned to what she was doing.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said wearily. “What a lousy predicament.”

Ladbrooke paused, lifting her pencil from the paper. For a long moment she regarded what she’d been writing. I watched her. I could feel the tension still between us, as it had been all day, but I didn’t know what to do to diffuse it. With Ladbrooke, it was sometimes better to carry on and pretend everything was all right than to back her into a corner by confronting her. I let her be and prepared to start the next day’s plans.

Ladbrooke laid down her pencil and pushed back her chair. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, got up and left the room.

Supposing she’d gone to the toilet, I didn’t think much about her leaving. However, when ten minutes or so had elapsed and Ladbrooke still hadn’t returned, I looked around in the direction of the door. Groaning, I got up and went after her.

Can of Coke in her hand, Ladbrooke was leaning against the wall at the far end of the girls’ rest room. She was sipping the pop slowly, the elbow of one arm braced in the hand of the other. When I pushed the door open, she frowned.

“Go away, Torey,” she said, her voice low.

“This is childish, Ladbrooke. If we’ve got a problem, for pity’s sake, let’s talk about it, like two adults.”

“I’d rather be alone for a while. Please, go away.”

“I’m not a lot more in the mood for this than you are, Ladbrooke. It hasn’t been one of my better days either.”

“Then leave me
alone
.”

Shoving my hand into the pockets of my jeans, I turned and leaned back against one of the sinks. “Is all this over my visa?”

No reply.

“Can’t you appreciate the position I’m in, Lad? Can’t you empathize, even a little bit?”

Her chin was trembling. She drew her lower lip in between her teeth to stop it. Suddenly, she seemed very young to me. She seemed no older than the kids.

“This is a hard profession. You get close to people. You come to love them as a natural part of it, to love them dearly. And it makes it hard.”

“Is that all we are to you? Your profession? Your three hundred bucks a week, or whatever it is? So you can just give up and walk out on us any time you feel like it?”

“No, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, what do you mean then?”

Without warning, I found myself on the verge of tears. The day had been so difficult and the situation so complex. I didn’t know how to defend myself in this kind of argument. It was all proving a bit too much for me. Lowering my head, I studied the fabric of my jeans. Not trusting my voice, I didn’t answer immediately.

Then finally, I shrugged. “I don’t know. The thing is, I do have this other life. And I get lonely for it.”

Ladbrooke set the Coke can down noisily on the tile windowledge.

“What do you want me to say to you?” she replied angrily. “That I’m sorry for you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Or do you want me to admit how much I need you? Is that what you want?” And then her own tears came, and she couldn’t stop them. “
Shit
,” she muttered bitterly, and turned away.

A sudden, tense silence fell between us.

“You are the only person in the world who’s ever made me feel like maybe I’m worth something,” she said, her voice low. Her back was still to me. “For the first time in as long as I can remember, I actually want to get up in the morning. I have somewhere to go that
I
, as a human being, matter.” The way she said it, it sounded like a condemnation.

Letting my shoulders drop, I sighed.

Ladbrooke turned back around and glared at me. “I know how these poor kids feel now, being tugged and pulled, their whole world manipulated and nothing they can do about it. You’re damned well mucking about in other people’s lives, Torey. You come in here, all high and mighty, like God, and you
muck about
. Maybe you don’t love us, but you’ve made us love you. You’ve made us believe you
care
.”