Window Boy (9 page)

The bell rings. Sam notices that as usual, Mickey is not in his seat. During class, Sam has been trying not to stare at Mickey. This is easy in the mornings, since Mickey is always late.

After the pledge, Mrs. Martin writes on the blackboard, ‘National History Essay Contest.’

For a reason that Sam doesn’t understand, he senses more excitement than usual today in the classroom.

Bodies are squirming in chairs. Necks are craning. Students are whispering. Bobby passes Charlie a note.

As if Mrs. Martin has eyes in her back, she whirls around.

Sam guesses that the unlucky kid is going to be Bobby but instead, Mrs. Martin swoops down on Charlie. Mrs. Martin crumples the note and angrily tosses it into the trashcan.

Under his teacher’s hostile stare, Charlie’s freckled face grows redder over his white button-down shirt.

“They’re good kids,” Miss Perkins mutters.

Although both Sam and Miss Perkins have stayed quiet in class, that hasn’t stopped Miss Perkins from giving Mrs. Martin plenty of advice under her breath.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Martin demands.

“We’re just trying to work out the lineup for the game,” Charlie explains.

“Don’t ever let me catch you passing a note again, all right?” Mrs. Martin says.

“Yes, ma’am,” Charlie says. He is so tall that he barely fits behind his desk. Sam has overheard Charlie say that he is already thirteen.

Mrs. Martin returns to the front of the class and clears her throat. “Boys, Mr. Fitzpatrick told me that there is a Tomcats game this afternoon.”

The boys cheer.

Sam wants to join in, but he’s too self-conscious about his voice.

Mrs. Martin scowls at them. “But if I catch anyone else not paying attention, the whole class will have to stay inside during recess.”

Bobby groans. Charlie presses his lips together as if to prevent a sound escaping from them.

“Now, take out your notebooks,” Mrs. Martin orders. “In preparation for a national essay contest, we’re going to start a short unit on World War II.”

Sam loves studying World War II. Even better, after school, he’s looking forward to watching the Tomcats play.

Mrs. Martin writes on the blackboard: “Pearl Harbor.” She begins talking. “World War II started when Japan bombed the United States on December 7, 1941.”

Sam can’t believe his ears.

He knows that the United States entered the war on December 7, 1941. But he also knows that World War II began long before that. On September 1, 1939, Hitler invaded Poland. Soon afterwards, Churchill became the prime minister of England. After France was defeated, England, led by Churchill, battled the Nazis alone.
What about the Battle of Britain, Mrs. Martin?
Sam wants to cry.
You’re leaving out many important events.

“Churchill, Roosevelt, and Stalin were known during the war as the Big Three,” Sam hears Mrs. Martin continue. “All of these men were great leaders, but Roosevelt was the most powerful and important.”

Roosevelt?
Sam likes Roosevelt. After all, Roosevelt used a wheel-chair. But his teacher’s statement totally overlooks Winnie’s heroism as Britain fought on alone, waiting, hoping, and praying for the U.S. to enter the war. Sam wants to remind Mrs. Martin of the great speech Winnie made when England was so unprepared and under-equipped to fight Hitler. He hears Winnie’s gravelly voice:
“I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.”
¹⁰

How can Mrs. Martin be saying these things? When Sam has choked down enough outrage to be able to listen, he hears Mrs. Martin say, “Eisenhower chose June 6, 1944, as D-Day. D-Day took the Germans by surprise.”

What about Winnie, Mrs. Martin?
Sam thinks.

Mrs. Martin picks up a piece of chalk and begins writing.

“So now write down the names and dates on the blackboard:”

December 7, 1941

June 6, 1944

September 2, 1945

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Dwight D. Eisenhower

Pearl Harbor

In her ten-minute lecture, Mrs. Martin has managed to com- pletely overlook Winnie. Sam must defend his hero. But what to say? He considers the words that he has practiced speaking out loud most often: Mother, window, school, food, fan, hello, sad…

Then, some random words that Miss Perkins and he had worked on pronouncing: dictator, trapped, ocean, potato, Peter…None of the words fit. Mrs. Martin goes on to explain the Pacific theatre of the war.

In the middle of her description of Hiroshima, Sam finally opens his mouth. He doesn’t even try to speak softly. He bursts forth with the only word that he has mastered that has even a slight application to her lecture:

“NNNNo.” It sounds harsh, guttural, even to his own ears.

Mrs. Martin jumps. The kids all stare at him, their eyes bugged in horror. Yet, he’s so intent on righting the wrong that he doesn’t even feel ashamed.

Mrs. Martin puts her hands on her hips and turns toward Sam. “What did you say?”

“NNNo,” Sam repeats.

“I told you guys that he talks a lot,” Ann says. “But you wouldn’t believe me.”

“He sounds Russian,” Sam overhears A.J. Douglas say. “Maybe he’s a Communist, too.”

“Sam’s really seven years old. That’s why he talks so bad,” Bobby Sur announces.

Such crazy stuff makes Sam want to both laugh and cry.

When Mrs. Martin hurries over to Miss Perkins, the sight of his teacher’s raised eyebrows drives his classmates’ nonsense out of his mind. Miss Martin’s narrowed eyes target him before they shift to Miss Perkins.

“I thought you said Sam couldn’t talk,” his teacher says to Miss Perkins.

“He doesn’t like to talk very much,” Miss Perkins explains. She has a patient smile on her face.

“I’ve told you that I have my hands full with thirty kids,” Mrs. Martin interrupts. She sounds as if she is close to tears. “Why is Sam disrupting my class?”

“Beg your pardon, ma’am. Sam wasn’t trying to be noisy.” Miss Perkins stares thoughtfully into space. Sam can almost feel her thoughts probing his mind. “You see, we both are very fond of Winston Churchill,” she continues. “Me being from England and all. I think he was telling you something about Churchill, weren’t you, Sam?”

Sam looks up.

A.J. Douglas who is sitting next to Bobby reaches over and cuffs him.

“Cut it out!” Bobby cries as A.J. laughs loudly.

Mrs. Martin scolds the class. “Behave yourselves!” She turns back towards Sam. “As you can see, I can’t drop my guard for a minute,” she says.

“They’re just kids excited about a basketball game,” Miss Perkins says softly.

Mrs. Martin jerks away and returns to the front of the classroom. Her serious face quiets the uproar. She wipes her chalky hands on her dark plaid skirt, but then to Sam’s surprise, she stares blankly at the blackboard as if she’s forgotten all she knows. Finally, she says, “You have all been so unruly that I should cancel recess.”

The class groans just as the bell rings.

“But if you can prove to me for once that you can keep completely quiet,” Mrs. Martin says, “I’ll let you go.”

Abruptly, the shuffling, rustling, tapping, creaking, sneezing and whispering stop. All Sam can hear is the sound of his own breathing. The silence continues for so long that he feels like it’s a wet glass that any minute is going to slip out of the kids’ hands and crash on the floor.

Sitting alone in a wheelchair, Sam has learned to play games with time. By daydreaming, he can transform hours into minutes and minutes into seconds. But every once in a while, his magical formula for shortening time fails, and he becomes like a kid with a normal body.

Sam notices Charlie squirming in his seat, and he feels sorry for him. Sam has sat for hours in his chair with an itch on the back of his neck that he can’t possibly scratch or a fly buzzing around his ear that he could never catch. Or a thirst that a single glass of water completely failed to quench. And he knows what it’s like to have a second last for a whole year.

Mrs. Martin looks up at the clock. It’s three minutes
past
ten. “Good job.” She smiles. “Dismissed.”

Charlie hoots. “Tomcats, let’s meet on the court.”

Take me with you, Charlie
, Sam thinks.

The boys and girls hurry out of the classroom. As Mrs. Martin picks up the eraser and begins wiping the blackboard, Miss Perkins calls out to his teacher, “Mrs. Martin, please don’t be angry with Sam.”

Mrs. Martin turns and takes a few steps toward them. She moves almost as slowly as Miss Perkins at the end of a hard day, and Sam guesses that she’s tired.

“Sam just wanted you to know that we think Sir Winston is a great man,” Miss Perkins says.

Sam looks up.

Miss Perkins searches Sam’s eyes for more. “Sam also wanted to tell you that World War II began before the United States started fighting.”

You knew she was wrong too
, Sam thinks.
Why didn’t you say something, Miss Perkins?

Mrs. Martin sighs. “The United States declared war on December 7, 1941. Is that better?”

“Yes, ma’am. We like that better, don’t we, Sam?” Miss Perkins says.

Sam moves his chin upward in agreement.

He’s sorry when the creak of a door interrupts them.

The school secretary heads toward them. Her heels are even thinner than Sam’s mother’s. Although Sam has never been to a circus, he believes that balancing on such sharp little points ought to be a circus act.

The secretary hands Mrs. Martin a piece of paper. “From Principal Cullen,” she says. Her voice is nasal, grating.

“Thank you, Miss Rawles,” Mrs. Martin calls as the secretary exits the room.

When his teacher unfolds the principal’s note and begins reading it, Sam can feel her attention leaving them and traveling down the hall to Principal Cullen’s office.

“You see, in our spare time at night, we read about Winston Churchill. We’ve finished every book about him that there is….” Miss Perkins continues.

Sam feels sorry for Miss Perkins. She never seems to know when to stop talking.

“It’s a bond that Sam and I have….”

Mrs. Martin slips the note into her pocket, and Sam notices that his teacher’s hands are trembling. Just like he fears being a bad student, he guesses that Mrs. Martin is afraid of being a bad teacher. His teacher’s gaze shifts to the door.

Sam must speak to her before she leaves. He takes a deep breath. “Ssssorry.” The word comes out too loud. He knows that it’s wrong to shout and it’s worse to shout an apology. He feels his face start to grow red.

Mrs. Martin looks at him, puzzled. “Did you say, ‘sorry’?”

“SSorry,” Sam repeats his apology. This time he has more control over his volume, and his ‘sorry’ sounds only a little drawn out, more like sorrrrry.

Mrs. Martin comes closer. Next to him, he senses Miss Perkins clenching her hands. He knows that she is thinking, “She better not be rude to my Sam.”

A faint smile appears on Mrs. Martin’s thin lips. “That’s O.K., Sam,” she says to him. “I understand that you were just trying to defend Churchill.”

Sam tries to grin back at his teacher.

Mrs. Martin leans so close that Sam can see the smudge on her glasses. As they gaze at each other, suddenly, her eyes flash with decision. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…. Can you stay after school this Wednesday? We can get to know each other a little better,” she says.

“Yess,” Sam says.

“That would be great,” Miss Perkins says. “We would…”

Mrs. Martin straightens up. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me,” she interrupts. “Principal Cullen wants to see me.” As if to herself, she adds, “I hope my class wasn’t too loud.” She turns and walks briskly out the door.

Sam confronts the empty desks. He hates being the only kid in the whole classroom. It’s one of the loneliest feelings in the whole world. He feels much lonelier in the empty, quiet classroom than he ever does in his spot at the window.

He worries that by speaking out in class, he has scared Ann away. Just when Sam is about to give up on her, Ann wanders in. Although some of the girls wear pants, Ann always has on a dress. Today hers is blue— the color of her eyes.

“Hhhi, Ann,” Sam says.

“Hi!” Ann said. “You’re sure talking a lot today.”

Miss Perkins blows her nose in her handkerchief. She finishes by dabbing it with quick little pats. “He’s just shy. Now that he knows you, he’ll start talking all the time.”

“Nnnot all,” Sam says happily.

Ann laughs. She takes the brake off the wheelchair. “Let’s go.”

*
*
*

After school, Miss Perkins pushes Sam down the aisle of baked goods in the cafeteria— the PTA’s bake sale. Flat and layered chocolate cakes. Lemon cookies dusted with white sugar. Thick packages of brownies. “I want to buy some brownies for us,” she says to Sam. “Besides, this bake sale will be a good opportunity for us to meet people. Ironing will just have to wait.”

In the room crowded with students and parents, Miss Perkins spots Marigold and Ann, but she doesn’t see any boys from Mrs. Martin’s class. She looks around at the clusters of chatting mothers. They seem to be a nice working-class group. She guesses that she’ll find some friends. She always does. But she knows from experience that she needs to approach them in stages. Let them get used to us first, she thinks. Then, we’ll introduce ourselves.

Miss Perkins begins examining the brownies. She wants to find some without nuts.

“Excuse me,” Miss Perkins hears someone say. When she looks up, she finds a woman with faded blonde hair and blue eyes standing behind the counter. She has a strong jaw, wide shoulders and thick arms. Miss Perkins smiles at the woman, but she doesn’t smile back.

“I’m Kathy Riley, president of Stirling’s PTA.”

So this is Ann’s mother, Miss Perkins thinks.

Mrs. Riley nods her knobby chin in Sam’s direction. “That can’t be the boy in Mrs. Martin’s class.”

Miss Perkins corrects Mrs. Riley and introduces Sam and herself. Although she instinctively doesn’t like the woman, she decides to give her a break because of Ann. “Ann has been so kind to Sam. She’s such a sweet girl,” she says.

“Ann mentioned…,” Mrs. Riley sputters.