“Bobby, please pay attention,” I call out, standing with my teacher’s book open. My patience is as empty as this morning’s coffee cup resting on my desk. The joe’s rich taste long ago transformed into my current bad breath, flavored with the recent consumption of Kahlua and creme.
Overhead classroom lighting reflects off Bobby’s rosy cheeks. Several dogs bark outside the open window, yet his small body sits frozen at the desk when the other students turn to the ongoing disruptions. His left hand remains motionless in the middle of sketching an oblong plane. The dark lead tip connects with the paper at a single point. I don’t understand why he’s playing another of his attention-seeking games after his mother promised she would work with him to be more attentive.
My eyebrows furrow at his insolence. Aggravation settles across my face like wet leaves on an autumn sidewalk. I glare, hoping to snap him back without having to raise the volume of my voice and threaten another headache.
The clock reads ten after eleven. Why can’t it be five o’clock already? Why can’t I be at Shay’s Bar and Grill lifting tumbler glasses full of liquid happiness with my after-work crew? I imagine ice clinking in my grip as we share the day’s burdens under the canopy of sloppy laughter, and even sloppier grab-assing. I retreat into the comfort of the fantasy.
“Ms. Keller,” a young girl’s voice calls out with a confidence of an adult. My mental escapade dissolves away into a room of children. Tiny hairs rise up along the back of my neck.
“Ms. Keller,” she repeats. This is not a request. This is a declaration. I don’t like it.
“What do you need, Su-san?” I snap with a defensive demeanor, hoping to neutralize her effect on my insecurities and retake the reins of the moment.
“He’s not a little boy anymore.” Her arctic tone capsizes my authority.
I stand aghast. The room shifts between blinks. Colorful walls stretch backwards, opening my once standard-sized classroom to the size of a warehouse. The children behind their desks spread away from one another. I could drive my sedan between them.
“What?” My voice trembles. It echoes as if I’m standing in the center of a cave. I wonder if she can hear the single word.
“Bobby’s become a plastic. Just like we’re all going to become.” She pauses. Time drags low and slow between us. I want to say something to release the tension, but the words have been erased from my mental dictionary. Her index finger points at my face.
“Even you.” The decree crawls out from between her tense lips. The final syllable floats like a fat bumblebee across the room, landing in my ear. Susan’s flat expression locks in place. Her gaze becomes still, as if they’d become two marbles, painted to look like eyes. The dark curls around her head lose their spring. The overhead light reflects on her dimpled cheeks.
The classroom snaps back into its original form. I suck in a breath, promising myself I’ll never drink on a work night, and especially in the morning, if my day can return to normal. Not a drop, even when cheap Sanders gets so hammered he agrees to pay for rounds. It’ll only be water or juice for me. I’ll even give up coffee.
I assemble a prayer from snippets I remember from Sunday school. My memory slips. I stitch together a verbal Frankenstein’s monster of spiritually inspired passages, adding in a ‘peace among men’ to cover all the bases.
One after the other, her classmates brace into stillness behind their squat desks. I stand helpless, watching it happen. One by one. The dogs renew their barking. The children remain static. No one looks. None cares. My hope fades.
I should run out of the door. Maybe I can beat whatever has overtaken these poor darlings. My shoes refuse to shift from the tile floor. I’m stuck. My best opportunity was when I didn’t know any better. The PA speaker cube blares from off to my left. The principal’s panicked voice arrives in my ears as a series of muffled noises. I can’t decipher her instructions.
My skin tightens. My fingers stiffen. I can’t move my head. I want to scream. My lips won’t part. I fear my cheeks… …reflect the overh… …lighting. My. Th-ou-ghts. Er-as-ing.
