Mimi piped in. I don’t think car-crash people would like what you wrote, she said primly.
Cancer doesn’t have a butt, said Ann.
Butt cancer does, said Danny.
I was in a car crash once, said Ellen.
John looked at her. No one else paid any attention.
By now Ann had walked to Lisa’s board and written Old Age below the others. Put a > facing it.
Boring, sang out Lisa. Pressing hard with the chalk, she wrote some huge thick letters to the left of War. And put a gigantic > by them. Now it said BLOODY MURDER > War > Sick > Car Crash.
Old Age hovered quietly below.
Bloody Murder wins first place! said Lisa.
Now Ann tried to seize the eraser and so did Danny. Across the room, Elmer was fidgeting and squirming at the mention of bloody murder.
Sit down! I said, holding the eraser over my head. No one sat. I wrote Second Grade next to First Grade and made a > between the two. Elmer smiled again.
Sit down! I said. No one sat.
How do you spell hand-to-hand combat, asked Danny, urgent. Can I have the chalk?
We’re about to finish up, I said. Sit.
Danny pointed to the Rag in the corner of the room. His hand spluttered in the air. You wouldn’t even be here, he said to Lisa.
Who’s doing Numbers and Materials Friday? I asked.
I win! Lisa said.
Danny and Ann both glared at her. You win nothing, said Danny.
The rest of the class slipped notebooks and papers into their brightly colored backpacks. The clock clicked back.
Me, said Mimi. I’m making something.
The class waited, poised, tight and hunched, until the bell rang, and then half ran out. Lisa walked straight to Danny and Ann and pushed them both with the spring of her fingertips, then Danny shoved her shoulder, and Elmer squealed, Fight! and for a second the air congealed into circus-alarm air. Lisa was closing her hand around Ann’s ponytail but I walked over as Ann’s face was imploding and Danny’s knuckles were folding and grabbed Lisa away and held her back but I didn’t quite do it right. She was out from under me in a second.
Bench time all week for the three of you! I said, catching Lisa’s wrist. She struggled against me. No! she said. Right before Danny left the room, he went over to the flag and said something quiet to it, as if he were in church.
All week! I said, writing on the board. All of you!
Lisa broke out of my hand and ran straight to Ann’s chalkboard where she wrote Lisa and Ann and then put a > between the two.
Ha! she yelled, dashing through the door.
Ann erased the board in two swipes and looked at me square on before she left. You should have better class control Ms. Gray, she said. Her eyes were cold.
When she was gone, I sat on the table and looked around. On Elmer’s board was Good Me > Bad Me.
I started shaking. And laughing a little. My hands were shuddering and a few tears shook out. I was wiping my eye when there was a tap at the door and in walked my boss. I went straight to Lisa’s board and began erasing, fast.
Good morning Mona, she said, eyeing the remains of BLOODY MUR as they swept off the chalkboard.
She took a look around the classroom, taking in the spilled box of crayons, the leaking button drawer. She didn’t seem to notice the ax.
The students seem to be enjoying your class, she said.
I waited for her to fire me for firing the science teacher on Friday.
What is it you were teaching today? she asked.
Oh nothing, I said, blowing dust off the eraser. I wiped off War > Sick. Just today I was teaching Greater Than and Less Than, I said.
The boss sat in one of the kid chairs, where she looked odd in her beige suit, the perfect clothing item for a Monday.
I’d like to ask a favor of you, Mona, my boss said.
I waited, at the chalkboard, dust swirling. I would not apologize for firing the science teacher. That is impossible, I would say.
I practiced in my head.
I want you to keep an eye on Lisa Venus, she said. Her mother is worried about her but can’t be around as much as she’d like and you seem to be Lisa’s favorite teacher (I blushed at this even though I knew it was true) and we’re concerned. Last week, she apparently brought cigarettes in her lunch.
Oh, I said, perking up a bit. But not to smoke. You knew about this? my boss asked.
It was her theme lunch of the day, I said. Bologna and margarine and a saccharin drink and cigarettes.
My boss smiled, thinly. Mmmm, she said. Cute. Do you get the theme? I asked.
Mona, she continued, you should always alert me when you see a child bringing cigarettes to school.
I’ll keep an eye on her, I said.
Good, she said, seeming relieved. Good. Good. And Mona? she said.
She walked to the door and shut it.
Lisa’s a very troubled little girl, she said. We’re quite concerned about her.
I nodded about five times. The clock clicked back again, paused, clicked forward. I said: We?
People at the hospital, she said. Doctors. Her mother. They say she’s behaving oddly.
She reached over to the table, and began putting the loose crayons back in their slots. She was careful to arrange them in color order. Blues next to greens, reds next to oranges. This irritated me.
Her voice dropped a decibel. You’re of course aware of the situation with her mother.
I nodded. I am of course aware, I said.
She looked vaguely disappointed that I already knew. They think sometime this spring, she said.
I felt like ripping her hair out in fistfuls now.
Now is it my imagination, she said, or did it say Bloody Murder on the chalkboard?
I pretended to dust chalk off my clothes. Never mind, she said.
Glad we’ve had our discussion. You have a good afternoon now Mona. I’ll see you later for Back-to — School Night.
Back-to-School Night? I asked. She pursed her lips.
Tonight, she said. I put a note in your cubby. I’ve put several notes in your cubby in fact, she said.
I have a cubby? I asked.
Her voice was clipped. Seven P.m.” she said. See you then.
hat evening, before Back-to-School Night, I walked the three blocks to my parents’ house to see if my father was worse. My mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway, which meant she was working late, making brochures, but I went in anyway. The house was dark, TV off, and no one seemed to be home, but then movement caught my eye and I looked through the living room window which was clear in the darkness and through it I saw my father planted in the backyard, standing alone on the grass, his face concentrated and serious, left leg extended behind him in a hurdle stretch.
Hi, I yelled through the glass. What’s going on?
He jumped when he heard my voice, startled, but didn’t turn around to face me. He was doing some trick with his arms, pushing outward from his chest, then reaching down to touch his foot.
I went outside.
It smelled more like fall than it does in fall, and I couldn’t figure out why, and then I saw that he’d burned a circle into the grass, like a brand, a circle with a break in it, a shape something like this:
And he was standing smack in the middle.
Hello, I said, louder, worried, wondering what was happening.
What’s going on? It’s Mona.
He turned around a bit then. He looked deeply embarrassed. I’m just stopping by before Back-to-School Night, I said. Are you feeling okay?
He stayed in the circle. I’m just trying something out here, he said. I read about it in a book; it’s written by a Harvard medical professor. I know it looks ridiculous. It’s called The Shape of Health he said, indicating the burnt grass around him.
It’s a reliable book. It’s for athletes, he said.