A Safe Place for Joey. Mary MacCracken

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СКАЧАТЬ palm of his hand, stroking it rhythmically as he rocked back and forth, his eyes closed. It was my turn to sigh. Whatever it was that Eric needed, it was a lot more than sounding it out. Suddenly Eric opened his eyes, and I could see that they were filled with tears, his long dark eyelashes wet and clumped together. Why was he crying silently to himself?

      “Suppose I go over to Eric’s school and talk to his teacher. Miss Selby? Is that her name? Maybe she can give me some more information about the kind of help Eric needs.”

      “No!” Mrs. Kroner spoke sharply. “I don’t want the school to know I’m here. Then they’ll be even surer there’s something wrong with him. Or else they’ll say it’s the tutor what’s doing the work, not Eric.”

      “Mrs. Kroner, I’m sorry.” And I really was. Despite the hour, despite the obvious problems, there was something about this little boy and his mother that drew me to them, and I was moved by how much she obviously loved her son and how desperately she wanted to help him. Still, I couldn’t work behind a cloud of pretense. I tried to explain. “I can’t work that way. I need your help and Eric’s teacher’s, too. We all have to work together, be a team, if we’re going to help Eric.”

      “What would you say to her?” Mrs. Kroner asked. “I wouldn’t want you talking behind Eric’s back – or mine neither.”

      “I would ask about the kind of things Eric does in school – where he does well and where he has trouble. I would ask about the other children and how he gets along with them.”

      “No,” Mrs. Kroner said again.

      I sighed – half weariness, half exasperation.

      “Then I don’t see how I can …”

      I stopped speaking as something touched my right foot. I looked down and saw that Eric had put the baby in one of the trucks and was crouched beside his mother’s legs, pushing the truck back and forth. The truck had bumped against my shoe. An accident, or was this Eric’s way of asking for help? He was as pale and silent as before, but now he looked steadily up at me and pointed at the truck. My heart capitulated.

      “What is it, Eric?” I asked, bending down. But the moment was gone. I had lost him. He buried his head back against the couch. But during that one brief instance of eye contact I could feel the intelligence behind those eyes, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that if I could reach this little boy, I could teach him.

      Mrs. Kroner interrupted my thoughts. “Could you call her instead – his teacher?” she almost whispered. “Instead of going over there?”

      “Yes,” I said. “I guess I could. If you would feel better about that.”

      “If you did call her, would you tell her what I told you? You know – about how I didn’t even really want Eric at first?”

      “No,” I said. “I don’t think there’s any need to talk about that. In fact, I’m not even sure it’s true.”

      I wished Mrs. Kroner had given me permission to visit the school. I could have gathered so much information by observing Eric’s interaction with the other children and his response to his teacher. And I certainly needed all the information I could get, particularly since there was to be no formalized testing. I had compromised because I didn’t want to lose Eric, and now I had to stick to my agreement. I could only hope his teacher was a good communicator.

      Miss Selby spoke clearly and matter-of-factly. “I’m very concerned,” she said at once. “I’m new. This is my first year here and it’s a big school. There’s a lot I don’t understand – I’m the first to admit it. But I really don’t see why Eric’s in our school at all. He just doesn’t fit in with the other children. Why they ever promoted him from kindergarten is beyond me.

      “He doesn’t do anything. Good or bad. And he isn’t getting any help. Not even from me, and I want to help. But I don’t know where to begin. I’m not even sure he hears me.”

      “Does he talk to the other children?” I asked.

      “Well, yes and no. I can’t make any sense of it. But they somehow like him, and somebody or other always seems to be watching over him.”

      We discussed the testing she’d suggested to Mrs. Kroner and her refusal to consider it. “I told her,” Miss Selby said, “that I thought Eric had some kind of language disability and that he should be referred to the Child Study Team for a workup. But she just acted as if I were the one who needs help. She said there wasn’t anything wrong with Eric and that nobody had complained about him last year.

      “Well, in spite of that, I did talk to the psychologist the other day – and asked him to just stop by my room sometime for a kind of informal observation. He agreed, but he didn’t say when.”

      I pressed on, asking more questions. Does Eric play? Does he colour? Does he eat at snack time?

      “I told you,” Miss Selby replied. “The others keep him with them, but he doesn’t actually do anything.”

      I thanked Miss Selby. She was certainly interested and trying to do all she could. But somehow Eric and school were still a blur to me.

      I called Mrs. Kroner to tell her that I had talked to Eric’s teacher and felt she genuinely wanted to help him – and that it might be a good thing to have the Child Study Team do an evaluation. Again, Mrs. Kroner was adamant – no testing.

      I also asked again if she couldn’t find someone closer to where she lived who could help Eric, trying not to admit, even to myself, how much I wanted the chance. But when she insisted that there was no one and that she was determined to bring Eric to me after she got home from work, I couldn’t hold back my unabashed delight. I cut my fee in half, and we set up an appointment for half past six on the coming Wednesday.

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