Just Another Kid: Each was a child no one could reach – until one amazing teacher embraced them all. Torey Hayden

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СКАЧАТЬ was a remarkably beautiful woman. It was unsettling to me, because I couldn’t keep from noticing it, even at a moment like this, when she made obvious the old adage about beauty being only skin deep. But ignoring her appearance was like trying to ignore a drastic deformity.

      And she wasn’t giving in. She had eyes like a reptile’s. They didn’t blink.

      “Please, let’s be sensible about this,” I said.

      “Let go.”

      “Please? Come on now, Dr. Taylor. Be reasonable.”

      “I said, let go.”

      “Let me drive Leslie then. You go as you want, but let me take Leslie.”

      “Can’t you hear me?” she asked.

      “Come on now.”

      “Let go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

      “Please?”

      Her eyes narrowed, and in a very calculated manner, she reached her hand toward mine. Ruefully, I uncurled my fingers from Leslie’s coat collar and let go before Dr. Taylor’s hand touched me.

      The moment I did, Dr. Taylor and her daughter disappeared down the stairwell and were gone.

      Carolyn laughed. She threw back her head and really howled. We were the only two in the whirlpool, but I slid down into the water until it was up around my neck so that the people over by the swimming pool couldn’t see me.

      “It’s not that funny, Carolyn.”

      “She really laid it on you, didn’t she? Well, it serves you right. It does, Torey,” she said and leaned forward. “You think because you’re new here, you’re classless. You think you can mess with small-town politics.”

      “I wasn’t messing with politics. The woman was stone drunk.”

      Carolyn closed her eyes and relaxed back against the side of the whirlpool. “You’re better off leaving her alone. They’re different from us.”

      “Oh, that’s silly, Carolyn. What rubbish.” I pulled myself up out of the deeper water and sat back beside her on the bench.

      Carolyn remained in her relaxed pose. “It’s not. They’re rich. They’ve got a different kind of lifestyle than the rest of us. Different kinds of friends.” She opened her eyes and looked over. “You know what happened to Carly Johnston, you know, the girl who runs the gallery on Rosten Street? She got invited out to one of Tom Considyne’s big bashes a couple of years ago. It was a Christmas party, I think. Anyway, you know what they gave for party favors?”

      I shook my head.

      “Coke. Cocaine. Half a gram of coke.”

      I said nothing.

      “I’m not kidding, Tor.”

      “I didn’t think you were, but she wasn’t high, Carolyn. She was drunk. Plain old booze, like you buy over the counter in the supermarket. And I’m not thinking of busting into her jet-set lifestyle. I’m thinking of Leslie.” Carolyn didn’t respond. She closed her eyes again and stretched out to let the whirlpool jets run against her arms.

      Brooding, I remained upright on the bench. I looked over. “Did Dr. Taylor come to the school drunk like this last year?”

      “Yeah,” Carolyn said without opening her eyes. “I didn’t see much of her. My room was on the far side of the building, and Leslie was in Rita Ashworth’s room. But she was drunk quite a lot. She drove Rita bonkers more than a few times with it. She’d be sober for ages and then come in absolutely blotto two or three times a week for a while. Rita never knew what to expect. It was worst in midwinter. It got to be a joke among us. You know how you get about things like that.”

      “Didn’t anybody do anything about it?” I asked.

      “Like what, precisely?” Carolyn half-opened her eyes and looked over at me.

      “I don’t know. But she’s got to be doing herself a fair amount of harm. She’s young. What age is she? Thirty? Thirty-five?”

      “I mean really, Torey, who cares? She isn’t exactly the poor-and-dying of Calcutta, is she? She’s such an arrogant so-and-so. She couldn’t give a fuck about you or me, if you’ll forgive my French. So I’m not about to play Mother Teresa for her benefit. Nobody is.”

      I didn’t respond.

      Carolyn looked over. “Has she ever said more than two words to you?”

      “No. Not really.”

      “See what I mean? Besides, we’re schoolteachers, not social workers. Or psychiatrists, which is what I suspect the woman really needs.”

      “I’m thinking of Leslie.”

      “Leslie seems pretty unbothered. Lots of kids have alcoholic parents, Tor. I did myself. You survive.”

      Sighing, I leaned back and stared up at the open girders supporting the ceiling.

      “Don’t sound so defeated. She’s not going to cause any trouble. She’s one of those drunks who really doesn’t do much more than just get snockered. When I said she drove Rita wild, I didn’t mean to say she was trouble. She wasn’t. Half the time I didn’t even realize she was drunk. Just leave her alone. That was what Rita did in the end, and it worked out best all around. She wants no truck with us mortal folk anyhow. If you don’t talk to her, you can be plenty sure she’ll never talk to you.”

      “Still seems to me like she should have help.”

      Carolyn rose up out of the whirlpool. “To be honest with you, Tor, I really couldn’t care less. I mean, what has she got to drown her sorrows over anyway? She’s beautiful. She’s rich. She’s smart. She has a fantastic husband. She has the whole formula for happiness and look what she does with it. Parents of most of the kids in my room, what have they got? Welfare. Prison terms. No education. No money. No chance. No hope. Nothing. And she’s got it all and goes around making a real horse’s behind out of herself. No sirree. Don’t look here for sympathy.”

       Chapter 4

      What a pair Shemona and Geraldine made. They were two halves of a whole, rather than two separate children. Shemona was truly mute, spending every day in total silence. She had one of the most closed, unreadable faces I had ever come across in a child. It was as if someone had stuck up one-way mirrors behind her eyes, because, while Shemona constantly watched me, I could never see anything in return. And she did watch me. Even when I turned to look directly at her, she never averted her eyes. She simply continued to study my face. At those moments it was hard to remember she was a five-year-old. There was no innocence about her.

      Geraldine, however, was clingy, noisy and infantile. From the beginning, she insisted on being physically close to me whenever possible. If I sat down, there she was, climbing on my lap, hanging over my shoulder, fondling my hair and my face. If I was standing, СКАЧАТЬ