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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ isn’t dead.”

      “What’s the matter with her, Miss?”

      “She’s drunk. Passed out, that’s all. Nothing nearly so romantic as death, believe me.”

      “I thought you’d killed her, Miss.”

      “Shamie! For pity’s sake.” I bent down. “Now listen, give me a hand. I want to get her into the classroom.”

      Even between the two of us, it was an awkward job. Once far enough inside to close the door, I let go. “This is good enough.”

      “Should we go get Mr. Cotton?” Shamie asked.

      I considered the suggestion but then shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. She’ll come out of it on her own. I think.”

      “She doesn’t look very comfortable, Miss. Do you think we ought to fetch her a pillow?”

      “This isn’t the Hilton, Shamie. She’ll be just fine.”

      Dirkie abruptly rounded the corner of the shelves. His reaction was the same as Shamie’s had been initially, only much louder. “You killed her! She’s dead!” he shrieked.

      “You guys. Good grief. Do I look like I go around killing people? I haven’t killed anybody. She’s not dead. So hush up.”

      “She’s dead,” Dirkie said, appalled.

      “She’ll be all right in a bit, if we just leave her alone. She’s not dead, Dirkie, believe me.” Approaching him to turn him around and get him back to work, I extended my hand. Dirkie jumped and ran around the corner of the shelves.

      Shamie remained standing over Dr. Taylor. “You too, Shamie. Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

      He looked over, a slightly bemused expression on his face. “It’s like having Sleeping Beauty in the classroom. She’s like a fairy person, she’s so beautiful.”

      “Beauty is as beauty does, Shamie. Now, come on.”

      Of course, it proved utterly impossible to get back to work. The children were already stirred up. Everybody knew Dr. Taylor was over there. Moreover, she made noises. They were fairly stuporous sounding, and she never managed to rouse herself completely, but every time we heard her, we all jumped. Mariana, Geraldine and Shemona found the whole episode hysterically funny and giggled nonstop. Dirkie remained convinced that I had done her in. Shamie persisted in getting up every few minutes to check around the corner of the shelving to see if she was still there. Unfortunately, she always was. Only Leslie seemed unconcerned. Perhaps she had seen it all before.

      After twenty minutes or so of irritatedly trying to keep the children on task, I gave up. There was very little class time left anyhow, and it just didn’t seem worth the aggravation. So, I told the children to collect their belongings and then took them downstairs. Carolyn had music during this period, and I knew she wouldn’t mind a few extra voices. Besides, I figured she owed me one for having supervised her kids at lunch.

      “You are never in a million years going to believe what’s going on up in my classroom,” I said, as I ushered my lot through her door.

      “Yeah,” said Dirkie brightly. “There’s a dead lady up there.”

      Back in the classroom, I knelt beside Dr. Taylor and gave her a good, bone-rattling shake. She responded this time, moaning and rolling over onto her side.

      “Get up,” I said, all guise of politeness gone.

      Slowly, very slowly, she managed to bring herself into a sitting position. She clasped either side of her head with her hands.

      “All the way up. On your feet. Now.”

      This proved harder, and I realized suddenly that I wasn’t going to be able to simply open the door and evict her, as I had intended. Supporting her to keep her steady, I guided her around the corner to the table and pulled out a chair. She collapsed into it, hunching forward, elbows on the tabletop, hands over her face.

      “Well, this is a hell of a mess,” I said. “What are we going to do with you now?”

      She made no response.

      “Shit,” I muttered and turned away, walking over to the window. I was really fed up. Why me? Thrusting my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans, I leaned against the radiator and stared outside. I studied the brick wall, the asphalt yard, the chimney stack for several minutes. Then I turned back.

      She hadn’t moved.

      “Are you okay?” I asked. Seeing her as she was, I had a split-second sensation that she wasn’t.

      And I was right. Because the next moment, she was sick. Not slightly, not politely, but appallingly, all over the table, the chair, the floor and herself. She must have brought up a whole week’s worth of food, because it went everywhere.

      I squawked and jumped.

      Then my mind went absolutely blank for what must have been only a moment or two but seemed like eternity. Paralyzed, I did nothing.

      She retched again. Locating the wastebasket, I thrust it into her hands. “Here, use this. I’m going to find the janitor.” And I beat a hasty retreat.

      Bill was in the teachers’ lounge with his coffee and the newspaper. “One of your parents?” he asked incredulously. I just rolled my eyes and asked if he had anything in his closet that I could use to help her clean herself up. He tossed me the keys. “Leave it open,” he said. “I’ll be up in a minute.” And he drained the last drops from his coffee mug.

      Upstairs in Bill’s closet, I could find nothing but a stack of floor cloths. They looked clean enough, and from the way they were stacked, I assumed they’d been washed and not yet used. I sniffed at a couple. They’d do.

      Back in the room, Dr. Taylor had not moved. She’d vomited again, and the wastebasket was between her knees. There was an ungodly odor.

      Going over, I opened all the windows to the chilly November air. Then I went back to the sink and took out a plastic dishpan from the cupboard underneath. Running water into it and adding a generous amount of baking soda, I threw in the floor cloths.

      “Are you going to be sick again?” I asked.

      She shook her head.

      “Are you sure?”

      She nodded.

      “Well then, come over here in this chair.”

      She rose, came over and sat.

      I washed her. As if she were one of the children, I took the wet floor cloths and simply got on with it, doing the best I could to get the vomit off her clothes and off her. I had no idea what her current mental state was or how capable she was of cleaning herself up, and I was in no mood to inquire. She seemed considerably more sober than earlier but was perfectly willing to let me take care of things. Neither of us spoke a word. I knew when all this was over, the embarrassment was going to be excruciating for both of us, but for the moment all proprieties were suspended. A word from either of us СКАЧАТЬ