"Shoo. Shoo!"

  She glared at me with her coal-black eyes.

  I was not afraid of her teeth, but I feared she had rabies.

  I held myself tighter. "Go away."

  I almost lost my balance, but I caught myself. I didn't want to fall on her and her babies.

  She must have been walking on the banister when she or the little guy had fallen off. Her falling was the bang, and the scratching was from her trying to get back up to her newborn. She must have made a nest, or whatever possums have, somewhere around my house. Her joey finally crawled on her back. Then she swung around and scampered off like a full school bus.

  I sat there on the banister until she was on the other side of the porch. I didn't want to upset her again. I watched as she clawed her way up one of the posts. I imagined those claws going into me, and I was glad I'd avoided that.

  Once she was up the post and entirely distracted, I got down and ran to the door. When I put weight on my foot, a stinging pain shot up through my toe. I may or may not have screamed a bit making the possum hiss. Other sounds came from the yard as I hobbled on my heel and one good foot to get to the door. I got inside and slammed the slab of bloodwood behind me.

  I spun around, and I hit my injured toe. I slipped on the smooth hardwood floors and fell right on my ass—the finale of my crazy night.

  I sat there for a second staring at the door. I wondered if the possum stood, foaming at the mouth, right on the other side. To show my victory, I reached out and kicked the wooden slab with my good foot.

  I pulled my injured toe close to my face. The toenail was broken, and it was bleeding. After seeing how long my toenails were, I realized why it hurt so bad. My Rose-Mary Grand would have been so disappointed in my grooming habits. I rolled my eyes. I grinned as I played out the scenario of bleeding out on the spot, although the wound wasn't that gruesome. These last few months had been crazy, and foot care hadn’t on my list of priorities. I'm sure I had a pair of clippers packed away somewhere.

  I hopped on one foot to the bathroom upstairs. I put my bloody foot in the sink and turned on the water. The water hit my toe like a cold, sharp blade. I winced and put my foot down.

  The acidic smell of the water reached my nose. It could either be a miracle cure or give me gangrene.

  While I waited for the water to warm, I looked at myself in the mirror and marveled that I had been attacked by a mama possum. It could only happen to me. I couldn't make this crap up, even if I tried.

  Something played over and over in my head. It was as I ran into the house just moments ago. I ran, looking like a fool, and even screamed once or twice. But it's what made me scream that bothered me. Yes, the possum hissed, but there had been more. There was something in the yard, something watching me. I know I heard something else, but it didn't make any sense...

  * * *

  I heard children laughing.

  23

  Monday, November 2, 1964

  Sunrise 6:58 am. Sunset 5:35 pm.

  * * *

  I woke in an unfamiliar, sunny room. I turned my face away from the glowing light, but the sun-battered my eyes from two adjacent windows. I rubbed my face, which was warm to the touch. It took me a few moments to realize where I was. It was my first time waking up in a dining room.

  I sat there smacking my lips, like Franklin. It was a sound I hated.

  The sun was up.

  I twisted around until I found my watch.

  "Shit!" I was late. At least I thought I was late. I couldn't remember what time Franklin said sunrise was, valley time. The watch read 9:21 and my heart sank. I was supposed to be at the school at 9:30. "The first frecking day!"

  I sprinted upstairs, dragging toilet paper behind me as I put the weight of my right foot on my heel. I grabbed a shirt and my teacher's bag, which held my notebook, pencils, a handkerchief, and a book, just in case I had time to read. I ran to the bathroom, wet my hands, then finger combed my hair and beard. I threw my toothbrush and paste in my bag. I would have to brush my teeth at school during lunch.

  Running down the stairs, my injured toe made itself known like a pouting child as I put on my shirt and buttoned it up. With bag in tow, I hurried out the front door, stuffing my shirt into my pants.

  I winced at the sight of the mountains surrounding me. It would take a few more days to get used to their crushing weight.

  The town was already awake as I hurried down Main Street.

  At the station, Eddie was at his post and even wished me luck on my first day. I hurried over the old bridge and was happy to see my car still had all four tires.

  I turned left off of the bridge and headed up the highway, and in about eight minutes I got to the path that led up to the school. I climbed the hill to the flat schoolyard, panting like the Falcon when it was about to overheat. I couldn't help but think that once I was able to drive to work, the brakes might fail and my car would go soaring off the mountain into some poor family's trailer. I was sure that was the reason there were so many caved-in homes—cars with lousy parking brakes and, of course, falling rocks.

  As I crossed the schoolyard, I noticed the plywood had been removed from the windows. On the other side of the glass, Franklin stood as I approached, and young inquisitive faces turned to peer out at me.

  I entered the double doors. The room was surprisingly cozy.

  Franklin was standing in the center of the room to the left of the lit coal stove. "No need to go to recess just yet, children, Mr. Christian finally made it." He gave a teasing smile. "Class, say hello to your late, new teacher, Mr. Christian."

  The excited class repeated, "Hello, Mr. Christian."

  Franklin continued, "Class, when telling time, if the big arm is on the ten, and the little arm is on the nine. What time is it?"

  "Late," the class answered in unison, then their little faces bloomed into smiles and giggles.

  "AM," shouted a little girl with a big smile and frizzy, brown hair.

  I was slightly embarrassed, but happy to see the children had a sense of humor. The problem was, it went against how I was taught to teach. I was always told to be overly strict in the first few weeks.

  Franklin walked over to me and shook my hand. "Are you ready?"

  I gave an overconfident nod. "Of course. Is there a class roster?"

  "A what?" Franklin asked.

  "A list of children?" I caught myself, remembering I was the only person running the show. "I'll make a list of the children's names at the end of the day."

  I cleared my throat and stepped to the front of the class. A small garden of expression stared back at me: excited, afraid, cautious, and sleepy. The kids in front were all freckles, missing baby teeth, and hair bows, and in the back were near-adults; all of them in one room. There were definitely more than eighteen students.

  Franklin must have seen me counting. "I had a hunch we wouldn't have enough seats, so I got some from the big store. I hope you don't mind."

  "Of course not, it's nice." I heard the words come out of my mouth, but inside I was screaming. How in the hell was I supposed to teach so many different grade levels with so many kids? My stomach turned in a threatening manner.

  A little girl caught my eye, and I did a double take. There were two of them—the twins. At first, I thought I was tripping, but then I remembered meeting yesterday at church. Their mother had dressed them in the same outfits, though they were wearing their hair bows on opposite sides.

  "Good morning, girls," I paused. "What are your names again?"

  "Kate and Meg," they said in unison.

  That confused me since I didn't know which name went with which girl, but my mind turned back to the number of student.

  So many kids ...Numbers, math, I thought. Math is easy.

  I grabbed a piece of chalk off the blackboard, and I divided it into four sections. The board was located across the room from the window, so the morning sun lit it nicely. "We will start with arithmetic. Please take out a piece of paper, and if you don't have any, I will pass some out. If you are between the ages of six and nine, you will do the addition problems. If you are between ten and twelve, you will do the subtractions, thirteen to fourteen—

  "Sorry, I guess I'm letting my nerves get the best of me." I paused and I straightened my tie. "Hello, class...school. I'm Mr. Christian."

  Amy was on the right side of the class, sitting next to a striking blonde girl of about sixteen.

  The new blonde girl spoke up. "Mr. Christian, I heard you were from Atlanta."

  The class became excited and chattered amongst themselves.

  "What's your name?" I asked the girl.

  "I'm Allison," she answered with a coy smile.

  I tried to keep myself from blushing and went on, "Yes, Allison and class, I am from Atlanta."

  The little girl who shouted "am" stood and put her hands on her hips. "Well, I have a few questions."

  "Ah! Scarlet, sit down and raise your hand before you speak. Mr. Christian is not accustomed to such outbursts where he comes from," Franklin said with disapproval.

  Scarlet protested, "Well, Allison didn't raise her stupid paw."

  The class giggled, but instantly stopped when Franklin gave them a scowl.

  She plopped down into her seat with a huff and raised her hand. I gestured to her. "I'm sorry, Mr. Christian. I didn't mean to speak out of turn. But I am at school, and I'm ready to learn and make new friends and—"

  Franklin held up his hands. "Scarlet, I know you are excited, but you are going to have to let Mr. Christian talk."

  "Sure thing. Sorry," she said putting her hands between her knees.

  Scarlet sat in front and shared a desk with Carla. The two girls were the same, and, yet, completely different.

  I smiled. "It's all right. It's my first day here too and asking questions is a good thing to do, but like Mr. Mullis said, raise your paw first."

  She grinned at me and shot Franklin a triumphant, overdramatic smile.

  So much for my strict-start teacher routine.

  Weezer and a little, freckled boy of about ten sat in the first desk next to the door. The boy with freckles raised his hand. "Are you a farmer?"

  I chuckled. "No, I'm a teacher."

  He raised his hand again. "Did you have a farm back in Atlanta?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  The little boy was thoroughly confused.

  Franklin chimed in, "Jason, Atlanta is a city, and it's hard to farm."

  "How come?" Jason asked.

  Franklin looked back to me.

  "Because," I said, "in a city there is little farmland. Buildings occupy the majority of the land."

  "If there are so many buildings, where are the coal mines?" Jason asked.

  "There is very little mining for coal in Georgia since the Civil War, especially not in Atlanta," I stated.

  "Then how do you make money?" Jason asked with a rising pitch.

  The question set the students to chattering. It was at that moment I realized there were more differences between Middwood and Atlanta besides the mountains, windowless rooms, and devil paintings.

  I raised my hands to quiet the children. "It isn't like Middwood where everyone does the same kind of work. There are lots of different types of industry with lots of opportunities."

  Jason began to speak again, but Franklin shot him a look. Jason raised his hand again. "My dad said he never saw a man teacher before."

  It was nothing I hadn't heard before. I wanted to correct his grammar and tell him most schools started switching to female teachers because they could control them and pay them less, but I was sure the nice, little boy's father wouldn't understand.

  Instead I said, "That's a common misconception, young man. In many cities, there are plenty of men who teach."

  The kids whispered as I turned back to the board.

  "What is a common mistconcession?" Weezer asked.

  "I don't know," replied Jason.

  I took a breath, turned back to the class, and asked, "Now, before we get to our math lesson, are there any other questions?"

  The entire class raised their hands.

  Franklin came off his perch like an old owl. "Children, there will be plenty of time for you to ask questions later."

  I moved closer to the class. "Okay, I don't mind answering your questions about myself and Atlanta, but we must have our lessons as well, so I'll tell you what. Each day I will answer one question..."

  I looked over at Franklin and he held up two fingers.

  "One question, but only if everyone does their work and behaves. Do we have a deal?"

  By all the smiles, with and without all their teeth, I could tell they were pleased. I couldn't help but smile back. "Good," I said.

  Scarlet raised her hand.

  "Yes?" I asked.

  "Mr. Christian, you have nice, white teeth," she said boldly.

  I blushed. "Thank you. That's very kind." I turned to the board. "Now, let's see where we are with arithmetic."

  I wrote five basic questions in each of the assigned age-level sections and turned around. The wide eyes and smiles diminished like little, flickering Christmas lights going out. It wasn't just the little kids either, it was the whole schoolhouse. Franklin looked at me with concern.

  I walked away from the blackboard and along the rows. I looked down at each student's paper as I passed. Some of them had managed to write their first problem down, but none of the children had written answers.

  I returned to the board. "It looks like we need to take another approach. Okay, my oldest students, fifteen and up, since the division is beyond us at the moment, how many of you know how to do multiplication."

  Amy, the blonde from yesterday, raised her hand. "I do, but I only know the ones and the twos."

  "But Amy, you know them, so that's good," I said.

  "What about the subtraction, do any of my oldest know how to work subtraction?"

  Luckily, they all raised their hands. However, Allison kept looking around. Even though she had her hand up, the teacher in me knew she was afraid of looking dumb. I let it slide.

  "Okay, listen, I want all of you to do the problems on the board that you do know. Even if they are just the addition problems. Everyone with me? While you do that, I will work with the youngest. Agreed?"

  The children's faces lit back up again. I made sure to keep the smile on my face as I looked at Franklin. I could tell he was happy with the way I'd handled the setback.

  If I was going to keep the house and the job, I had to make sure the kids learned.

  24

  I was finally brushing my teeth when Carla, the little girl I met on Sunday, was the first in from recess. “Don’t mind me. I wanted to make sure no one got my seat," she said as she sat in the first desk on the third row.

  Her hair was neatly tied with a yellow ribbon. She was not the prettiest or even the neatest, but I could tell she’d taken the time to make sure her hair was done. I wouldn't be surprised if she insisted on doing it all by herself, without the help of her mother.

  "Hey," a voice snapped from the door.

  I glanced over, but I couldn't see their face. The sun back-lit the person in silhouette.

  "Yes?" I asked.

  "Is this just a getting-to-know-you first day, and if it is, can I ditch?"

  It was, Peter, the troublemaker. His teenage attitude reminded me why I chose to work with middle-grade students.

  "It's a real day. We've been working on math."

  "My mom made me come. Is it only little kids in here?"

  "No, there are a few older kids too."

  "I'm not a kid. I'm seventeen."

  "Great. Well, come on in."

  "Where's Frank?" he asked as he moved to the seat next to Carla. She regarded him with a half-smile, then turned her attention back to me.

  "Hey, beat it! I already called dibs on that seat,” whined Scarlet in a high-pitched voice, stomping from the door.

  I mused in agreement, "Oh, I'm sorry...?" I asked leaving a pause like I didn't know his name.

  The boy looked from Scarlet to me. "Peter Janowski."

  I gave an apologetic face. "I'm sorry that is Scarlet's seat." I paused. "She has trouble seeing the board."

  Scarlet shot me a confused glance.

  "Scarlet, remember? The note you gave me...from your mom?" I said slowly with a deep nod.

  Scarlet caught on to my game and whipped back to him and said shrilly, "My mom said for me to sit close. Get your own seat."

  He stood and threw up his hands. "I don't care if you're blind or not, dork."

  "Hey! Don't call me a dork, chicken head!” Scarlet shouted.

  Peter gave in and moved away. He took a seat in the back of the third row.

  "Scarlet, please don't scream so loud," Franklin instructed walking into the schoolhouse.

  "Hi, Frank. Can I go home?" he boy asked.

  "Peter," Franklin stated firmly, "you will refer to me as Mr. Mullis, and you aren't leaving here until the end of the day. Is that clear?"

  The boy didn't answer. Instead, he turned and stared out the window.

  Franklin huffed, “Young man, I’m going to have a talk with your mother.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Mullis.”

  By the end of the day the youngest were counting, and some of them were even able to add on their fingers. I encouraged the older students to help the next age group down with their work, and I promised to work with them later. All of the older girls helped, but Peter worked by himself. It was a matter of small steps. I was pleased but exhausted.

  Franklin walked over to me. "Good work today, Mr. Christian. It looks like it's a good fit."

  "Thank you, Franklin. They are behind, but they were all eager to learn, and that always helps."

  "Well, get some rest, and I will see you again tomorrow, but be on time," he smiled, then walked out.

  "Mr. Mullis," I called.

  He re-entered and corrected me. "Franklin."

  "Franklin, sorry. Will you be coming to school every day?"

 

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