When Will Mom Be Home?

Chapter Three

My first day back at Lockwood High was unsettling. My co-workers gave me sympathetic smiles and worrisome eyes while my students refused to make eye contact before turning to their friends and began whispering shamelessly. I wonder how long this awkwardness will last? I have a feeling that this isn't one of those things that everyone will forget about in a week.

When I arrive to room H–105, I let my students in — they're all sixteen and not interested in what I have to say about anything.

"Take your seats" I order before placing my laptop case onto my desk, in front of the students.

The kids look up at me suspiciously, perhaps wondering if the rumours were true. I roll my eyes, knowing that I'll have to address it.

"I'm sure you've all heard what happened" I start slowly, "I've been absent the last week because my...wife passed on and I had to get all my affairs in order." They look at me blankly, their eyes wide. "This is the last time anyone here is going to talk about it, is that understood?"

There's a moment of silence. Some of the kids nod while others seem to be filled with more questions.

"My sister just had a baby, she's real good at taking care of it and stuff" Jennifer in the front row leans back in her chair, "I know she be willing to watch over yours if you need a babysitter"

Jennifer's sister is seventeen, didn't finish school and has been smoking pot recreationally since she was thirteen. I know this because I taught her too.

"How tempting," I say sarcastically, "my daughter's affairs are in order so there's no need for a babysitter"

She clicks her tongue. "Your loss"

I exhale roughly, attempting to control my patience while I drop to my seat and open up my MacBook.

"Today we'll be starting the new material for the upcoming assignment. Racial segregation in America within schools, the assignment will be a report on the Little Rock Nine" I announce.

"Since when do we learn black history?" Jeff Brown cocks a brow, folding his caramel toned arms.

Jeff and Jennifer are the only two black kids in this class. They're also the most vocal. The rest of the class are 3% Hispanic, 10% Asian and the rest white or mixed.

I continue typing in my laptop, my eyes focused on the screen in front of me when I respond.

"Since the school board passed it" I explain simply, "it's now part of the curriculum, any complaints?" Everyone shakes their heads. "Excellent, because y'all are gonna learn it either way"

"I much rather hear you rant about immigration and Trump" Max Rivera smirks.

"That was last quarter, this is now" I respond, my eyes still focused on the screen.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. I look up where I find one of the school's Coordinators, Ms Joan Love. She's an older white lady, always wears a pencil skirt and blouse.

"Hello, everyone" she flashes us her robotic smile. "Mister Thompson, can I have a word with you?"

Joan asking for me this early in the day is never a good sign. Usually, it means that she wants something from me.

I nod before looking over to my bored students, "talk amongst yourselves"

Standing up from my seat, I slowly walk towards Joan, meeting her at the classroom door where she lowers her voice. The students begin whispering in the background —  which soon turns into loud chattering.

"How would you like a job?" She licks her apple red lips.

I furrow my brows in confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"Another job, I mean" she elaborates, "do you remember Samuel Phillips? He used to run that group for the schools troubled students. Well, he was admitted into hospital last night and we need a replacement"

"A replacement?" I fold my arms.

"You know, for the troubled student's group therapy that Samuel used to run," Joan explains, "it's only an hour or so after school, a few times a week"

"I don't know" I shrug.

Can I take on any more responsibilities right now? I've been contemplating going part-time so I can be there for Jazmin — but if I do that, I won't be finically stable for long. After all, our income is now half of what it used to be since Cassandra is now gone.

"Please, Jalen...The kids need someone...like you" Joan softens her eyes.

"Someone like me?" I raise a brow.

She looks me up and down before meeting my gaze.

"We'll know, someone..." She trails off, her voice remaining low and sensitive.

"Black?" I finish her sentence.

"All the kids are of colour..." Joan explains, "and they don't want to listen to a clean-cut white man whose babbling on about how bad drugs are and how guns kill people"

My mind wanders back to my old neighbourhood, thinking about all the friends I had growing up who are now either dead or in prison. The people there don't believe in therapy. My auntie used to say that therapy was for the white folks. I wonder if my friends would still be around if therapy was offered in schools.

I sigh "when do you need a replacement by?"

"Tomorrow"

My eyes widen, "that soon?"

She nods. "Think about it. Sleep on it. Come see me in the morning with your answer"

With that, Joan spins around, twisting her heels against the floor before disappearing in the distance. I sigh, looking back to my students whose volume has now grown to full screaming, somehow.