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Okay, so to continue from where I left off, one of the office ladies came out from this little room behind the counter and shouted, "Lurleen, you got to quit this mess!"
And the big woman making all the racket turned and frowned and said, "Billie, don't you be talkin' to me like I'm a child!"
"I'll talk to you like a child long as you keep actin' like a child," this Billie said.
I knew Billie as Mrs. Doakes. No kid on campus was ever going to call her "Billie" like that. Most adults were afraid to, too.
She was a little black bulldog, that one. Honestly, she was short and stocky and had bulgy eyes, a pug nose, a frowny mouth and no neck. And she would come running to that counter in a heart beat if she sensed any kind of trouble brewing. Like those mean dogs that attack the fence every time somebody walks by.
She also ran the whole school. Even the principal and other admins obeyed her because she was another one like Williams who knew the school, the neighborhood and the district better than anybody else.
But she had one up on Williams. She was the keeper of secrets. Had been for something like 30 years. The shit she knew about that school and the whole damned district could've sent people to prison, probably. No, definitely.
I know this because she was the one who called "Downtown" when they were trying to social promote me to high school. That's a long story, but the Cliff Notes version is I'd been dropped in 7th grade for non-attendance and decided to go back three years later.
But they didn't have any records of my ever being enrolled. They'd totally ghosted me. Partly because being pretty much homeless, I didn't have a real address. So all the registered letters and whatnot bounced right back to the office.
And of course, we didn't have a phone, either. So after they'd made the obligatory number of attempts they just dropped my little truant ass.
Let me clarify this. I didn't just quit out of laziness or something. I sort of had to. I was trying to survive and keep my whole family alive—this is another story that'll have to wait. But trust me, I was under a lot of pressure.
So school was just sort of a nuisance at the time. Especially the one I'd gone to, which was very similar to DeGrazia in that it was obvious to most of us that a diploma wouldn't really represent anything much other than that we'd showed up enough to pass every year. One of the worst schools in the country, not just Tucson. Mississippi test scores. Scandalously low.
But I knew if I waited to go back there when I was 15 or 16, they'd send me straight to high school, because there's an age limit. It's true. They don't want some mannish boy chasing little middle school girls around. Giving the other boys even worse ideas. Middle school kids are batshit crazy to begin with.
But when they sent me over to DeGrazia with my little form letter thing, Doakes and her crew discovered that "Downtown" had lost all of my old records. In fact, it turned out they had all kinds of old hardcopy records sitting in big old unmarked cardboard boxes in the basement, not even sorted alphabetically or anything. So it could've taken them months to find mine.
She finally used some kind of district procedure nobody else even knew about to get me registered without them. And once she'd got me squared away, she called a friend in the Superintendent's office who told The Boss all about it. And after he'd fired some people, he demanded that those papers be filed and a new system be built to keep it from happening again.
That is why nobody fucks with her. She does her job. Fierce about it. That's kind of rare in our district. Or I feel like it is, anyway.
So she was standing her ground as usual that day. Fire in those big, bulgy eyes.
But this Lurleen woman put her hands on what should've been her hips and said, "If y'all can't control these damned kids, you sure as hell can't be tryin'a control me!"
So Doakes folded her arms real cool and said, "Well, then I guess won't nobody be talkin' to nobody today, then. Because I have told you when you come in here actin' a fool like that, we're not gonna go no further. So you can carry yourself on back home and they'll take that boy right on over to Juvie."
And the little wiry dude said, "No, they won't! Teacher ain't even gon' press no charges!"
That didn't surprise me, what he said. Taylor would probably never press charges on one of her kids. No matter what they did to her.
But Doakes said, "Teacher's not, but the district is."
And boy, that Lurleen started huffing and puffing just like her boy Danny had with me.
"How the hell's the district doin' what she won't?"
The vice principal--Kevin Cox was his name--learned of his office door and beckoned to me sort of on the sly, like he was trying to stay out of the line of fire. But Lurleen's radar picked right up on that.
And she heaved that jelly around, lasered him with her eyes and said, "Nuther one ain't worth a damn! That the one beat on my boy?"
And she headed right on into the VP's office after me, too. And made me sorry the instant she walked in because a wave of funk spread through that room so fast and strong that it made me dizzy for a minute.
She smelled like a year's worth of stale sweat, pee and whatever she'd fried up for dinner every day. And what freaked me out even more was she had bear feet. Not "bare" but "bear." I mean, her toenails were as long and thick as bear claws. And curved down over the front soles of her sandals like claws, too. All brown and fungus-y looking.
She was way worse than anyone we had in our family. And we had some wild things, believe me. But Miss Lurleen's bear feet beat all.
Even so, I knew her kind well enough not to be all that scared when she cut her eyes over my way. I just sat there all chill. Didn't fidget or fumble or anything. So she'd know she was fuckin' with kinfolk.
And she said, "So what do you have to say to me, pretty boy?"
I was tempted to ask her if she was knew the Jameses from up by Marana. But I didn't. I just said, "Nothin' really."
And she raised her chin and said, "You damned near break a kid's arm and you got nothin' to say?"
"Arm he swung on a teacher with? I shoulda broken it," I said. Forthright as hell, too.
And the VP went, "Colton," all nervous.
He really was kind of useless, like she said. Overwhelmed, I guess. Stuff just unnerved him so quickly. And the kids knew it, so they'd talk back to him all mean just to watch him flinch and get all confused.
And it's sad because in any normal type of job, people would probably have liked him. He's a likeable guy, you know? That guy you'd want to have as a neighbor because he'd help you out if you asked. Or ask to help even if you didn't, when he saw you needed it.
Kind of guy who'd be, like, a grocery or shoe store manager or something, if he hadn't gone to college. A real helpful one who'd rush right up to you and ask you if you found everything okay.
I mean, he probably went into education wanting to help kids at first, but by the time I met him he'd figured out that the kids he was envisioning when he signed on were, like, TV show kids or something. Fictional kids he'd made up in his head who would smile and say, "Hey, Teach," when he walked into the room.
Lurleen just totally ignored him and said, "Colton, huh?"
"Colton James," I said.
Not just because I thought she might be related but because I wanted her to know I didn't give a damn if she knew my whole name. I'd fuck up whatever psycho son she sent looking for me. The way I fight? He'd be lucky to live through it.
I really mean that. This psycho Nam vet taught me how to literally kill somebody with just my bare hands. I could knock you out or take you out, in seconds. No kid should ever know something like that, but he believed in that Big Race War, too.
And he trained up a bunch of little white kids to be ready for it—didn't say anything about the "war" at first, though. Just that we needed to be able to defend ourselves out there on the streets.
I quit when he finally snapped one day and gave us the whole scenario. Veins bulging and jumping in his forehead and neck. Scared the shit out of me. I had a lot of black and brown friends I couldn't see killing for any reason. Let alone for a crazy man.
Lurleen must've felt how lethal I could be, though. Because she just sat and read me for a minute. In our world, the one she and I were born into, you live by your instincts. It's the only thing a lot of us have, not being schooled or anything.
We have our own laws, too. And even though our men beat up their women all the time—you see that on Cops, too--by those laws a real man was supposed to do what I did if some dude laid hands on a woman.
So that's probably why she softened up a little and just said, "It's good you stood up for your teacher. But you damned near wrung 'is arm off, son."
"And he almost broke her nose, but she didn't even press charges."
She gave me this slow smile and said, "Well, we will." To see if I'd feel the threat in it.
So I said, "Go on then. I don't give a shit."
And the VP went, "Colton," a little louder. Scared she was going to yell at him for not yelling at me, probably.
But she raised a fat hand and smiled a little more.
And said, "Tell you one thing. She's lucky you were there, that teacher. Cause they can't protect nobody up in here worth a damn. And I bet they pick on your pretty ass all day long, too, don't they?"
Okay, that scared me. She wasn't flirting, but the very idea that she'd called me "pretty" twice, and this time like she meant it, made me nauseous.
I managed to say, "Some do," without sounding like I was cracking wise, though. Because she was trying to tell me she knew we were more friends than foes.
She even said, "Well, you stay strong like that. We got to look out for one another."
That was all kinds of meaningful to her. The "we" part, especially. Meant us hillbillies. And in my heart I knew she had a point. Racist one, sure, but I got more out of it than that.
Cause actually, to your average middle class white person, a hillbilly is just a white nigger. Yeah, I said it. My people say the "N" word all the time and you know it. I don't anymore, but when I was little, I thought that was what black people were called, to be honest.
Even when one of my relatives was being nice, they'd use it. We'd be watching a baseball game or something, and one of my uncles would grin and point and yell, "Lookit that nigger there—home run! Told you he could do it!"
That was a compliment, at our house.
Anyway, white skin was the only ace she held, Lurleen. It wouldn't get her all that far right now, but if that Big Race War ever came, she would be claimed by her brethren. As cannon fodder, mostly, but...still.
She gave the VP a glare and said, "They need to give 'im your office. Since he's doin' your job."
And the VP didn't get a chance to talk back because she waddled her wobbly ass out of there to show him she didn't give a shit about anything he could say. And her skinny little hubby went right out behind her without looking back, either.
I could feel him plotting something, though. The real brains of the op, he was—don't get it twisted. Twice as mean as she was, too, probably. Just on stealth mode, most of the time. Kind of guy that would fuck with your gas heater on the sly so you died of carbon monoxide poisoning in your sleep, you and your whole family.
Yes, that right there is a true story from my early childhood. We all knew how that family died. And that's all I'm willing to say about that.
So I'd stared into the angry eyes of men like him a lot as a kid. Men your mama warned you to stay away from in a different way than they said it about other people. Landmine men. Kind that blew up if you even looked at them the wrong way.
Lurleen's man was like that. He'd have his revenge, one way or another. One day or another. And it wouldn't happen like your average civilized person would expect. It'd be legendary. Something the whole district talked about forever, after it happened. First, trying to figure out how it happened and who did it. And then just because it was so diabolical. Twisted. Horse's head in the bed crazy, you know?
After she'd left, the VP went over and opened a window because she'd fanned up the funk up just by walking. I actually put my hand over my nose for a minute. Bish was pungent.
And then he sat down and said, "I just need you to write down what you saw, son. If the cops want to talk to you in person we'll let you know, but--"
"Do you need to talk to me, too?" this happy voice asked him from the doorway.
I knew it was Taylor. And that bruise was already really ugly by then. Made me so mad.
The VP sort of startled when he looked up and saw her there. And then he put on his administrator voice and said, "I think you should head on over to the clinic. We'll hold down the fort for now."
But his face was still sort of nervous. Like he was my age and a real adult had just walked in and caught him doing something stupid. And then I sort of thought, from the way he got all flustered, that he might've had a thing for her. Little crush. Maybe more than a crush.
He was definitely that kind of doofus-y guy who'd get all goofy if he liked a girl. Only he was married. Had three little kids, all under five. Little perfect blond babies. And a wife who looked just like they'd cloned them off her.
She said, "What clinic is this? Everyone seems to know but me."
"District's got a contract with it—wait," he said. And then he went to rummaging through a bunch of stuff in some of those basket things on his desk like a crazy man.
He didn't find whatever it was, though. That desk was a mess. All kinds of papers—they never get to all that paperwork because they're out running after kids all day. He must've had six month's worth just thrown all over the place. Bunch of those little pink call slips sprinkled on top.
So he said, "Principal's got the form you need, I think," looking all sheepish. Poor guy.
But she said, "No problem. I'll get one."
"You take it over there'n' they'll sign off on it and send copies downtown and all that—you just wanna be sure, you know? In case there's complications later or...well, legal ramifications."
"You think there will be?" she asked him, leaning on the door frame looking all earnest. She has this way of making you feel like you're the only person in the world while she's talking to you. And boy, it was working on this guy like you would not believe. He was mesmerized.
In fact, it took him a sec to wake up and tell her, "Oh, his folks--yeah. They'll make trouble. Not for you, though."
"For him, then?" she asked, glancing at me all concerned.
Cox looked at me, too. And said, "I...think he may be okay..."
I just hoped he'd been taking notes on how I made sure I'd be okay. To study up on, for next time.
Taylor said, "Well, you take care out there. They've got the whole clan in the parking lot."
And that's when I finally realized that all that gold hair of hers was pulled up in a ponytail way up on top of her head. There were two braids on the side that they'd pulled back into it some kind of way, too—the girls had done it, probably, so it couldn't just be a ponytail.
I think they were trying to keep her hair from brushing that bruise, so every lock had to stay in place. But really, they'd gone back to sit with her and make sure nobody messed with her again. From then on, there'd be somebody with her all the time, most likely. Guys, too.
So I said, "Nice do you got there."
And she sort of fluffed it with her hand and said, "'My Little Pony,' right? Which one do I remind you of?"
That cracked me up. They treated her like a doll, the girls. She was right on about that.
So I said, "It's cute, though. The little braids and all."
She sort of scrunched up that little nose and said, "Bit young for me, I think."
And the VP said, "C'mon! You're just a whipper snapper, right? Around here, anyway."
I can't even count the ways that was wrong. She was one of the younger teachers, yes, but the way he said it—the words, themselves, were just...God, he was so clueless, this guy. And I could tell he felt like a dork right after he said it, too, because he got all red in the face again.
But she just smiled and said, "Do you think you could have someone walk him out? Just in case?"
I said, "I'm good. I park over by the field. Less traffic."
That meant I'd be going out of a back door, sort of behind the cafeteria, not into the big lot out front where the Slotkowskis were stationed.
So she nodded then and told me, "Well, see you tomorrow."
And she said it like that because she knew my educational history. And also that my PO would be have to turn me in if I didn't show up.
I guess we should get that out of the way right now. Why I had a probation officer. It's not too serious, really. Compared to what most of the kids there have POs for.
I got arrested in this big surprise bust on campus almost a year before. And it was just my luck to have a piece in my car that day. I'd totally forgotten about it, actually. It wasn't even mine. I know everyone says that, but in this case, it was true.
And I know it's Arizona where you figure you could carry a rocket launcher in your pants if you wanted to. But there are a few rules. First, off, you can own at 18, you just can't carry a "concealed" weapon 'til you're 21.
Now, technically, I wasn't carrying. But the piece they found, a cute little Colt, had had its serial numbers filed off. And that can get you up to 10 years even in Arizona. It's a felony, too.
I didn't do it, it came that way. My FNS is totally legit. Modified, but legal. The little one I got from this guy I know, for this woman I knew. The one I told you about earlier that the kids saw me with.
She went to court and explained that it must've fallen out of her purse and that she didn't know anything about guns and serial numbers and stuff like that. She didn't tell them I'd bought if for her, thank God. She just told them she owns this bar and there'd been some robberies in the area. And she'd seen a few shady characters hanging around after hours.
All true, by the way. That's why I mentioned she might want to get a piece of some kind. Something less serious than mine.
Of course, she had no idea how to do that. Normal citizen, she was. And it was a hipster sort of bar, not the kind of dive where somebody'd know where to get a gun. So I volunteered. I mean, I was going with her at the time, so I felt almost obligated.
Now, when I got to school and saw it laying there on the floor, I just stuck it in my backpack, left that on the floor and went on inside. And it was there for about a week—like I said, I actually forgot about it.
But of course, that backpack was in plain sight when they started "randomly" searching cars that afternoon. Me, they picked so the kids couldn't say it was only kids "of color" who got searched. So for weeks after that, the Black and Mexican kids called me "Token." I thought that was pretty funny actually.
But in truth, school's the only place I ever feel like one. Cause again, humble origins notwithstanding, I can walk off that campus and not have to worry about the whole damned world being scared of me. Or mad at me. Or whatever the hell it's all about.
My black and brown friends, they're on guard 25/7. The brown ones are forever worrying that somebody's going to try to deport them or something. I've got friends from across the border who ride bikes or take the bus now, because they're scared if they get stopped for a busted tail light or doing a mile over the speed limit in a car, they're going to get their entire family sent back to the hell holes they escaped.
The could die if they go back. Will die. Any young boy down there, he's gonna get recruited. And even if he says, "Yes," he'll die eventually. They make them into hit men, drug couriers, enforcers, pawns in a heinous game. You fuck up, they kill your whole damned family. I mean, the whole family—extended family. Generations, wiped out.
And my black friends are screwed no matter what, too. And here it's even worse—it's psychological. Some kind of weird...mental problem white people have.
I really mean that. Because a whole lot of white people are still having trouble dealing with just the way Black people look. I think they had to come up with a way to dehumanize them 'way back in slavery days, to make it feel less sinful, what they were doing to them.
That's why white cops shoot them so fast. They don't see a person, they see King Kong comin' at them—Danny said it out loud in class. Lakesha told you. He called her a "go-rilla." Some congresswoman said she couldn't wait to have a white first lady instead of a gorilla in heels, too, after Trump won.
You want to hear how that plays out on the street? Listen to a cop explain why he shot some Black guy. They take one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, train for months to deal with terrorists and rapists and murderers and all manner of madman. But if a black guy looks at them funny, they empty the clip. And juries identify. They totally get it. And let them go.
So when the shoe was on the other foot that day I got arrested, I couldn't say much. And if I hadn't got the craziest judge in the whole county I probably would've just walked and not been given any kind of conditions or anything.
Now, I expected a little push back, because he'd been warned that he probation was his only option in my case. Think back to that conversation I had with Brian. I do have connections. He wasn't kidding about that. And he was beholden to those connections, this judge.
But sometimes even when they're on the take, or sometimes because they're on the take, people in the system can be sort of weird about it. Ambivalent, I guess you'd call it. They accept the perks, but it nags them, maybe. It's not where they wanted to wind up.
But the perks are too good to pass up. Or they get tricked into it and can't get out. It happens. There are predators in every business, looking for that naïve person they can pimp.
Anyway, there was that and something else with this judge. I mean, he seemed to have a thing about my looks—a beef, not an attraction or something. That's the flip side of being good looking. How some people just hate you on sight. Yeah, my looks make people crazy, too. Not the kind of "discrimination" you're used to, is it?
He kept saying stuff like, "If you cut that hair you won't have to break your neck tryin'a keep it out of your eyes all the time," and "I know those soulful eyes have probably gotten you out of a heap o' trouble over the years, but they won't do you a bit o' good in this court."
And he told the woman typing on the transcription thing that I was probably the best thing she'd see all day so to enjoy it while she could. Just going out of his way to be smarmy.
I still got off easier than a lot of my brown-skinned buddies would have, though. That's the thing I never forget. What makes me different probably won't get me killed. Okay, by some jealous man or woman, maybe, but not as easily as being black could every damned day.
He piled on some strict conditions, though, that judge. Petty shit nobody else ever has to do, because he assumed I'd had it too easy, given the protection I'd gotten. The fact that I was orphaned at the age of 10 and all, that he didn't know about. He'd just been told he could give me anything but jail time. And he took that "anything" real serious.
And so just in case he might be looking for an excuse to keep his boot on my neck a little longer, as soon as I got out of the VP's office that crazy day, I called my PO.
And she sort of laughed and said, "Well, I'm glad you called. But I think I'd be disappointed in you if you hadn't done anything. Is Wyatt okay?"
She knew all the teachers. She worked with a lot of their students.
So I said, "She's doing pretty good. She even wrote you a narrative and everything."
"That's what I like to hear!"
"Yeah, amazing, right? After what she'd been through."
"Well, you're done next week, though. Psyched, right?"
"It's about time."
"But you earned it. Handled your business."
"So did you."
"Oh, now, that's another thing I like to hear! See you next week, okay? I'll make it quick."
I said, "Sounds good," and then we hung up. And I was about to take off when this clerk called my name and beckoned me over before I could escape.
She said, "Principal needs to talk to you," without looking up from some papers she was flipping through.
Probably because this parent was standing there glowering at her like she was daring her to look up. I don't know how they do it, those clerks. There's always some kind of drama going on. People come in loaded for bear and they just have to take it. It's sad how just plain mean people are these days.
So I went on into the office where that funk hit me again. Could not catch a break.
Principal's name was Marie Talbot. She nodded to an empty chair in a line of them against one wall and out of Danny's parents' reach, and said, "I just need to clarify something."
So I sat down against the wall. And then Lakesha came in and Danny's parents cut their eyes at her. First time I've ever seen Lakesha look nervous. In fact, she looked at me like she was hoping I'd come to her rescue like I did sometimes. But I couldn't help her that time.
So she raised her chin and looked at Talbot as tough as she could.
And Talbot said, "Your grandmother's on her way. So--"
"Why you call my grandmother?!" Lakesha whined.
Now, Talbot was this older white lady who never wore any makeup and always wore the same denim skirt and egg shell blue polo shirt with her name and title on it. And those Sketchers that sort of look like regular shoes with sneaker soles.
Maybe she started out wearing makeup and trying to dress better. But I bet she quit that pretty quick, especially if she started out as an administrator. Admins run around like chickens with their heads cut off all day stopping fights and chasing kids who've got caught with weed or something in their backpacks and gone running off campus trying to keep from being suspended and arrested yet again.
I've seen admins hop fences and go down in drainage ditches and things, chasing after kids. Because if something happens to a kid even after they run away like that, it's the principals and whatnot who get torn to pieces in the press and lose their jobs and their reps so that they can't get another job anywhere. And sued. They get sued a lot. Or parents threaten to sue them a lot. I don't know how many actually go through with it.
But even though she was dressed for the job, you could just tell she wasn't really used to the kids or parents of today. She didn't look scared, she just looked uncomfortable. Too stiff in that chair. And her smile didn't feel genuine.
She came from a time back when parents like Danny's would've sat there looking at their feet like they were in trouble. When my people thought teachers and administrators were better than us. And we still think that, deep down. But instead of respecting them for it, we hate them for it. Out loud.
The pen she kept turning from tip to top over and over again gave away how uneasy she truly was.
And she tried to reason with Lakesha with a lame, "I think you know why."
"Y'all always messin' wit me!" Lakesha yelled back. "I didn't even do nothin' to that fool!"
"Who started the argument?"
I couldn't believe she even said that. Because I'm sure she knew that Lakesha had to come back with, "He did," and puff up like a blow fish behind it.
So then Talbot looked at me and said, "What's your take on that, Colton?"
Which was also useless, because where I come from you don't snitch, like I said. Ever. And like I also said, Danny was kin folk, sort of. Double trouble, I was in. So I was going to have to do some real fancy dancing.
So I said, "I wasn't listening all that much until he swung on Miss Taylor."
Which was actually kind of true. They argued so much every day, Lakesha and Danny, that I really hadn't paid any attention to it.
Lurleen sort of side-eyed me, but not like she was angry. She knew our own special brand of justice had been served. She had to stifle a smile, in fact. Cause I had avoided ratting on both kids and I'd pissed off the real enemy: the sanctimonious bitch behind that desk.
SAT word. I sprinkle them in sometimes just to freak people out. It's fun.
Anyway, Talbot raised her chin a little bit and asked me, "So you didn't hear the actual argument?"
"No, ma'am, I didn't."
And Lakesha yelled, "Fool calt me a go-rilla! And a hoe'n' a bitch an' all kinda nasty shit!"
"And what'd you call him?" Lurleen revved up.
Boy, Lakesha went full tilt then.
"I wun studyin' that boy! We was takin' a tes' an' he got all mad 'cause he say we din talk about none o' the stuff on there in class. But Miss don't never do that to us like them other teachers. She always work wit us before she give us a tes'! So fin'ly, this one boy tolt 'im to shut the fuck up'n' I just said, 'Thank you.' And that's when 'e jumps up in my face'n' starts callin' me all out my name an'—"
Talbot stopped her flow with, "Okay, I need you to calm down, okay? You're not—"
"Ax Miz Taylor," Lakesha continued like I knew she would. "She run over there 'cause 'e was all up in my face wit his fists balled up. You know how he do! Y'all always chasin' his crazy ass around at lunch time when he start actin' a fool like that! Boy ain't got no sense!"
Her grandmother, Mrs. Jackson, walked in right about then, head held high. She was a very elegant woman. Surprising, given how Lakesha acted all the time.
She had this braid that ran all the way around her head real tight and neat and was dressed the way Talbot should've been. Not a full Williams, but office ready.
And she drew a bead on her granddaughter and said, "Miss Lakesha, I know that wasn't you I heard all the way out there in the attendance office."
And Lakesha bowed her head and muttered, "I'm sorry." Blew. My. Mind.
And then Jackson looked at Talbot and said, "I have to get back to work. If she's being suspended, I'll just sign and take her with me right now."
"She better be suspended," Lurleen huffed. "And arrested. That's verbal assault what she done."
Jackson looked down, but not "down" the way some people would've. Just real calm, like she was listening.
I think it freaked Lurleen out a little bit. Because she said, "They're both at fault," first, before adding, "But they're actin' like Danny murdered somebody."
So then Talbot turned into a human rule book. Like she was reading word for word.
"Under the district zero-tolerance rule all parties involved in violent incidents are suspended for no less than three days," she told them. "The actual duration is determined by the number of previous disciplinary actions and teacher input."
"Well, I've been told this young man has been disciplined for racial slurs before," Jackson said.
"Here we go!" Lurleen grunted. "They can call him every kinda cracker on the grocery store shelf, but he says one word to one o' them and he goes to Juvie!"
"Mrs. Slotkowski, there are very specific district mandates pertaining to that type of language," Talbot said. Bless her heart. She just couldn't help herself.
"So she kin say whatever'n' we got to take it on account o' slavery or whatever, right?"
Jackson looked over at Talbot and said, "This is a 400-year-old argument that nobody's going to win today. So may I take my her with me or is there something else we need to talk about?"
And that's when Lurleen just had to say snort and mutter, "This bitch," just loud enough to assert some of that white supremacy she felt was being dissed at the particular moment.
Jackson didn't even blink, though. She actually smiled down at Lurleen and said, "I've been called worse. And so have you. So you may not care for me much, but you won't hear me call you out of your name. Cause I'm willing to bet we have walked very similar paths in this world, you and me."
I was ready to bust out with a few verses of Kumbaya. Mrs. Jackson had that "MLK" speak down. And she was right as rain, too. That's the sad thing. We're more the same than different just like she said. In the eyes of the same people, too. So weird.
But Lurleen frowned all up because she didn't totally understand what had just happened. She just sat there trying to blink back all that truth that'd been dropped on her like a ton of bricks.
And she finally just said, "Well, you'll be hearin' from us," to save face.
And Jackson looked at Lakesha and said, "Somebody else'll be hearin' from me, too. Let's go!"
And Lakesha scowled and followed her out without one word. I wanted to follow her and get the whole story behind the two of them. Because if her grandmother had raised her, she shouldn't have been the kid she was. So I felt like maybe she'd had a tough time 'til her grandmother came on the scene. So rough she hadn't been able to get it out of her system yet.
But that would've left Talbot there alone with Danny's people. And on top of uneasy, she also looked mighty sheepish, too. Upstaged by yet another parent who obviously understood the dynamics of DeGrazia 'way better than she did.
So she called the attendance office to tell them to get Lakesha's paperwork ready so her guardian could sign it on her way out. And then she sat back and started turning that pen again.
And said, "I must say that Daniel seems to be escalating, Mrs. Slot—"
"Lord, I am sick to death of bein' calt up here after my children every damned day," Lurleen yelled back. "And they got to go here! Charter schools see us comin', they tell us they're full to capacity right quick. Cause they don't have to take nobody they don't want. And Lord knows, they don't want no challenged children, let alone one comes from a fam'ly like ours."
Ms. Taylor came in then, almost like she'd been listening so she could pop in at just the right moment. Again. I wouldn't have put that past her, either. To be watching over us like that.
She asked Talbot, "Could I speak to Mrs. Slotkowski for a moment? If you don't mind?"
I loved how Lurleen got all sweet and soft then. And said, "I'm real sorry what he done to you."
Only, I believed her. It wasn't the act we normally put on in situations where a family member might get arrested if we don't kiss a little ass. I could tell Lurleen really did feel that way. In fact, she looked sort of embarrassed.
So Taylor came in and said, "I didn't handle it very well, to be honest. But I thought they were going to come to blows."
"Well, he wun raised to hit women," the father said. Also sincerely. And ashamed.
And Lurleen said, "And I know he wun about to hit the only teacher would even take 'im."
"I'm sure he didn't mean to," Taylor said. "And I'm worried about the meds he's on now. He seems even more irritable than—oh, I'm sorry. We should discuss this some other time."
She looked at me then, because it was my being there that made that particular bit of info inappropriate. Only I think she sort of wanted me to hear it. She was up to something, that little woman.
And Lurleen also said, "We ain't ashamed o' nothin'. Gon' say what you come to say."
So Taylor said, "I just wanted to let you know that the meds might need to be adjusted or changed, if they're having such a drastic effect on his behavior. And that perhaps the court would be interested in what I've observed. I've kept notes, of course. We have to. And I believe they're admissible."
Her eyes twinkled a little bit when she got to the part about "court." And I think Talbot was sort of shaken up hearing a teacher conspiring that way in her presence because that pen sort of stopped in mid-turn for a minute. Like she was contemplating all the consequences.
But she got even more respect from me for it. And the father smiled kind of quiet and said, "We 'preciate the information."
To let her know he'd received her "message" loud and clear.
So Taylor looked at Talbot then, and said, "There's some sort of report form...?"
Talbot looked puzzled for a second. Knew she was being played, just not what to do about it. Or whether she could do anything about it. The case against Danny was crumbling right before her eyes.
But then she woke up and rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with the form and a little brochure thing.
And she said, "You can sign it now or take it with you to the clinic listed at the bottom. I would suggest you be examined. We'll cover the rest of your classes."
"They've already done that for me," Taylor said. "But I'd rather just sign and go home, really."
"I wouldn't. Because if there are problems later, the insurance company will check to see if you refused care. And it'll cost you out of pocket if there's no exam on record."
More legalese, as they call it. The woman knew her rules, for sure.
"They charge you anything you need to tell us," Lurleen said. "We ain't got much, but you teachers don't, neither. So we'll help in any way we kin."
Taylor said, "I'm sure I'll be fine. And please tell Daniel I do understand."
So Lurleen said, "I won't tell 'im no such a thing. He's got to learn to control himself."
And then Taylor looked at me and said, "And this one here was just trying to protect me."
"Gathered that," the father said.
"But 'e din have to be so danged rough," Lurleen had to say.
I knew this game, too, of course. So I said, "I just thought she was hurt real bad. The way she was just layin' there so still."
"Was?" Lurleen said. Like she was really shocked.
"Dropped like a rock. Didn't move for a long time," I said. Really pouring it on.
"Lord, you better have 'em take a good look, then," Lurleen said. "You got somebody to drive you?"
"Counselor I car pool with," Taylor said. "And I'd better get a move on--please let me know if you need those notes."
She left us there then. And Lurleen looked at Talbot and said, "Only real teacher you got."
And Talbot looked at me and said, "You can go, too, Colton."
She looked kind of rattled. But also relieved.
And before I left, I told Lurleen, "I didn't mean to hurt 'im. I was just scared and mad and all kinda things at once."
"Bet your mama just falls for those big old eyes every time, don't she?" she said.
And I said, "My mama's dead," sort of just to see what she'd do. And also out of some kind of need for her to know. I'm not sure what that was to this day.
But I remember it hit her real hard. In fact, she went all still and said, "Aw son. I'm real sorry..."
The single more genuine statement she'd made since I'd first laid eyes on her. I'm not kidding. You could tell everyone in the room knew it, too. And got quiet like she had.
I couldn't take it back, though. So I just said, "Me, too," and left.
And I figured Talbot owed me a few solids after that, too. Because Lurleen and her man had come to raise a million dollars worth o' hell but they would for sure leave quietly after I'd hit them with my little hard luck story.
But they would bounce back, of course. I knew exactly how it would go when they got home and the rest of the family started asking them what all had happened. By morning, they'd all be back up there talking about suing the whole goddamned district.
In fact, Taylor and me both might have been in a little bit of danger by the time they got done spinning the story this way and that. I know my people. Most irrational sons of bitches on the planet once they get worked up. And they love to get worked up.
But I bopped on out of there and just laughed when this one gay student clerk who just loves my ass—literally—hit me with a bunch of loud smooches as I passed by.
His name is Joey—Jose, actually, but he goes by Joey. And he's so flagrant and funny that nobody messes with him. He just messes with us. Constantly.
So I went, "Use your words, Joey!"
And the whole office cracked up. Joey, too. But he also leaned over the counter to watch me walk away. And gave me a real loud, "Work, honey!"
Which deserved a snap, I thought. So I swung my arm and gave him one.
And this one really stacked black girl smirked when I did it and went, "You jus' don't never know when to stop, do you?"
And then she smiled at me like she didn't mean it. And since she seemed to know me, I sort of wanted to stop and find out more about her. But you know what I told you about me and high school girls.
Let me go on and give you the whole story behind that now, too. Brace yourself.