Page 26 of Between Love and War
“Just listen, will you?” he insists.
He takes my silence as a yes, and continues, “Instead of just looking like a handsome statue in the corner of your classroom throughout the day, I’ll help you with your sessions.” He grabs my lesson plan for today and skims quickly. Then, he concludes, “Okay, today, we’re studying colors. And the activity is puppet making. Fun. I love art.”
“The same way you love tricycles?” I say, but I start the engine anyway. I’m running late, and I’m sure Michael isn’t going anywhere. And I have zero chances of physically pulling him out.
“Nope, the same way I love pushing your buttons.”
I grimace. “What?”
“Well, I found out from your friends and the entire neighborhood that you are apparently the nicest person in the world.” He adds air quotes for flair. “But for some reason, you’re very mean to me. So, I thought I might be extra special. And you know Ilovefeeling special.”
“Excuse me,” I cut him off. “You’remean to me. I’m just reciprocating.”
He shakes his head and chuckles.
“Still,” he adds, “you didn’t have to reciprocate.”
I don’t respond because we’re now in the school entrance and I can feel the energy already leaving my body as the day starts.
I know it’s weird for an introvert like me to be an energetic preschool teacher. Sometimes, I get overwhelmed by the intensity of it all that I just want to hide in the janitor’s closet for a reset. I have to admit, I’ve tried that before, except I wasn’t even on count ten when a little voice already called for me on the other side asking if I was going potty.
And now, as I enter my classroom, I can’t help but think of what will happen today. I can never predict it. One time a kid gave me a drawing of a dragon that apparently I couldn’t touch or else I would turn into cake. Another time, someone pushed someone, and they all fell like dominoes. Every single day, though, there is crying, screaming, laughing, and the occasional wetting of pants.
As the little steps scramble through my door, I put on my glasses and smile. “Good morning, everybody!” I say in the most cheerful way imaginable.
Michael takes his usual spot in the corner of my classroom. He’s still not supposed to be here until the afternoon, so I don’t know what he’s doing while he waits for a few hours.
I go through with my morning routine of singing theGood Morning Songand enjoying circle time. Everyone is surprisingly in a good mood today. When snack time comes, one kid even gives me a grape.
When the kids are settled down, arts and crafts time begins. I’ve set up a big circular table, with crayons, glue, and paper plates scattered around. The kids are excited, and I can tell it’s going to be a good session. I stand up to announce the day’s project. “Alright, everyone! Today, we’re going to make popsicle puppets!”
The kids cheer—there’s always something about the word “puppet” that gets them riled up—and as I start passing out the supplies, I see Michael joining the group. He’s hunched down on the table like a giant.
Once everyone is busy creating their own characters, I plop down beside Michael.
“I have a question,” he says as he sticks a googly eye on a dismembered popsicle puppet.
“No.” I stare ahead, but that obviously doesn’t stop him.
“My question is… Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?” I glance at him with a confused expression.
“Why are you not being mean to everyone else? Anddon’ttell me it’s because they’re not mean to you. Cos I’m pretty sure they sometimes are. Your sister was mean to me, and we only met for ten seconds.”
I sigh. “I don’t know, actually,” I admit. “I guess I’ve already created a version of me that everyone believes is kind, calm, and helpful. It’s easier to just continue being that than to–what, just start snapping on people?”
He nods thoughtfully as he glues another eye to his now alien puppet. I continue, “And you? Well, you’re a new person who knows nothing about me. No expectations, no history, no montage of all the times I was kind, and so I didn’t feel the need to repress. Or filter myself. Also, well, you were mean to me, so you made it easier.” Well that’s a lot more than I intended to say.
“Okay,” Michael says. “So, what you’re saying is… I’m so special that you could be honest around me?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
I shake my head. “Maybe you’re just so incredibly annoying.”
“Maybe. But you chose to let your unfiltered self out with me. That makes me feel special.” He waves his popsicle stick in my direction.
