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By Root 473 0

unfortunate, that’s for sure. Perhaps he just feels sorry for me. But that’s not how he operates. He holds empathy, but he doesn’t feel sorry for any of us. He accepts us where we are and seems to see the potential we hold to become better people. When he told me that I am a strong person, I felt I needed that reminder. I spent too much time thinking of how much Lucas ruined my future. But when Zack takes the time to tell me something I need to hear, I see that he looks beyond what individuals try to convey. He tells me to open up and not be afraid.

I am afraid.

I am terribly frightened to feel something besides pain.

thirty-two

At the end of a warm August, school starts again. The kids now spend only part of the afternoon at The Center, getting dropped off by the school bus a little after three. When they enter the building I am usually there. I find it easier to already be standing in the kitchen, equipped to start my class. I guess it gives me more control. Another thing I’ve learned is to ask the kids to tell me what they’d like to make. If they suggest it, chances are they’ll be more eager to actually prepare the dish. Charlotte raises her hand today and says she’d like to make a pie.

“What kind?” I ask.

“Peach.”

“That’s my favorite!” I gush. “We can make that next week.”

“I hate peaches,” says Joy. She sticks her tongue out for emphasis. It’s blue from the flavored lollipop she ate on the bus ride over.

“Joy,” I breathe, “you have a lovely name. It’s one of the fruits of the Spirit.”

“Duh,” says Bubba. “We see the sign every day.”

I look at Joy, her round, soft face so often contorted by morbidity. “Be joyful, Joy.” Then I smile. My motivating side inwardly cheers.

I think I see Darren lift his head and give a grin, but I could be wrong.

Thanks to Zack’s suggestion, I have told the children that they need to take turns cleaning up the kitchen after class. A few moaned that they didn’t want their fingers to get “pruney” from the dishwater. Bubba said he was allergic to doing dishes. I stood with my shoulders back and said, “Doing dishes makes you more handsome and more beautiful.” I don’t know why I chose to say this; it just came out.

Bobby ran his fingers down his wide torso. “I’m already so handsome,” he announced to the class. “But if I do the dishes, I’ll be a regular ladies’ man.”

While Charlotte and Lisa are in the kitchen washing out cake pans, Miriam invites me into her office. She has a carafe of coffee and some half-and-half on her desk and asks if I’d like a cup of coffee. Then she closes the door to the room.

Nervously, I pour a little of the beverage into a mug, add three drops of half-and-half, and then sit on a leather chair next to her desk.

She sits on her swivel chair and tells me she can’t talk long because of a board meeting in twenty minutes.

I hope this is not about the receipts for my class’s ingredients. She probably thinks I spend too much on them and is going to remind me that The Center is a nonprofit organization. I sip the coffee, wish it were Starbucks, and wait.

Her blue eyes flash. Clasping her hands together, she says, “The kids want you to go camping with them.”

What?

“The other day we were talking about chaperones for the camping trip in October, and they said they want you.”

“Camping?” My voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to me. Is this what she brought me in here for?

She opens a drawer and stuffs a few loose papers into it. “First weekend in October. Smoky Mountain National Park.”

The kids said they wanted me? I clear my throat. “How long do they camp?”

“Two nights, Friday and Saturday. We have permission slips for guardians to sign. We document the medications the kids with prescriptions need, bring a first-aid kit, cell phones, and that takes care of it.”

She says a few others things, but I don’t hear them because my mind is so heavily wrapped around this request. The kids want me to go camping. “Who else is coming?”

“Rhonda. Have you met her? She’s Bubba’s caseworker.”

Oh yes, I’ve seen her around The Center many times, and we conversed