Lovey. Mary MacCracken

get better. This is the worst. It will be better.’

      I knew he really didn’t understand all I said, but it didn’t matter. Our language depended more on tones and touch than words. I needed to know that he wouldn’t revert back to the desperate runaway of the year before, circling the church and dashing towards the highway. Jamie needed to know that the strange noisy girl had not usurped his place.

      This was Jamie’s second year with me. He had been at the school for two years and had spent most of his first year running, with his young, bewildered teacher always just a little too far behind. Then he’d been assigned to me. I suspected that Jamie was mentally challenged, at least to some degree. While the school was designed for seriously emotionally disturbed children, it is often difficult to distinguish between autism and mental disability. When a child doesn’t respond, it is sometimes hard to tell whether this is because he refuses or is unable.

      With Jamie, it was possible that autism and disability were both present or that, as some professionals think, the two are intertwined. In any event, I asked for what I thought he was capable of doing and rejoiced in his small successes.

      I sighed as I held Jamie, listening to Rufus muttering behind me, watching Brian pause at the chalkboard and nervously begin to draw the panel of stars from the telethon of the night before. So much time was being lost, time I needed to keep Jamie steady, let Rufus grow, help Brian make it to public school. And yet there was no other way. Hannah had to become part of us, had to find her own place within the accepted limits of the class. It was up to me as teacher to somehow get her there.

      I looked at Hannah over the top of Jamie’s head. She was still in the closet, trying to balance one chair on top of another. At least she was off the floor working on the problem. I turned back to Jamie as he wiggled around in my lap and put his hands across my eyes. Close relationships have their own rituals, and I knew what to say. ‘Where are you, Jamie? Where’d you go? I can’t see you any place.’ Down came his hands. ‘Oh, there you are! Boy, am I glad to see you!’ And the fact that he nuzzled in close announced the success of our old foolish game.

      Within a half hour Hannah had given up hope of reaching her lunch and had decided to keep watch instead. She turned one of the small chairs to face the closet, and for the next hour and a half she sat with her back to the rest of the room and her eyes on her lunch, or occasionally on the clock.

      With Hannah quiet, some peace returned to the room. Gradually, the boys drifted back to their desks or one of the round tables, going from time to time to check on their work schedules or to get new books from their cubbies. Each day I made up a new schedule for each child and taped it to the counter above his cubby. I tried to list each task, each separate page that was to be done that day, so that as they finished a page or particular assignment they could cross it off and immediately see what to do next. This gave them satisfaction in the accomplishment and a structured, constructive way to move around.

      By eleven forty-five an amazing amount had been accomplished, and the boys put their things away and went to get washed for lunch. Hannah obviously wasn’t going to move. There wasn’t a chance that she would leave that lunch bag. Although her hands and face were as dirty as ever, washing seemed like a matter of small importance compared to what lay ahead: I was going to have to get that paper bag from behind the pipe and then take it down to Patty’s room, the same room where we had Circle.

      I skipped washing myself and sat with Hannah while the boys were gone. She paid absolutely no attention to me. I sat beside her in a chair the same size as hers, but she didn’t turn her head a fraction of an inch. We both silently stared at the crumpled paper bag, which now seemed enormous in size. Better tell Hannah what was going to happen. If she was like me, she would like to be prepared ahead of time.

      ‘At twelve o’clock I’m going to get down your lunch and take it to Patty’s room so that you can eat with us today. No more alone in the closet. Okay?’

      Not a flicker.

      I decided to be optimistic. ‘Okay. Good. That’s all set, then.’

      I knew what I was going to do. I was going to cut whatever sandwich there was in the bag into four small squares and let Hannah eat them one at a time, while we ate with her.

      Ate with her? Eat with her? I sat up straight. How could I be so stupid? She’d need somebody to show her how, somebody to eat a sandwich with her. I didn’t have a sandwich. Neither did the boys. Zoe, our secretary, warmed a donated casserole each day for the school lunch, and we all ate that together. But to ask Hannah to give up her lunch and eat casserole was not fair. I’d promised her that sandwich.

      I glanced at the clock at the same time Hannah did, and our eyes brushed for a second. Eleven fifty-five. I got up and walked as quietly as I could to the door, not wanting to set off any vibrations. ‘Be back in just a minute.’

      Hannah rose in protest.

      ‘Really. I’ll be back by twelve o’clock. Just have to do something for a second.’

      Down the hall, into the furnace room. Somewhere in the refrigerator was a jar of peanut butter that we kept for emergencies. Okay. Now bread. No bread … Oh, there it is, in the vegetable drawer. Now a knife. Good. Okay. No time to make a sandwich now.

      I trotted back to our room, opened the door slowly, took a chair, and went straight to the closet and pried Hannah’s lunch from behind the pipe.