Here is my first attempt a memoir in awhile. I was trying to capture my social justice beginnings and explain where they came from. I think this is just part of the story, but an important part. I also hopes it brings up some of the most passionate issues to me in my current work, youth, community, love, education, and never judging a book by its cover. Let me know what you think. Just remember its rough.
The street light outside of the window always created a tiny, silvery, glowing stream on the floor next to my blankets. When it rained the stream would shift and spin in unison with the branches from the trees and the raindrops on the glass. I hated that stream. It would lull me to sleep and trick me into thinking that tomorrow was going to be a better day. I slept 6 inches away from that stream, on the hardwood floor for over a year. My little sister curled up next to me, her knobby knees poking me in the back.
In the morning it was time for school. Clothes, hair, teeth, lunch money, back pack, and double checking everything for my sister. “You good?” I’d say. She would nod her little head in agreement. Her blue-green eyes told me I was the only one she trusted. I don’t remember Dad being there. I’m sure he was, in his ratty bathrobe still lying on the couch. Maybe he was wandering around with his first cigarette and Diet Coke of the day, belching like a dragon. I’m sure he was around, but not there.
School was different. I was important, a smart-kid. The teachers knew I was friendly and the first one to volunteer.
Daren was a sweet kid. He wanted a mom, someone to love him. He wanted a friend, someone to at least like him. No one did, but me. He was on medication because he was “out of control.” He had coke bottle glasses, a learning disability and wasn’t able to control his anger or his tears. He swore alot and cursed, teaching all of us fifth graders new vocabulary every week. The teachers said he was violent and shouldn’t be allowed in “normal” classes with “normal” students. I heard them talk. I knew that adults had the most important conversations when they turned their backs turned to you. That’s when you had to listen.
Daren couldn’t eat lunch with the rest of us. Loud noises were bad for him and increased his crazy moments. The teachers called them “outbursts.” So, he had to eat in the nurse’s office at this tiny little desk that was placed against the wall opposite from the cots where kindergarteners would lie down after puking in class.
Daren ate alone, unless I volunteered to join him. Sometimes he liked my company other times he didn’t. Sometimes he would tell me stories about his dogs and how he hit them, other times he would tell me stories about his stepdad and how he was hit by him. Other times he would ignore me or tell me I was stupid. I would look at the nurse. She would nod her head to tell me it was okay. I liked the nurse. She was a beautiful woman who liked her job. She was one of the adults that you could trust. When she hugged you, she meant it. When she laid you down on a cot, she wanted you to feel better.
No matter how angry Daren was at me during lunch, he always asked me back the next day. I understood, and would join him two or three times a week. He was tiny for a fifth grader. He had arms that looked like unbent paper clips, and Lindsey said he had chicken legs. His hair was longer than the rest of the boys, and no one ever brushed it. His coke bottle glasses made his eyes the biggest feature on his face, but they really were already big and round like puppy dog’s. And his mouth was the largest I had ever seen, my Grampa would have said he looked like a walleye, but it made his smile even better when he decided to share it.
Daren was smarter than the teachers thought. He would steal a French fry off of my tray or burp in my face, and out of the corner of his eye look for my reaction. When he would see that I wasn’t impressed. He would quietly apologize and start to talk about something cool like his favorite game or how much he liked the shirt he was wearing. Daren was a normal kid. He just didn’t get a chance to act normal.
One day, Daren bit a kid in class. I don’t remember who, but I yelled. Actually, I screamed and couldn’t stop. My brain was processing all kinds of things and could no longer control my mouth and lungs. I was mad. Mad because Daren made me a liar. I told my friends that he was a nice kid. I told them that he was funny. I was mad because Daren didn’t trust me to help him. He bit someone because he was being picked on. He didn’t come to me. He bit him. But, I was mostly mad because that stupid stream of light had tricked me again the night before.
The teacher began to yell, but because she was an adult they called it scolding. She sent Daren and the kid he bit to the nurse, and then sent me to the hall. The hall was dark that day. The janitors didn’t turn the lights on and the only light came from the windows on the door at the end of the hall by the sixth grade classrooms. Silver lines separated the large tiles on the floor and reflected the light up to the ceiling. I didn’t trust the light hear either.
When the teacher came out, she was mad. Unlike the nurse, she didn’t want me to feel better. “What do you have to say for yourself? You of all people should know that you can’t yell at Daren like that! He doesn’t have as easy of a life as the rest of you students. You of all people should know better than that, Brandi. He doesn’t need you kids being mean to him. And what is all over your hands?”
I started to cry. “Paint. Face paint.”
“From what? You don’t have a Halloween costume on today, and the other kids who are dressed up don’t have face paint.”
“My little sister’s a tiger today. It doesn’t look very good. I smeared it.”
“You put it on? What was your mom busy doing this morning?”
I cried harder, “She’s at Jones Hill, at the mental hospital. She’s been there for awhile. She’s sick. She had a nervous breakdown.”
Then I got angry. Daren bit someone and got sent to the nurse. I wanted to stop him and got sent to the hall. “I painted my sister’s face. I need to wash my hands. Can I go to the bathroom?”
The teacher nodded. My hands were speckled with orange paint, and the black and white paint had from my sister's tiger nose blended together. There were silver streaks that went up to my wrists. It was a beautiful color, one that I made. "I made something pretty," I thought.
I smiled.Everything was going to be okay.
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