She hated Bill Cotton. He was a controller. How he became an elementary principal was beyond her.
When she asked to teach Senior Division, he deliberately gave her a grade two class—just to spite her. He never forgot she turned him down—the fact he was married, didn’t even enter his mind.
He liked what he liked. She detested him and his whole tribe—men who used and abused.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Lily looked up to see Frizzy hovering over her like some Raphaelite angel smiling down.
Of course, Frizzy wasn’t her real name—it was Carrie, but her friend’s wispy golden curls created such an angelic aura that Lily couldn’t resist renaming her.
“A penny’s about what my thought are worth,” she smiled and patted the couch cushion to her left. Frizzy plopped down looking for all the world like a young Bette Midler, only prettier.
“So, what’s on your mind?”
Lily wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to ask?” She gestured at the Primary Curriculum lying open on the coffee table.
“Yeah, I heard,” Frizzy commiserated. “Seems a waste—all that time spent getting an English Specialist’s degree—maybe you should have taught High School.”
“I wanted to make a difference—but teaching Grade Two? It’s more like babysitting than teaching.”
Lily was sorry the moment the words escaped her mouth. Frizzy had been marooned in the primary grades for as long as she had been teaching.
“Aw, c’mon—it’s not all that bad.”
“I’m so sorry, Frizz—you know me—no nerve endings in my lips.”
“Fageddaboutit,” she rasped, imitating Carlo Tosca’s heavy Italian accent. Carlo taught grade eight and looked after boy’s Phys Ed—Frizzy was madly in love with him, although that small fact was unknown to young Mr. Tosca.
“Don’t get me started, “ Lily warned, having complained far too often about the aforesaid Lothario’s ESD problem—“Imagine someone like Carlo butchering the language yet getting to teach the Language Arts Curriculum.”
“Well, Bill thinks only a man can handle the older kids.”
“Bill Cotton’s an ass!” Her expletive startled even her.
Frizzy’s eyes grew huge. “You’re really upset about this!”
It took all of Lily’s self-control to bite her tongue. Couldn’t Frizz see the school was turning into a boy’s club?
“Look Frizz—I just want to make a difference and I don’t see how I can do that babysitting ankle biters.”
At that moment, the staffroom door opened and Bill Cotton peered into the room. Spotting Lily, he called in, “Lunch supervision, Ms. Tracey.”
Lily groaned. She had forgotten about that other little ‘perk’ of being a primary teacher.
“Be right there,” she called back and started to gather up her things. She rolled her eyes at Frizz who managed to keep a straight face until Bill was out the door.
“Great—just great!" she sighed, "I forgot to eat and now I’m starving.”
“Here,” said Frizz, reaching in her bag and handing her a sandwich, “It’s just ham and cheese, but it’ll get you though the afternoon,”
“You’re the best, Frizz,” and she gave her a big hug.
“Famous for it,” Frizz called after Lily as she scampered off to her supervision.
There was no cafeteria and the three primary grades had to eat in their classrooms. Lily would be the roving supervisor, overseeing the three rooms.
A tired-looking Meg Lawry brightened when Lily appeared. “Oh, thank God—I’m at the end of my rope trying to watch these brats—they’re all yours.” She handed the seating plans to Lily and was gone within seconds.
“Lovely,” Lily muttered as she peered into the first classroom abuzz with the excited chatter of Grade Three’s. She ground her teeth, but said nothing. The middle room was the Grade One’s who were surprisingly very subdued.
No problem here.
On to the Grade Two’s—her class.
As she rounded the corner, she could hear a harsh, berating voice. She entered the doorway in time to see Ayesha, a pudgy Grade Three girl standing over little Millie. The threatening posture was unmistakable.
“What’s going on?”
Ayesha froze.
“Why aren’t you in your classroom?”
The pudgy girl bowed her head, but said nothing.
“Go to the office, Ayesha. Tell them I sent you.”
Ayesha glowered at Millie and stomped out of the room. The class was dead quiet.
“Okay, drama’s over—get back to your lunch.”
The happy babble of voices resumed as if an audiotape had been paused momentarily and now suddenly re-started.
“Millie, come over here—I want to talk to you.”
The little girl got up and shyly crossed the room to face Lily.
“Where’s your lunch?”
Millie shrugged.
“Have you eaten?”
“No,” Millie whispered.
A thought suddenly occurred to Lily—Millie was Gloria Newcombe’s youngest daughter.
Just the thought of the over-bearing mother rankled her—Gloria was famous for putting so many of the staff through the mill of her anger. Demanding, defensive and bristling with anger—nobody wanted to cross Gloria Newcombe.
She looked at Millie—the poor thing was trembling and looked like she’d faint.
“Come, sit beside me, Millie.” She sat down on a wooden bench and patted the seat beside her. Millie obediently complied.
“Did Ayesha take your lunch?”
Millie nodded, a huge tear rolling down her cheek. She looked like the little redheaded girl in the Peanuts cartoon Charlie Brown fell in love with. All of Lily’s maternal instincts flooded her.
“Here,” she said, offering Millie half her sandwich.
They sat there quietly eating, with Millie stealing the occasional glance at her rescuer.
She wanted to say something to Millie, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She had no kids of her own.
What does one say to a seven year old?
She asked her about her summer and as Millie talked, she remembered about Gloria Newcombe. Gloria was the one with five girls, all of whom she entered in child beauty pageants and all of whom won, except Millie.
Her other daughters were all blondes—Millie was the redhead. The other girls were all prissy, petulant brats—Millie was shy and gentle.
The bell rang sharply signalling the end of lunch. She grabbed the wax paper sandwich wrapping, wadded it into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. Millie was standing waiting for her. She waked her back to the classroom.
At the doorway, she paused and waited for Millie to enter. As she slid past her she patted her on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Mommy,” Millie said and then blushed, realizing the mistake.
“You’re welcome, Millie,” she smiled back pretending not to hear.
Millie looked frightened at first and the broke into a sunny smile. She watched her return to her desk.
Lily had wanted to teach seniors, to make a difference.
She called me, Mommy, she mused.
She felt her heart swell within her.
