Tears Between the Bells

With a heavy sigh, she slowly eased into her chair while gently gripping the desk. Her shoulders rolled back in an attempt to relax. She had not realized how close they had been to her ears, stuck up high as if best friends cuddling with uncertainty. 

The door had been softly closed as the bell rang. Voices echoed through the walls. Adults started giving directions, and children shouted and shuffled around. She breathed in deep through her nose as tears welled in her eyes. Holding it for a moment, she whispered to herself, “There is no hope,” the breath released shaky as she tried blinking away the tears, “there is no hope for our future generations.”

The piles of paperwork called her name desperate to be homed in their respective files. Grades needed to be entered. A realization that had only come when that one boy had shown up for the second time that semester and asked, “Miss, how am I failing your class?” Multiple parents were awaiting emails or phone calls in return. Asking for updates on their child’s anxiety, their child’s locker combination, their child’s peer interactions, what was for lunch, or why their child’s grade was low in the one teacher’s Biology class. She had not been able to respond immediately as she was working with two children on simplifying their equations. The same two children had sat in the back of the room of their previous class copying down letters and numbers without ever really understanding what the adult at the front of the room had written. 

The phone rang as she swallowed another shaky breath while preparing her mind to respond. The student with seventeen referrals refused to put their phone away in PE class. The caller was at their wit's end never having met a more disrespectful child. What was she to do halfway across the building? 

During the phone call, a new email chimed in her inbox. Another parent, this time requested for the team to meet. Their child had been suspended for a few days for fighting another student. If only she had followed the educational plan with fidelity, then this would not have happened. 

With the final tipping of the iceberg, she had decided she was done. At that moment, she was unable to muster any more perseverance, real or faux. She had nothing left to give but they kept asking anyway. The night before, as with every other night, she went home and promptly collapsed on the couch. Because she felt required to, being the only one at home, she dragged herself to the kitchen. 

Dinner, of course, was overdone and partially burned. She had been distracted by the document she was desperate to finish and lesson plans for the next day. The smell of the overflowing trash mixed with her subpar dinner. The mental energy for her chores was nonexistent, yet her mind never shut off. 

Amid thoughts about grades, assignments, and meetings, she continued to worry about those students who came to school always hungry and always unclean. She wondered if that small handful of students who said they did not want to go home would feel the same tomorrow and if she had said the right thing earlier to help them cope. All the while, she would question how on Earth people managed to do this year after year.  

Yet, when morning came, she begrudgingly rolled out of bed psyching herself for the new day. A new chance had come promising that it could not possibly be worse than the day before. A new day with new hope to find the reason why. The reason why she had done this to herself in the first place. What was the reason she chose this path? She wondered if the same excitement she felt on the first day would ever return. She wondered if the desire to help children grow and discover their purpose in this world would find its way back to her heart. 

Throughout the day, that slight sparkle of hope faded away a little more each time the bell rang. In the first period, she talked to herself as zombies dressed as teenagers slumped into seats to stare at their phones. Her heart broke a little when she sang, “Good morning!” and received a reply of a few mumbles. The second period filled her bank of hope up just a little when that one sweet girl came to her room. 

“Can I have a hug?” The girl’s voice was low and rough. The light, golden disposition she usually embodies was buried deep under heavy emotions. The child sat in front of her desk explaining how unhappy she was when she went home the night before. This poor young girl could not understand why her mind would tell her to feel this way when so many other kids had it worse. Minute after minute, the girl spoke almost without stopping to take a breath about all the thoughts that were consuming her mind. “I just don’t understand why I can’t focus. I don’t understand why I can’t do better.” 

Her eyes blinked rapidly to brush away the tears hoping the girl would not look up yet. Saying the right thing meant the difference between a complete turnaround for this girl’s day and a complete spiral of depression. Does she offer words of advice? Encourage her to use the strategies the therapist that she hates gave her? Or should she just be a shoulder and listening ear? Deliberately words started to pour out of her mouth. She attempted to validate her feelings, remind her that she was not as alone as she felt, and give her small manageable steps to get through the day. With another hug, the adolescent sauntered out of the room. On the way out the door, she called over her shoulder, “I wish I could just stay in this room. I’m always happy when I’m here.” The comment wrapped her in a warm hug instilling a bit more strength to carry on. 

A glimmer of hope carried her to the next period where she was instantly greeted by loud disappointment with her presence. “Ah man, she’s here,” they exclaimed like every other day. Taking the high road, she sat down in her chair at the back of the room. The other adult in the class lectured away while students sat on their phones and talked amongst each other. Some even fooled around with others passing in the hallway. She could barely hear herself think. No rule she implemented would correct the real issue at hand. But with one look at the faces of those who desired to learn, she knew she had to do her duty. Although, why should any of the students listen to her? She was just an assistant after all. 

Now, here she was again between the thousands of questions, the kids just stopping by asking for a hug, the kids spending 45 minutes on a bathroom pass, the adults asking her for a magical fix to a student she barely understands, just trying to stay afloat. Unable to decide her next course of action, she finally let the tears fall. Steady and slow they rolled down her cheeks as she held in the sobs so no one would hear through the wall. 

Every little face flashed through her mind. 

“Do I stay and fight for them? Or do I leave and save myself?”