Chicken Shit Hands

Kelsey storms into the room 5 minutes late and throws her backpack on the tile floor. My attempt to say hello is ignored as she aggressively plops down at her desk, lets out a huge sigh, and puts her head down. She is protected from the world by her hood and headphones. They act as a barrier to all of us, this school, this town, her life. This is typical for Kelsey. The rest of the class hardly looks up to see what’s going on. They continue working on their warm up because they’re used to her behavior. She’s always angry because her homelife isn’t ideal. She lived in a homeless shelter for awhile and her mother struggles to get by.

I haven’t been teaching that long but college exposed me to many different educational settings and scenarios. I have enough knowledge and experience to know better than to go over to Kelsey right now. She’s clearly flustered and needs space. At my old school there was a student who slept on an air mattress because his family couldn’t afford real beds. One night the electricity went out and his air mattress deflated. He had to sleep on the floor all night without any padding or comfort. The next day he destroyed the classroom after being asked to work on some math problems.

The clock says 7:30 so I decide I won’t bother Kelsey just yet. As a class we go over the warm up and she exists in her own world, head down and music blaring. The faint sound of clicking can be heard from her headphones. I assume she’s listening to a fast paced hip hop or electronic song. I wonder how she has an Iphone if her mother struggles to feed her, but dismiss the thought because it’s not important or any of my business. 

The clock now reads 7:35 and my time has come. I need to address her hood and headphones because the school is always coming down on us teachers for not discipling students.

I confidently stroll over to Kelsey. My hand knocks on the desk to get her attention above the blaring music. I back up to give her some space and make her feel more comfortable. There’s a nearby empty desk that I lean on with my hand to look casual. She slowly lifts her head and looks at me like I am the most annoying person in all of the universes combined.

“Good morning Kelsey,” I begin. Blank stare. I take a breath and keep going. 

“I can tell you aren’t having a great day and I want to support you. I do ask that you remove your hood and-”

“You have chicken shit hands,” she says, disgusted. Her words hang between us like a lead balloon.

I feel like I’ve just been told some horrible insult. It reminds me of a website I found that tells you awful insults in foreign languages, often involving mutilation or extreme disrespect toward a family member. Blood rushes to my face and I’m sure it’s as red as a tomato. My neck snaps down toward my hands for further examination. The hand she is looking at is bent in a weird fashion. I tried so hard to act natural that I didn’t notice my odd hand position as I leaned on the nearby desk

“What does that even mean?” I say hesitantly, extending my hands out for her to examine and explain.

“Look at them hands, gross.” She puts her headphones back on and retreats into her hooded cave. The conversation is over and I don’t have a clue of what to say. 

I compose myself enough to run the rest of my literacy lesson and eventually class comes to an end. Kelsey took a nice nap and I didn’t dare speak to her again. She’d walked into a classroom last week and shouted, “This room is fucking FREEZING!” and then stormed out. If provoked she was known to become physical or cuss you out, so it was better to give up then try to engage further. 

Sitting at my desk I slowly rotate my hands and examine them in the light as I try to recover from this blow. My fingernails are clean and there aren’t any obvious scars anywhere. A little dryness is observed around the knuckles, some random freckles here and there. Have my hands always been ugly? How have I never noticed? I think of the movie Zoolander and the character who plays the hand model. He kept his hand in a glass case so it would be preserved from the elements. 

The hours go by but my mind continues to wander back toward my hands. I haven’t had a manicure in a while and now I’m wondering if that’s something I should be doing on a regular basis. 

The 1:55 bell finally rings and I go to visit my friend Karissa in her classroom. She’s also a new teacher so I feel ok confiding in her. I recount the story about my hands and how I just can’t get over it.

“It’s like I found out I have an incurable growth or something.” I tell her, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Karissa stands on a chair erasing her white board and gives me a look. “Sarah, there’s literally nothing wrong with your hands. It’s Kelsey, she insults everyone.” 

“But what are chicken shit hands exactly? I’m not even sure what chicken shit looks like. We could ask one of the kids who lives on a farm. Do you think it’s that my hands look like chicken claws and not actual shit?” 

Karissa steps down from the chair and starts to pack up her belongings to go home. 

“I think you’re overthinking this. Plus, Kelsey got suspended for telling Anna Alan to go fuck herself during math class period 3. You probably won’t see her for a couple days.”

The following morning I casually inquire about the other insults Kelsey has thrust upon innocent ears. Other teachers had been called bitches, told to suck her nonexistent male anatomy, and other awful things- but nothing that came close to chicken shit hands. I need to confront Kelsey and ask her to explain. This probably isn’t professional but I can’t go on remaining this ignorant. I can’t live the rest of my life wondering what was wrong with my hands. Maybe the chicken shit is a metaphor for something bigger.

The bell rings and students sit down at their desks. Kelsey isn’t there but she’s always late so I wait 5 minutes. Then 5 more. Then 20 minutes have gone by and I assume she’s skipping class.

I call the main office and ask if they’ve heard anything about Kelsey. 

“Kelsey Merton? She transferred out of the district. She’ll be removed from your roster soon.”