Thursday morning. Five seconds, I swear, before I wake up I have a dream. I'm standing on Cecile's desk. She's a reptillian, I'm the only one who knows it but not the only one who suspects it. I'm rampant. I kick off her keyboard, her monitor, her desk calender, think about kicking in her face, I mean, it's right there. It's RIGHT THERE. Instead I jump off, she doesn't look disturbed enough. In fact she looks dead. She looks dead on the outside, matching the inside. She's looking at me, uncaring as ever. I jump off the desk. I stand at the door. "Fuck you and your daughter's a whore!"
I wake up smiling, my cloth curtains aren't up yet, the light's an intruder, unwelcome and dreaded. The new blinds do nothing. Alex is already up and ready to go. I don't tell him about the dream. I'm up too early to the same Nessum Dorma ringtone that's been waking me since I started there.
I remember the interview and how I went to Bri's right after to gloat over those perfect eggs she makes. I called Alex and told him, "She seems soOoOo nice, babe, she wants me to start tomorrow." I knew little of this woman, I couldn't see past the synthetic south Orange County smile. If somebody is the director of a school, a school filled with sponge brained children, one would expect her to have the interests of none other but those childrens at the core of her intentions or knowledge of their basic needs. Wrong again.
Through my stay I attested to many indicators that this woman was not who I believed her to be. Recently I was informed that she had never had ANY Development training, none. I was appalled but it made sense. She was never taught that the abuse of a child, in all instances, meant we were mandated as educators and care givers to report the abuse. A little girl, Tea, pronounced Tay-yuh, showed up one day with a bite mark from her grandmother. Cameron, her teacher, insisted to Cecile that it be reported. Cecile's answer: "That's family business, we don't get involved." Cameron did the right thing in reporting it the next morning but not without a strong reprimand from Cecile. If there had been any respect for this woman, this disintegrated it completely.
She had never learned what is appropriate and suitable attire for a teacher. She allowed her daughter, the 19-year-old toddler "teacher", to walk out of the house in clothes I would not even wear to a club. Backless shirts, towel dresses with nothing under, hussie clothes. Disgusting. I don't understand how the parents never said anything. They didn't to my knowledge. These parents that pay $800+ a month to send their two and three year olds to this classroom are totally in the dark. I remember the way Ashley, the hussie, looked at me as I left the school for the last time. No concern, no empathy. She seemed almost glad. How can you feel concern or empathy when you don't have a soul, a brain, a will, a goal, a sense of decency? You can't, she didn't.
This woman, Cecile, was never informed that children do not take transitions lightly. I was reprimanded for so many things that were not wrong to do. For going to the bathroom when I was on my period, for explaining to the children why they were in time out when their tears begged for understanding, for taking part in their play, their main source of education, for wearing a knit beanie that made me look like a reggae gang member apparently. There were so many things wrong with her judgment, I could never underestimate her. I was the third aide she had hired and fired this year alone for that classroom.
Max and Mia were playing in the sand the previous afternoon. Akshay was shoveling sand with his hands behind him because apparently the school can't afford decent shovels and not more than three broken ones. Max was behind him and sand got in his eye. Mia, his sister, came to me and explained what happened, Max was tearing up. I knelt down next to him and asked him if he was okay. He nodded once and looked at me and I wiped the sand from his face. He continued playing. Their mother showed up not fifteen minutes later and Max started screaming bloody murder as soon as he saw her. He felt the pain in the eye all of a sudden. She came up to me and asked me what my actions were to be after something like that happens because "They do it to eachother all the time". I told her that if it hadn't been an accident, Akshay would have been disciplined. I told her Max told me he was fine. She told me she'd see me tomorrow. Max and Mia weren't at school on Wednesday. I got called into the office during the childrens' Bible Study. Cecile told me that Max and Mia's mom was "LIVID" with her because she didn't call her after he got sand in his eye. She told me that Max's mom had taken him to the doctor and that she's afraid he might be blind in one eye. In my head I'm thinking "Really? From sand?". This happens every day, we are used to this. She tells me that when something happens to a child, ANYTHING, that I should bring them all in from playing outside and bring the child to her so she could take "appropriate action". "Okay", I say, "I'll do that." I'll cut short everyone else's play time when anyone gets sand in the face regardless of whether or not they tell me theyr'e okay. I should mention that Max cries when his mom gets there every day, too. She also mentions that I'm talking to the kids too much. She never learned that Step ONE of being a caregiver is to build a relationship with each child. She wants me to be a dictator like her. She sent me out and back to the classroom. I got called back in with less than half an hour to go on my shift. "Max and Mia's mom came in to yell at me today while you were at lunch, we're afraid she might threaten to sue, I'm gonna have to let you go." My world dropped and spun and pounded me right in the gut. "But... I LOVE those kids." She tells me there's nothing she can do. "Can I talk to their mom, what can I do, I can't lose my job, I have rent to pay, this can't be happening.." She pushes an envelope towards me, tells me she's paying me until the end of the day. I'm supposed to be grateful apparently. I had so much more to say but the shock and pain and thought of never seeing those kids again was choking me. I take the check and walk into the classroom to get my belongings. Ella and her mom are in there, they see I'm tearing up. I bend down to Ella and she clings to my neck. I hug her as hard as I can, for the last time, and lose it. Her mom asks me what's wrong and I tell her. "I'm so sorry. Some parents are like that, I'm so sorry." That's when I walk out and see Ashley, looking at me, I know she knows, she's shameless and not blameless. She was always a spy, always Satan's right hand ho.
It hits me every morning, right when the light blinds me right through my eyelids. It reminds me of the way it hit me when Eliot broke up with me. I loathed waking up to the reality of my life then. It took a long time for the disbelief to subside. I don't care about Cecile or her skanky daughter really. I don't care that she's money hungry, because the real reason I was fired was because she, and that business woman owner, wanted to save the money this summer with the low enrollment. That's fine, that would have been fine. Any decent person could and would have told me "You know what, we're having some budget issues and we can't afford to keep you." That would have been too honest, not sour enough. People like that need to exist in the world, I get it. What hurts the most is that the parents are ignorant and that the children are paying the price. They loved me and they knew I loved them and I loved them ten times more for what they taught me, for what they were teaching me about patience and innocense and compassion. It got ripped from under me and I won't forgive her, them, for that.
God damn do I wish that dream had been real.
