Beautiful Child: The story of a child trapped in silence and the teacher who refused to give up on her

“I’m your new teacher. Would you like to walk into the building with me?”

Her failure to respond was so complete that the first thing I thought was she must have a hearing loss. I made a mental note to check on what tests she had had. Waiting a few minutes longer, I finally gave up and went on into the school alone.

The first student to come into class was Billy. “Oh no! Not you!” he cried and smacked the center of his forehead with his palm. Hard. He almost fell backward with the blow. “Oh no. No, no, no. I don’t want to be in here. I don’t want you.”

“Hi, Billy. I’m glad to see you too,” I said. “And guess what? You’re the first person here. So you get your pick of any table.”

“Then I pick the table in the cafeteria,” he said quickly and bolted for the door.

“Hey ho!” I snagged him by the collar. “Not literally any table. One in here.”

Billy slammed his things down on the nearest one. “I don’t want any of these tables,” he said gloomily. “I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

I put a finger to my lips. “Not in here, okay? You’re the oldest in here, so I need you to set a good example of how to talk. Do you think you can watch your tongue for me?”

Billy put his fingers into his mouth and grabbed hold of his tongue. “I’ll try,” he garbled around his fingers, “but I don’t think I can pull it out far enough for me to watch.”

“Billy, not literally.”

Billy laughed hysterically. So much so, in fact, he fell off his chair.

Just then Bob appeared, shepherding in two little boys with the most startlingly red hair I’d ever seen. It was red. Bright, copper penny red, worn in a floppy style over small, pointed faces that were generously splattered with raindrop-size freckles.

“This is Shane,” Bob said, putting a hand a little more firmly on the boy to his right. “And this is Zane.”

Shane and Zane? God, why did parents do this to their kids?

They were identical twins, dressed in what I can only describe as ventriloquist’s dummy style: polyester pants, striped shirts, and, quite incredibly, bow ties.

Billy was as amazed by their appearance as I was. “Are they Dalmatians?” he asked incredulously.

Before I could respond a heavyset African – American woman wearing a bright, flowery dress appeared and pushed forward a slender, almost lanky-looking boy. “This here’s Jesse,” she said, keeping both hands on the boy’s thin shoulders. “This here’s Jesse’s classroom?”

Bob stepped aside, and the woman propelled the boy into the room. “You be good for Grandma. You be special for this here lady and Grandma’ll hear all the good things you done today.” She kissed him soundly on the side of the head. The boy flinched. Then she departed out the door.

“Here,” I said. “Do you want to take a chair here?”

The boy tossed his belongings down with an angry-sounding thud.

“Oh no, you don’t. Not here. You’re not sitting here,” Billy cried. “No ugly black kid’s going to sit here, because I’m sitting here. Teacher, you put him someplace else.”

“You want to fight about it?” Jesse replied, making a fist.

The boys lunged at each other right over the tabletop and went crashing to the floor. I leaped in, grabbing Billy by the collar and pushing Jesse aside.

Bob grinned with rather evil relish. “I see you have everything in hand, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said and vanished out the door.

“I’m not sitting with him. He’s crazy,” Billy said and grabbed his stuff from the table. “I’d rather sit with the Dalmatians. Come here, you guys. This here’s our table. That ugly kid can sit alone.”

I grabbed Billy’s shoulder again. “For now I think everyone’s going to sit alone. One person per table. You sit here. Zane? Are you Zane? You sit here. Jesse, there. Shane, over here. Okay, these are your tables. And your chairs. So remember where they are, because I want your bottoms glued to those chairs unless you have permission to be somewhere else.”

“Glued on?” cried Billy and leaped up. “Where’s the glue?” He was over to the bookshelves already, rummaging through a basket. “Got to glue my bottom to that chair.”

“Billy, sit down.”

“But you said ‘glued on.’ I’m just doing what you said.”

“Sit down.”

With a cheerful smile, he sat. “We got whole tables to ourselves?” he said. “These are our tables?”

“Yes, those are your tables.”

“Wow,” he said and smoothed his hand over the wood surface. “Cool. My own table. Wonder where I’m going to put it when I get home.”

“Billy!”

“Is there only going to be four of us in this here class?” Jesse asked.

Suddenly I remembered Venus. The bell had rung, and she wasn’t in the classroom.

I crossed to the window. Venus was still on the wall, but below her was Wanda, arms reaching up. Gently she lifted Venus down. I saw them approach the school building.

Wanda came all the way up to the classroom door with her sister. She was a big, ungainly girl, at least thirty pounds overweight, with bad acne and straggly hair. Her clothes were wrinkled, ill-fitting, and noticeably smelly.

“Hello,” I said.

“Her come inside now,” Wanda said in a cheerful manner. “Come on, beautiful child. Time to go to school.”

Venus looked up at me with a full, open gaze, making unabashed eye contact. I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back; she just stared.

“Here.” I offered my hand. “Shall I show you to your table?”

“Her no talk,” Wanda said.

“Thank you for your thoughts,” I replied, “but now it’s time for Venus to be in school.” I kept my hand outstretched to Venus. “Time to get started.”

“Her no come to school.”

“I don’t think you go to school, do you, Wanda? But Venus does. Come on, sweetheart. Time to find your seat.”

“Go on, beautiful child,” Wanda whispered and put her hands on Venus’s back. She pushed the child gently into the room.

“Good-bye, Wanda,” I said. “Thanks for bringing her. Do you want to say good-bye to Wanda, Venus? Shall we say, ‘See you after school, Wanda’?”

“Bye-bye, beautiful child,” Wanda said. Then she turned and ambled off.

“Beautiful child” was not the epithet I would have given Venus, now that I had a chance to look at her up close. She was neither clean nor well cared for. There was the dusky cast of worn-in dirt to her dark skin, and her long hair hung in matted tendrils, as if someone had tried to make dreadlocks out of them and failed. Her clothes were too big and had food stains down the front. And like her sister, she smelled.