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

He curled his lip up in an irritable snarl.

“So why aren’t you out on the playground?” I asked. “The bell doesn’t ring until eight-thirty-five.”

“Fucking girl’s out there.”

I put a finger to my lips again. “We’ve got to remember. You’re oldest in here. I’m depending on you to set a good example for the others.”

“I don’t care. Fucking girl’s out there and I’m not gonna take my chances. Ain’t no teacher out there guarding us poor kids. Fucking girl’s gonna knock the shit out of me again.”

“Did she say that to you?”

Billy didn’t answer.

“Did she tell you she was going to beat you up?” I asked again.

Head down, he just shrugged. “She’s just got a crazy look in her eyes. Girl’s a fucking psychopath or something. That’s what she is. Like in one of them movies. Like maybe she’s Freddy’s little sister from Elm Street or something.”

“Well, just for this morning you can stay in. But not every morning, Billy. The school rules say that everyone must be outside until the bell rings.”

“You’re not outside.”

“All the children stay outside. You know what I meant. We’ll sort something out so that you don’t feel threatened.”

Billy flopped dramatically across his table and sighed in a world-weary way. “I hate this school. I hate being here so much. Why did I have to come here anyway? Why couldn’t I stay at my other school? My brother’s there. My brother’d never let me get beat up by some psycho girl. This is the worst thing in the whole world that could have happened to me. I’m so unlucky. I’m the unluckiest kid in the world.”

“If you work hard in here, Billy, and get your mouth and your temper under control, then maybe you can go back to your old school.”

“Really? Is that all I got to do?” He said this with friendly surprise, as if no one had ever mentioned his behavior to him before. “Well, I can do that. I’m gonna be good as gold.”

“That’d be super. I’d be very proud of you. For now, however, I’d be satisfied if you just got off that table. Please take your seat.”

Cheerfully Billy leaped up and grabbed his chair, swinging it gleefully over his head. “Take my seat? Okay, sure, anything you say, Teach. Here it is. Where you want me to take it?”

The next to arrive in our doorway was Jesse, accompanied by a woman I recognized as one of the school bus drivers. She had him by the collar. She pushed him ahead of her into the room.

“This kid isn’t going to last long,” she said testily.

“What happened?”

“Well, on my bus you’ve got to take your seat, stay seated, and keep your hands to yourself. Those are about the only three things he didn’t do.”

“He was sticking his head out the window and swearing at people,” Billy added.

“You weren’t there, Billy, so please don’t interrupt.”

“He was doing that,” the bus driver said. “And he wouldn’t stay in his seat. That kid can’t keep something you tell him in his head for more than three seconds. I told him. I told him to sit down and shut up and quit bothering everybody. He tripped one of the first graders when she got on and then when she tried to get up, he pushed her down again. I said, ‘Keep that up, mister, and you’re going to walk,’ and what he said back, I’m not going to repeat. So I told him when I get him here, his life wasn’t going to be worth living.”

I nodded. “Okay, sit down over there, Jesse.”

In burst Shane and Zane.

“Oh fuck, here come the damned Dalmatians again,” Billy cried.

Shane didn’t even pause to put down his things. He shot across the room and bashed into Billy, thunking him soundly over the head with his lunch box. The crack was audible and Billy let out a howl.

“You girl,” Jesse sneered, as if that was the worst possible insult.

Zane joined the fray, kicking hard at Billy. Jesse leaped from his seat to join in. Recognizing discretion to be the better part of valor, the bus driver stopped her complaining and left immediately.

All four boys were in a tangle of flailing arms and legs by the time I reached them and the noise level in the room was absolutely deafening. I was shouting as loudly as anyone else.

Throwing myself in among them, I grabbed one of the twins by his leg and pulled him out. I ripped off his shoes, because shoeless he couldn’t hurt so much when he kicked, and I slammed him into a chair. “Stay there.”

Billy was next. He was screaming, half in pain, half in rage. I flung him into another chair. “Take your shoes off.”

He howled.

“Take them off !” I demanded.

Then I grabbed the other twin by the waistband of his pants and lifted him right off the floor. Wrenching his shoes off, I tossed them, one after the other, out of reach. I pushed him into a chair.

Last was Jesse, who was just so angry that there seemed no way to control him other than pin him to the floor until he calmed down. Once he’d stopped thrashing, I took his shoes off too.

“Okay, the four of you,” I said and stood up. Three of the boys were in chairs in a ragged semicircle. Jesse was still sitting on the floor. “From now on, wearing shoes in this room is a privilege, not a right.”

“What do you mean?” Billy asked.

“I mean, I’m not going to be kicked black and blue. Shoes aren’t for kicking. Until everyone knows how to behave when they are wearing shoes, no shoes.”

“You’ve got shoes on,” Billy said.

“Yes, that’s right. Because I’m not going to kick anyone with mine. But until you earn that privilege by showing me you aren’t going to kick anyone, shoes will go off at the door when you come into the room and shoes will not go back on until you leave.”

“You can’t do that,” Jesse said. His facial tic had started – blink, blink, blink, squint, jerk of the head – and it made it hard for him to speak clearly at the same time.

“Watch me,” I said. Picking up a large plastic box, I crossed the room and collected up all the shoes I’d thrown over there.

“I’ll tell my mom!” Zane shouted. “I’ll tell her you’re taking our shoes away and she’ll make you give them back!”

“I intend to give them back when you go home. But in here, they’re off and they’re going to stay off. They’ll be right here in this box.” I put the box up on top of a tall cupboard.

“She’ll make you give ’em back,” Zane cried. “They’re my shoes. My mom bought them for me!”

“They’re still your shoes. And your mom will know I’m doing the right thing.”

Zane rose from his seat.

“No, Zane, you sit,” I said. “You too, Jesse. Get up off the floor and get in that chair.”