Davis - In Deeper

This book contains content about suicide.

If you have thoughts of suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255.

In Deeper

Published by Bethany Lynne Davis

Copyright 2022 Bethany Lynne Davis

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If youre reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

I would like to express my gratitude to my mentor, Arden Georgi Thompson, who graciously gave me permission to use the poems originally published in her book, Watching Ants.

Cover art used with permission from .

Writing a memoir is like distilling squid inkit requires separating truth from facts. Although In Deeper is a true story, creative license has been taken with the facts.

Most characters are composites, and names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. Dialogue captures the essence of a conversation and should not be taken as a verbatim account of what was said. Compressed or altered chronologies assist the narration. Throughout the pages, emotional truth has been faithfully rendered.

This memoir recounts a difficult time in Beths life. Those around

her experienced events differently, which is their story to tell, not hers.

In Deeper

I dedicate this book to my husband, in whom I trust, and my children, in whom I believe.

Table of Contents

Forward and backward we journey through time, the only creatures that do, using yesterdays lessons now to make todays dreams of tomorrow come true.

Arden Georgi Thompson

Tomorrow is never here; only today and endless possibility.

Arden Georgi Thompson

So It Began

With the end of the school year fast approaching, my seventh-grade classroom filled with students whod already adopted that air of superiority indicating their ascendance to the top of the pecking order. Five of them waited for the announcement that their bus had arrived.

Devon sidled up to me. Do you like kids, Mrs. Davis?

Ill like them more tomorrow, Dev.

I usually said this in jest.

Id be sorry to see Devon move on to eighth grade come June. A goofy grin was always glued to his freckled face, replete with dimples and a cleft chin, which chimed with his personality. He investigated the world through touch; his elvish fingers explored objects as if reading Braille. His self-effacing honesty earned my trust. He was developing into a gentle young man, wise and kind and funny.

Devon thrived in my science class, where success didnt depend upon reading and writing. He didnt think of himself as the gifted student he was. Dyslexic, he could describe black holes as lively and ordered parts of the universe but couldnt spell gravity. Some defined him by his learning disability rather than his knowledge and bright personality. All I saw was a special human being.

His look always featured skinny jeans, pressed Oxford button-front shirts, and penny loafers with no socks. I wished I could vanquish the bullies who teased him. Instead, I was just a teacher who had never learned how to change their attitudes.

* * *

In the back of my classroom, more than 200 Madagascar hissing cockroaches hid in the nooks and crannies of paper towel tubes stacked inside a fifty-five-gallon aquarium. Devon devoted himself to their care and caressed their chitin-covered bodies as if they were little gerbils. He hid bits of banana and cantaloupe in the aquarium and changed their water containers every day before dismissal.

I joined Devon at the aquarium, and we dismantled the cockroach condominiums together, then rebuilt them with fresh paper towel tubes.

Oh, cool! Mrs. Davis, look! Ones molting!

His exclamation brought students who usually treated the insects like creepy-crawlies to witness the miraculous event. A girl asked if she could hold the snow-white creature who had shrugged halfway out of his exoskeleton.

Devon advocated for the beastie. No, youd hurt him.

Craig, an arrogant, pretentious boy, spoke up. Ha! Him? How do you know its a him? Been watching the buggers bugger?

I was furious at the innuendo. Craig, have a seat until the bus comes. Youve got a morning detention with mewell talk then.

I knew from past battles that Craigs parents would consider the remark funny. By their standard, making an insinuation about Devon being gay was something their son would never do. Thered be no formal response from the administration either, but making Craig miss a block of time he usually spent with his buddies was a comeuppance I could control.

The intercom intruded. Third run of buses.

Craig glared at me as he exited the classroom. The room emptied, except for Devon, who carefully arranged cardboard around the vulnerable insect.

Ill finish, Dev. Go ahead so you dont miss your bus. I fiddled with the water dishes and slid the mesh cover into place.

Within, a black mood warred. I needed to be at a teachers meeting in a half-hour with my assignment in hand. The bulletin read: Please prepare a synopsis of your teaching framework, beliefs, and practices to present at tomorrows meeting. The useless chore frustrated me. Throughout my twenty-four-year career, Id met the national learning standards by implementing engaging lessons and assessed knowledge by analyzing students next best questions rather than their answers. Instead of using disciplinary programs, I cultivated genuine relationships with my students.

What interested me about teaching was students thought processes. My newest mentor was Dr. Derek Cabrera, a Cornell University professor. He had identified the brains four essential patterns of thinking: making distinctions, finding parts and wholes, analyzing relationships, and adopting new perspectives. He was an international expert in his field, and I followed him like a disciple, captivated and intrigued by the possibility of conversing with students ideas before, during, and after their construction.

On this day, I intended to share Dr. Cabreras research instead of my methodology during the meeting. I planned to introduce an alternative topic to discuss: the difference between gaining information and building knowledge. Exhilaration extinguished my frustration, and a subdued sort of frenzy fueled my need to put forth my agenda.

In the library, Mr. Clark, the principal, climbed onto a table. It was a move designed to grab an audiences attention, which hed learned from me. Listen up, my friends. He jumped to the floor, and I was relieved he landed upright as both he and I were old enough to know bounding off a table was ill-advised. Once you form groups, you have my permission to take your conversations anywhere. He bowed to his audience.

My peers cheered and gathered into cliques. I heard talk about pubs and hanging out by a pool. Any place was better than having to conference in the stuffy library.

It had happened again; I was the outlier without a group to call my own. No one was to blame. I didnt frequent the staff room enough to be included in the social magic that brings people together.

A job posting for a fourth-grade position thumbtacked to the staff rooms bulletin board captured my attention. Grandiose dreams of working in a different school sang a sirens song. Should I pursue it? The fact that I would lose my tenure as lead science teacher at the middle school didnt occur to me. Checking in with friends or consulting my husband never entered my mind.

Enchantments should never be broken.

The groups had scattered to the four winds. Who would know which one Id chosen to join? I escaped to my room and caught Craig nosing around the back shelves. At first, I was surprised, then nervous, wondering how and why hed entered my classroom.