M.J. Schiller [Schiller - Pitchfork in the Road

B eing a kindergarten teacher required the creativity of a teenager with a basketball-sized dent in the side of the family car, the patience of a sloth racer, and the energy of a fairy hopped up on Mountain Dew. I stared at the little girls before me. This was the fourth squabble in as many minutes Id had to negotiate my way through.

Susie said were not twins.

Twins? True, they both wore matching high pigtails. They both were wearing the same pink sweatshirt and jeans. But, A. they werent even sisters, and B. they werent even the same race. I sighed. I had carpal tunnel from rubbing my temples, and the nurse pulled out an empty ibuprofen bottle when I stopped by earlier. Apparently, thered been a run on pain killers and those frozen sponges Id seen a half-dozen kids nursing today, without any physical evidence of an injury.

Girls They stared at me with eyes nearly as wide as Bugsby, the poor rabbit in a cage at the back of the room. Im pretty sure he had a nervous breakdown when Trenton Knutsen brought in his cat for show and tell. Heres the thing. Most twins have the same Mommy. They looked at each other, and Bethanys lips began to quiver. But I added quickly, you two are soul twins. Not many people know about soul twins, and theyre much closer than regular twins.

Jheras brow crunched up. Soul twins?

I nodded, holding my breath.

She turned to Bethany and whispered loudly, Were soul twins.

Bethany threw her arms around her twin. Yea! Then they took off as one, running across the alphabet carpeting to the playhouse where they tended to hang out together.

The corners of my lips lifted. Crisis number one-hundred-and-forty-three averted for the day.

I loved my job. Sure, it was exhausting. Little kids can wear teachers out, even if I was one of the youngest ones on the staff. Their endless energy was simply draining at times. After each summer break, it always took me a bit to get my stamina back. But there were hundreds of mini-moments throughout the day that made it worth the crappy pay and headaches. The enthusiasm of a kid learning to tie his shoe for the first time, for example. Or two of my students skipping away, holding hands, oblivious to any care. I longed for those days. And the love they showered on me, so freely. I felt unworthy of it at times, but I soaked it up anyway.

I raised my gaze to survey the room, ever vigilant. My aide, Mimi, had started a story and the kids were gathered in a circle around the rocking chair she sat in. Everyone was paying attention. Everyone except Ryker. Everyone except Ryker had become a phrase ringing through my mind far too often. I hadnt pegged him down yet. He seemed to live in his own separate world at times. Could he be on the autism spectrum? I worried about him. How could I draw him in and engage him?

One thing was for certain, he was a cute little devil. His long hair reminded me of my dads, with a bowl cut. A generously sized bowl. He was probably desperately in need of a haircut, but I liked it. He won my heart with the first Hey, Teacher. I smiled when he peered up and I crooked my finger at him. Without hesitation, he hopped up and ran across the carpet and around my desk. The aide glanced in his direction, but continued reading, knowing I was watching him. As I twisted to face him, he scrambled up into my lap so quickly it startled me.

Well, hello, Ryker. I chuckled, wrapping my arms around him. He reached for a crystal apple paperweight on my desk and I let him explore it, my hands on the outsides of his, a few inches away, in case it started making a path to the edge of my desk.

Arent you enjoying the story, bud?

He didnt answer, spinning the apple by its stem like a top.

A gust of Colorado wind found the right angle to make its way through our open windows and, with a tremendous SLAM, it took an easel down. Several squeaks and squeals came from the carpeted area, and everyone in the room jumped. Everyone except Ryker.

Oh, my! Mimi exclaimed, and the knot of kids on the carpet giggled. She and I exchanged a smile, and she began to read again.

My heart pounded in my chest from fright, and I took a breath. Slowly, it dawned on me that Rykers reaction wasnt normal. Why, when everyone else in the room experienced a brief freak out, did this little boy show no sign of being alarmed at all? Forgetting about protecting the apple, I brought a hand up near his ear and snapped my fingers. He didnt move. My heart dove. Saying a silent prayer, I lowered my head, bringing my face near his other ear.

Ryker?

He didnt show any signs of hearing me immediately, but, after a few seconds, spun to face me.

Are you okay, buddy?

He nodded, looking me straight in the eye. The open, earnest expression on his face, the way he unflinchingly studied me with big, round eyes, tugged at my heartstrings. Did he hear me? Or did he sense the movement and respond? Was he simply distracted, or was there some sort of hearing problem?

The bell rang and the room became a beehive of activity. I glanced toward his classmates, but Ryker put a chubby little hand on each of my cheeks and turned me to face him.

I like you, Teacher.

I know Im not supposed to have favorites, but, dude, youre making it hard.

I like you, too, honey. For a second, all the noise and activity faded away, and it was me and this singular child.

But only for a second. Kids rushed to their coat hooks and Ryker pushed away from the desk. His mini tennis shoes hit the linoleum, and he tore off. I stood and followed the tiny mob to the hallway, which smelled of paint. That was nothing new as the art classroom sat right across from us.

Okay. Sariahs the line leader for today. I placed a hand on each of the young girls shoulders. So, once you have your backpack and jacket, line up behind her.