Authors: Meg Gray
Ms. Hewitt lifted her chin and clasped
her hands in her lap. “You didn’t,” she said. “I recently learned of an opening
and took it upon myself to schedule it. I’m sorry if this interferes with your
day, but since you will not return my calls I decided to come see you.”
He suppressed the smile he felt forming.
She was a brave little soul marching in here unannounced like this. She had
persistence and determination he would give her that. Somehow, she must have
appealed to Gretta and gotten herself in here. He was amused, but then again he
knew why she was here and that was not amusing at all.
He leaned forward in his chair and
rested his elbows on his desk. Looking down at his own hands he quietly asked,
“This is about my son, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ms. Hewitt replied.
“You have concerns about him?” He looked
at her now, challenging her.
“Yes,” she replied again.
He nodded once and sat back in his chair
feeling an emotional shield rise between them, ready to repel any accusation or
insinuation she was prepared to make about his parenting. A long list of
rebuttals were already building in his mind, he could return anything she threw
at him. Feeling prepared for the fight, he continued.
“Alright Ms. Hewitt, what are your
concerns?”
“I’m concerned with Brayden’s academic
progress in the classroom.”
Marcus nodded; surprised she hadn’t
immediately jumped into his disobedience or moodiness like all his previous
teachers.
“What exactly are you talking about?” he
questioned with caution.
“Before the holiday break Brayden knew
ten letters and three letter sounds. I would have liked those numbers higher at
the time, but at least it showed progress from the beginning of the year. After
the two-week break I retested Brayden and he only remembered four letters and
two letter sounds. Last week he was up to six letters, but they weren’t
consistent with the four he knew before.”
Marcus nodded.
“I’m concerned there’s something
interfering with his learning. I would like to schedule a meeting with you and
other specialists at our school to discuss some testing that may help us better
determine how to teach Brayden.”
“Is that your only concern, Ms. Hewitt?
Because, if he’s not learning like he should in your classroom, then maybe I
can find someone better to teach him. I can get him a tutor.”
A flicker of hurt crossed her face.
Marcus had lashed out again with his words and he was surprised he felt bad
about it.
“No,” she said, keeping her
determination close. “I am also concerned about his behavior in class. He
doesn’t always follow directions, is often withdrawn and some days is highly
irritable. His behavior could be the result of a learning disability or his
learning could be impaired by his behavior. I don’t know, but I feel it’s worth
investigating, for Brayden’s sake.”
“Hence the need for these specialists,”
he clarified and she nodded. “But I thought that was your specialty Ms. Hewitt,
to teach children. Isn’t that why I send Brayden to you every day?” There was
arrogance in his voice and he knew he sounded condescending.
“My specialty, Mr. Lewis,” she responded,
squaring her shoulders. “Is general education. I teach the general population
of students. Occasionally, there are some kids, like Brayden, who don’t fit the
general mold. We have an incredible team of specialized professionals at
Fitzpatrick that I believe can lend insights into better ways of teaching
Brayden. As a team we will determine if Brayden will benefit from a varied
educational path. You are an integral part of this team, Mr. Lewis, you know
your son better than any of us.”
Her amber eyes looked into his.
What
was his response?
He didn’t know. This is what he had waited for, right? An
outstretched hand. Here it was and all he wanted to do was slap it away.
Knowing his son needed help and admitting it out loud were two very different
things. Feeling humbled by Ms. Hewitt’s own deflection of his insults toward
her he lowered his defenses for a moment and asked the question he’d been
mulling over for months, but was afraid to speak.
“What do you think is wrong with him?”
Marcus asked quietly.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong
with Brayden,” she was quick to reply. “I think he’s a very sweet little boy
with a desperate desire to learn. I just think there’s something getting in the
way of his ability to learn and that’s why I want to bring in the specialists
we have available to help us. Please, Mr. Lewis if you can find the time to
meet with us I think we can help Brayden be more successful.”
This girl could have made a career as a
lawyer, forming a compelling argument and leaving him little room to back out.
She was the first person he could think of to speak nicely of his son. She
admitted he wasn’t perfect, but also worthy of help. A spark of hope glinted behind
her words.
“Very well,” he said, waving her out the
door. What harm could one meeting do? “Schedule it with Gretta on your way out
and I’ll be there.”
Marcus quickly turned his attention back
to the pile of invoices, ignoring the delight that glowed in Ms. Hewitt’s face.
He looked up again when she paused at the door.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lewis,”
she said before she left.
Five minutes later an appointment notice
flashed on his computer screen. He would see Ms. Hewitt next week at five p.m.
in her classroom. He couldn’t help but smile.
Donald’s follow-up meeting was short,
but far from sweet. Dave kindly and patiently explained the results of the IQ
test, which showed Donald scoring low enough to warrant a mental retardation
classification. The team solemnly agreed to add the classification to Donald’s
eligibility of services. Alec talked briefly about the changes for Donald’s
educational plan.
Emma sat quietly and watched silent
tears fall from Jean’s eyes and Steven’s emotionless face. At the meeting’s end,
Emma saw Steven glare at Jean before he stormed out of the classroom, slamming
the door, and rattling the windows. Emma retrieved a box of tissues from her
desk and brought them to Jean who pulled out two. She followed Sandy and Jean
to the door and the two women left together. As they walked out Emma felt her
own eyes mist with tears.
In the hallway, she saw Mr. Lewis
leaning against the wall.
“It’ll be just a moment, Mr. Lewis,” she
said and he nodded before she stepped back into the classroom.
* * *
“We’re ready for you, Mr. Lewis,” Emma
said, opening the door again. “I apologize for the wait.”
“That’s quite alright,” he said, walking
into the room and taking the seat Jean had vacated. Emma took her seat between
Alec and Mrs. Wolf. Mr. Lewis ignored the others and kept his gaze on Emma.
Mrs. Wolf shifted uncomfortably. The intimidation factor Mr. Lewis brought to
the table was profound, even Alec and Dave looked a little uneasy.
“Mr. Lewis,” Emma said, trying to ease some
of the tension in the room. “I’m going to let my colleagues introduce
themselves before we begin.”
He nodded.
“I’m Deborah Wolf, the principal.”
“I’m Dave Stevens, school’s
psychologist.”
Mr. Lewis nodded at Dave.
“Alec Martin, special education
teacher,” Alec said. Mr. Lewis’s eyes swept past him, returning to Emma.
Emma launched into her report on
Brayden’s academic performance and behaviors in the classroom. From there Alec
took over the meeting.
“Tell us about Brayden’s preschool
experience,” Alec said.
“Brayden was in three different
preschools last year, none of which worked out for us, so I kept him at home,”
Mr. Lewis replied.
Emma wondered if
none of which worked
out for us
, was code for Brayden was kicked out, but didn’t ask.
“And what was the longest period of time
Brayden spent in those schools?” Alec asked.
“A week.”
Alec and Dave scribbled notes in their
notebooks.
“You said when the preschools didn’t
work out that you kept Brayden at home,” Alec clarified.
Mr. Lewis nodded.
“Who was with him during the day?” Alec
continued.
“My housekeeper or a nanny,” Mr. Lewis
answered. Emma could read the frustration in Alec’s face with Mr. Lewis’s answers.
The man wasn’t forthcoming.
“Can you tell us about Brayden’s birth?
Were there any complications with the pregnancy or delivery?”
Mr. Lewis shook his head. Alec’s chest
heaved in an inaudible sigh.
“Did Brayden’s mother use any drugs or
alcohol during the pregnancy?”
There was a twitch of Mr. Lewis’s lips
before he answered, “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Does Brayden ever see his mother?”
“No,” Mr. Lewis said with irritation,
but it masked something else. Emma’s curiosity was piqued. All eyes were on Mr.
Lewis waiting for him to continue, to paint some kind of picture for them about
Brayden’s mother, but nothing came, just silence.
Alec looked down at his notepad again,
“Okay, has Brayden always been in good health? Any hospitalizations or trips to
the ER?” Alec gave Emma a helpless smile and she gladly returned it hoping she
communicated how much she knew he was trying.
“Yes,” Mr. Lewis answered. He cleared
his throat and Emma switched her eyes to him.
“Yes he’s been in good health or yes,
he’s been in the hospital?” Emma asked, clarifying his answer.
“He’s always been in good health,” Mr.
Lewis replied. “And he was in the hospital for a couple of days right before he
turned two.”
When it seemed like he wasn’t going to share
anymore, Emma begged him with her eyes to keep talking. His intense blue eyes
bore into hers.
“Our home outside of Seattle caught fire
one day while I was at work. Brayden was at home with his mother. When I got there,
the firefighters were inside searching for Brayden and my wife. They found him first.
He had minor burns and suffered from smoke inhalation. In a couple of days he
was fine and released from the hospital.” Mr. Lewis exhaled. A tiny tremble had
worked its way into his voice.
“And Brayden’s mother?” Dave asked.
“The firemen pulled her out too, but
Brayden never saw her again after that day.” Mr. Lewis’s voice was tight.
Alec and Dave exchanged a look.
“When did you and Brayden move to
Portland?” Emma asked, out of her own curiosity, while Alec and Dave scribbled
more notes.
“Six weeks after the fire. A transfer
opportunity opened up here and I took it.”
“Does Brayden ask about his mother or
the fire?” Dave inquired.
“No,” Mr. Lewis answered.
“Has he ever received any counseling?”
Dave asked.
“No,” Mr. Lewis answered again.
Alec pushed a paper in front of Mr.
Lewis. “Has Brayden been to the doctor recently?”
“No,” Mr. Lewis replied and looked at
the paper.
“This is a release for medical
information,” Alec explained. “We’d like the doctor to sign off that Brayden is
healthy, has good vision and hearing before we move forward. We want to make
sure that we aren’t overlooking a medical concern that might be interfering
with his learning. Would you be able to get Brayden into his doctor in the next
couple of weeks?”
Mr. Lewis stared at the paper, but
didn’t answer. Alec passed him another.
“This is a consent form for us to do
more testing with Brayden. Dave will run through some other tests with Brayden
to see what we can learn about his learning abilities. After we get the results
we’ll have another meeting to discuss an appropriate plan of action for
Brayden’s education.”
Alec passed him a pen, but Mr. Lewis
made no move to pick it up.
Emma thought about what it must be like
to survive a fire and lose a mother. She thought of the pictures of the
firefighters Brayden drew so often and wondered what memory he had of that
awful day. The lens she viewed Mr. Lewis through softened as she tried to
imagine what life had been like for him these last few years.
Please sign
,
she silently pleaded,
please sign the paper so we can help Brayden
.
Mr. Lewis sat back in his chair and Emma
recognized his defensive posture and cold stare.
Dave cleared his throat. “Mr. Lewis,” he
said, “I can imagine this is a lot to take in at the moment. You and your son
have been through something traumatic. Brayden’s performance in the classroom
suggests he needs our help. This fire could have left a deep emotional mark on
him and we’d like to find out how best to serve him.”
“He doesn’t remember the fire,” Mr.
Lewis snapped back at him. “He wasn’t even two when it happened.”
“Something is interfering with Brayden’s
learning. It could be a memory of the fire or something else,” Dave continued,
ignoring Mr. Lewis’s tone. “If Brayden suffered a fall physically and you
noticed symptoms of him limping or redness or swelling on his leg you’d take
him to a doctor. And if the doctor thought the bone was broken you’d ask for an
x-ray, right? You and the doctor would want to look closer and examine the
problem before deciding if he needed a cast or a splint or just a bandage. And
that’s exactly what we want to do too. We want to examine Brayden more closely,
because all we are doing is putting on bandages and that doesn’t seem to be
working. We can’t examine Brayden more closely unless you give us your consent,
just like you have to give the doctor consent to do an x-ray.”
Emma wanted to stand up and applaud.
Dave explained the situation perfectly, really putting it in perspective. What
parent wouldn’t have their child’s bone x-rayed? She knew Mr. Lewis could be a
formidable man, but she also believed he loved his son and wanted to do what was
best for him. He would sign, Emma was confident.
The chair scraped eerily against the
silence in the room as Mr. Lewis pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll think
about it,” he said and left the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
“Well,” Mrs. Wolf huffed with irritation
as she stood up. “I’ll tell you what that man needs is a solid dose of reality.
Can’t he see how badly his son is hurting? I don’t understand these parents, so
wrapped up in their own lives and completely ignoring their children.”
Dave gathered his own notes and files
and walked out of the room with Deborah, who was still grumbling about the
result of the meeting. Emma looked out the window, her mood as dark and ominous
as the swollen clouds in the sky. She was disappointed, after all her effort
and all her faith, Mr. Lewis had rejected their help, had rejected helping his
son.
“That guy is a piece of work,” Alec said,
interrupting her thoughts. “Don’t let him get you down, Emma. You’re doing a
great job with Brayden.”
“Thanks,” she said, half-smiling at him.
“Hey, what’re you doing Saturday night?”
Alec asked, surprising her with the change of subject.
“I’m having dinner with some friends,
why?” Emma replied. Why did Alec want to know her Saturday night plans?
“Oh, well, I was just going to invite
you to The Brewery on Fifth. My band is playing and I thought you might enjoy
it. You can bring your friends if you want. We play there on Saturday nights,
so if this weekend doesn’t work then maybe another time.”
“I didn’t know you were in a band,” Emma
said, adding an ounce of flirtation to her voice. “What do you play?”
“I’m the drummer,” Alec said, slapping
out a rhythm on table. A proud smile stretched across his face as he stood and
walked around the table.
“Really?” Emma asked with intrigue. She
was smiling, because it was so easy with Alec, he was so relaxed and friendly.
She liked the idea of him being interested in music and part of a band. That
was kind of, alluring.
“Yeah, me and some of my buddies started
a group in college and play this gig whenever we can. We aren’t that great, but
it’s pretty fun.”
“It sounds like fun. I’ll try and make
it another weekend if that’s okay?”
“Absolutely,” Alec said. “Have a good
night.” And Emma was pretty sure she would, being asked out by the incredibly good-looking
Alec Martin was foremost in her mind now.