“I’ve got to get out of here.”
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The thought passed through her head for the thousandth time that day. Here she was in the midst of the swirling chaos that surrounds her. If she could press pause in the scene unfurling before her and step out of herself as the main character, she could float above the talking heads, the mounting stress and observe the quickening beat of the heart beneath her blouse. She could feel the blood pulsing through the capillaries in her cheeks, brightening them. She could feel the often-ignored tension gripping her back and legs, like a boa constrictor around its prey. And she could see the thought float above her, like a cartoon bubble.
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“I’ve got to get out of here.”
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Shandra stood listening to the voice grow an octave louder, slightly higher in pitch and she feels her shallow breath caught in her chest, struggling to get out. She has to remind herself to stop holding her breath. Her teeth tingle, or maybe it’s just her jawbone, vibrating with its own presence.
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As she observes the scene unfold while she participates in its drama, Shandra can feel her hands begin to quiver, as well as her voice. “I-I-I…I was just trying to be helpful.”
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The large woman stands before her, shorter than Shandra, and much rounder. While Judy, Shandra’s boss, likes to boast of all her fabulous qualities, the character of her face tells the real truth. One can read in each crease, each reddened spider vein in her puffy face that there are many glasses of wine and beer that have crossed those smoker’s lips, trying to ease the pain of her own demons. The residue of the alcohol pulsate below her shame-filled eyes. The words she uses are intended to intimidate, to destroy, and to discharge the anger, blame and jealousy that Judy is enraged with at this very moment.
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Shandra is trembling like she used to when she crouched in her childhood bedroom, her arm clutching her favorite teddy bear as angry voices yelled and pounded outside her door. She was small, innocent, scared and confused. “What is going on?”
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Amidst this scene, as the harsh words pour over her, Shandra’s eyes avert from Judy’s glare. She fixates instead on the yellow sweat stains on Judy’s formerly white shirt. “Why does she wear that shirt? It’s so hideous. Doesn’t she notice?”
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What Shandra doesn’t know is that Judy hasn’t looked at herself in the mirror for decades. Sure, she would apply a little mascara here and a little lipstick there, but she was only looking at the parts of her body in isolation, fixating on the food stuck between her yellowed teeth or the hole in her earlobe as she guided an earring into place. The truth was, Judy couldn’t bear to see herself.
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“I don’t ever want to see you do that again.” The finality of Judy's words punctuate the air like a period at the end of a long, painful sentence.
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Shandra blinks twice and silently turns to leave. The anger swells up deep inside and Shandra doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s like a trapped pig, wrestling and rolling, fighting to be let out. The numbness sets in to dull the pain and shock.
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Shandra walks back into the classroom and pauses to look around. Eighteen three and four-year-olds are busy in various pockets of the classroom. Some are playing in the dress up area, pretending to be moms, dads and babies. A few are building tall towers out of cardboard blocks and knocking them down. Others are playing quietly with puzzles at a table. Shandra notices that, once again, the children are like barometers that often counterbalance the energy surrounding them. If a storm has just passed, they bring the calm.
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Mike looks up and immediately comes over. “You look like hell. What happened?” Shandra opens her mouth to speak but then realizes the shock is quickly wearing off, giving way to sobs and gasps. Mike touches her arm, gently steering her back to the door and says, “It’s alright. Go take a few minutes. We’ll be fine.”
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The child care center sits next to a small green space which leads to a trail through a young woods. The winter air is cold and refreshing against her hot cheeks. The sobs are choking and well up from deep in her belly. The pain of past generations shake Shandra to her core, blurring past and present. Shandra comes to a bridge over a shallow creek and bellows and brays like an injured dog.
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Shandra410Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRtKDxWLgLL
Shandra breathes and tries to stuff the loud hurt and pain emanating from her body. “Get it together. So what? Your boss yelled at you. It’s not the worst thing in the world. She’s just a stupid cow.” The breath slows and she chokes the sobs down. After a moment of calm, the pressure builds again. She turns to walk away, get her composure back together, put on her game face. But the string to her game face mask is broken and beyond repair.
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The three-year-old girl inside of Shandra is trembling, cowering inside. Shandra doesn’t know she is there, let alone having a way to comfort her.
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“She’s trying her best. I think she means well… But what the hell was that all about?!?” Shandra tries to comfort herself, to take Judy's perspective but the pain and humiliation erode any efforts of diplomacy.
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Justifying usually worked. This time, the words ricocheted off her armor of hurt and betrayal. Judy was the one Shandra turned to when the children loved her activities. Judy helped her write her newsletters and supported her when parents demanded their child wear 6 layers of clothing in January, despite the 50 degree weather. Shandra listened to all of Judy’s stories, laughing politely as she listened to Judy try to best Shandra’s own experiences.
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Judy would ask, “How was your weekend?”
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“Oh, it was great. I went on this amazing hike with my boyfriend to this lake nearby. It was so beautiful.”
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“I once hiked around Lake Tahoe. I did the whole thing. That lake is the most beautiful lake this side of the Sierras.”
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Sigh.
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Judy never asked Shandra any questions or showed any interest in her life. Shandra would ask Judy about Lake Tahoe, who she hiked with, what her favorite parts were, when she did the hike. She didn’t care about the answers but she wanted to show Judy what she hoped to show the children in her care. “I see you. I hear you.”
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Judy410Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMG9e0twbov
When Judy saw Shandra, she would feel like both curling up next to her like a teenage girl and throttling her through the window. Shandra was young, funny and a good listener. She was tall and pretty. She was also eager to please and never stood up for herself. Each time Shandra would stand there, listening to this parent bemoan the tedium of parenthood with those big, doe eyes, Judy would think, “What a Pollyanna.”
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For Judy, it seemed that Shandra would listen to just about anyone. She seemed too fake, feigning interest in the stories of cute things children said over the weekend or pretend to delight when a child would poop in the potty.
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Judy saw the pain in Shandra’s eyes while she unloaded her blame onto Shandra for, once again, telling a parent she would make yet another accommodation for a child. We can’t fucking do this anymore. Shandra would take on every problem, real or perceived, and bend over backwards to solve it. Do you have a vegan child with a lethal milk allergy who poops his pants every 10 minutes while scratching the eyes out of another child? Sure. We can accommodate that! Just come on in to Pollyanna’s Clubhouse. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is welcome.
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It was pathetic and Judy’s stomach ached every time she looked at Shandra’s pleading eyes that begged each parent and co-worker, “Do you like me? Do you approve?”
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It was disgusting.
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Still, seeing her crumble like a puppy who was being chastised for peeing on the new carpeting, was almost more than Judy could bear. Shandra turned to leave, the silence between them was deafening. When Shandra walked back into her classroom, Judy said, “I need a drink.” She turned to her office and grabbed her pack of cigarettes instead. She walked the obligatory 20 feet outside of the back entrance of the school and lit her cigarette, her hands trembling.
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She told herself, “She deserved it. She’s going to have to learn one way or another.” Unlike Shandra, Judy had perfected the art of stuffing her feelings below the surface. It was like a steel trap. Nothing bad was going to come out. Though, in all honesty, nothing good was going to come in either.
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