Fourteen

The Mothers

As she pulled one of the squeaky double doors open and walked into the brightly lit multipurpose room, Sharleen expected the place to be empty as usual. Instead, three women blocked her path. They were standing shoulder to shoulder. One of them had her arms crossed. Another looked like she was a bodyguard. The smallest one teetered in her heels, as if she were either terrified or about to pass out. All three women looked a few years older than Sharleen.

“Am I being jumped?” At that moment, she realized the women were holding items in their hands. Her gaze shifted, taking in the considerable supplies they carried: measuring tapes, Christmas decorations, a handheld microphone. The female bodyguard was holding a steam iron and looked as though ready to knock someone out with it.

The one with the long hair and perfect black eyeliner moved in Sharleen’s direction. “No, silly. I’m Sylvia. Sylvia Salazar.”

“Hi, Sylvia. I’m Sharleen.”

The menacing one offered her free hand to shake. “Name’s Lola Gonzales.”

“Hello, Lola.” Sharleen shook her hand and immediately regretted it. “Ow.”

The timid one with blonde hair and pixie bangs smiled and said, “Hello. I’m Cristina Morgenfeld.”

“Hello,” Sharleen said, still guarded. “Nice to meet you … all of you.”

Sylvia lowered her voice to a whisper. “I heard you snapped and tore down those nasty curtains.”

Sharleen nodded. “That was me.”

“Good choice,” Sylvia said. “It looks much better in here with some sunshine.”

“Thank you.” Sharleen continued to stare at them for a few minutes, mostly because they were staring at her. Finally, she asked the obvious question. “Why are you here?”

Sylvia gave Sharleen a look of confusion. “Willie said you needed us, so we’re here.”

Lola put down the iron in her hand and wrapped her arms around the other two, pulling them closer with such firmness that poor Cristina nearly came out of her shoes. Together, in perfect unison, they looked at Sharleen and announced, “We’re, the mothers!”

Later, on an extended water break, Sharleen worked with the students on a colorful wall display announcing the holiday variety show. They all gathered around the large bulletin board, each contributing helping hands and ideas. With diligence, Sharleen stapled the decorations to the surface, then stepped back to inspect their work.

“What does everyone think?”

A Kindergartener with a missing tooth said, “It looks pretty, Miss Sharleen, but it’s all crooked.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “Maybe if we leave it like this, people will think it has some charm.”

Slinking around the corner of the hallway, Holly appeared in her usual attire of tight jeans and a cashmere sweater. Her dark hair was up in a slicked-back ponytail. Stuck to her side was her naïve sidekick, her permanent shadow. George was smiling, but Sharleen had no doubt that if she asked him why, he’d have to think before coming up with something along the lines of, “I’ve got nothing.”

Holly stepped through the crowd of students to get a closer look at the bulletin board. “Hmmm,” she said, her words hitting the wall. “Do you think people will even show up to something on a Saturday?”

George must’ve assumed Holly’s question was directed at him because he answered it. “Yes.” He stood, still grinning like a fool. “Yes, I do.”

Holly snapped her head in his direction. He recoiled on the spot, as if he’d suddenly found himself in Medusa’s line of evil vision.

Hanging his head in shame, George muttered, “No. No, I don’t. It’s a bad idea. Horrible.”

Sharleen tightened her grip on the heavy stapler in her hand, tempted.

Killing her won’t solve anything. And they’ll definitely fire you for it. Then where will you be?

Forcing a smile, Sharleen said, “Holly. George. I hope you’ll both be there to show your holiday spirit and to cheer the children on.”

Holly’s laughter sounded ridiculous and fake. “That depends,” she said. “Will you be playing the piano?”

Put down the stapler, Sharleen. Walk away.

Sharleen held her wicked stare. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

Holly stepped forward, just barely missing the tip of Sharleen’s shoe in the process. “Then I’ll be there,” she said, with both hands on her hips. “In fact, I wouldn’t miss it for the world … your encore performance.”

Holly turned on her heel and sashayed down the hallway, as though parading on the runway at a couture fashion show. George stayed behind. He continued to stare at the wall display, seemingly pleased with what he saw.

“This is a really nice display,” he said to the students. He turned to Sharleen and added, “They’re very lucky to have you.”

From the other end of the hallway, a loud voice bellowed, “George!”

He jumped to attention and scurried off, like a frightened mouse being pursued by an invisible cat.

Raquel stepped in Sharleen’s direction. She twisted a finger around one of her Shirley Temple curls and said with slight trepidation, “Miss Sharleen, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Raquel. You can ask me anything.”

The tall, broad-shouldered girl dropped her gaze to the ground and asked, “Do I act like Miss Holly?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like the way I make fun of Ivy about being scared to sing? And how I always tell Camilla what to do.”

Camilla looked up from the plastic tub of holiday decorations she was sorting through, even though the decorating was already done. “She’s bossy,” she said to Sharleen. There was a new boldness in her eyes when she looked at Raquel. “You’re bossy.”

Sharleen reached out and urged them to come closer. They did. She kept her words quiet as Ivy was nearby. “Why do you think you give Ivy a hard time about singing in front of people?”

Raquel shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I wish my voice was as good as hers.”

“But it’s not.” Camilla’s blunt response made Sharleen smile.

Apparently, Camilla woke up this morning and decided she wasn’t taking any more of Raquel’s orders.

In response, Raquel shot Camilla a look of death.

“What?” Camilla said, not backing down. “It’s true. Just ask Miss Sharleen if you don’t believe me.”

Sharleen turned at the sound of approaching heels. Betty was dressed to impress, as usual, in a cream-colored power suit and a string of pearls. She smiled at everyone.

“Well, would you look at this?” she said, marveling at the display. “We have some very talented artists among us.”

“Do you like it, Mrs. Marchant?” Ivy asked.

“I do,” the principal said. “I think it looks wonderful.”

“Miss Sharleen let us pick out the decorations,” Camilla explained. “She always wants to hear our ideas.”

“That’s because she knows the best ideas come from others,” Betty said. She turned to Sharleen. “I hear the cavalry has arrived in the form of, the mothers.”

“Yes. They’ve been a huge help, but we could still use more. Better lights. A piano that’s been properly tuned. A budget. Dance shoes. Some Christmas magic. A miracle or two.”

Sharleen flung a hopeful stare at the principal.

The expression on Betty’s face shifted to one of reverence. “I really admire what you’ve been able to do with nothing, Sharleen. It’s very impressive. And I’m not the only one who’s noticing. Willie raves about you … as do the parents. Your love for this school … well, it’s apparent to all of us.”

For a brief moment, Sharleen thought about her grandmother and how much she wished she were standing in the hallway with her, to hear firsthand all that Betty was saying. She blinked back tears as emotions swelled with intensity. “This school means a lot to me,” she said. “It always has. Being back here … it’s been good for me, Betty.” Sharleen stopped. “Oops. May I call you Betty?”

“Of course, but only when students are not present. Otherwise, I’m Mrs. Marchant to everyone. It’s important that we lead by example and show respect for those who have earned it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Marchant,” Sharleen said, suddenly feeling like she was back in the sixth grade.”

Betty leaned in. “I know you want the show to be the best it can be. As do I.”

“I do, which is why I’m going to the school board meeting tomorrow night,” Sharleen whispered in reply. “I only need a few minutes to speak, to convince them to give you more money.”

“And I hope that works.”

“It will.”

“But if it doesn’t … the show will still be wonderful.”

Sharleen took a step back. “You sound like you’ve given up hope. Have you?”

“No, just trying to be realistic. I’ve been asking for a bigger budget since I walked in the doors five years ago. It hasn’t happened yet.”

Sharleen straightened her posture. Over Betty’s shoulder, she saw their faces: the students who needed her and were depending on her. She would fight with everything she had to get them more. There was unwavering confidence in Sharleen when she spoke. “Well, now you have me.”

On her way to the bus stop, Sharleen saw Victor through the chain-link fence. She stopped in her tracks and stared. He was alone, sitting in one of the old swings. From his slumped posture, he looked defeated.

Without a second thought, she marched inside the school, rushed to the first exit she could find, and made her way to Victor’s swaying seat on the fenced-in playground. As she moved, a wintry wind left her face stinging from the cold. Yet the temperature wasn’t going to deter her.

Victor looked up as she approached. He wore a jacket that looked too big for him and a beanie cap that did its best to cover his overgrown dark hair. She couldn’t tell if he was happy to see her or annoyed—or a bit of both. “Miss Sharleen, what are you doing out here?”

He looks so lonely. I’m not sure what to do or say.

Sharleen swallowed her doubts and said the first thing that came to her mind. “I saw you sitting here and thought you might need a friend.”

His dark brown eyes were cast to the ground. “Aren’t you supposed to be inside rehearsing for the show?”

“Rehearsal is over for the day. Besides, this is more important.” Victor looked up. She held his gaze for a moment. His eyes reflected immense sadness, an emotion she was all too familiar with. She gestured to the empty swing next to Victor and asked, “Mind if I sit?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Suit yourself. It’s a free world.”

Sharleen dropped her book bags on the asphalt and then struggled to get her backpack off. Watching her, Victor asked, “Why do you always carry so much stuff with you?”

“Well, I leave my house early in the morning and I don’t get home until late at night. These are all the things I need for the day,” she explained, fully aware that what she was telling Victor was only a half-truth.

“I always see you walking and everything looks so heavy,” he noted.

“It is. Maybe someday I won’t have to carry so much around with me.”

“I bet you’re going to try to convince me to come back to the show.”

“No, I’m not,” she said.

“You’re not?”

“You know you’re always welcome to come back to rehearsal, Victor. But that choice should be yours,” she explained. “We miss you a lot, though. Even Raquel and Camilla told me how much they wish you were still dancing.”

“They do?”

“Yes. Actually, everyone agrees you’re the best dancer in the show.”

“You always say that, too.”

“Because it’s true.”

Victor moved a little in his swing, rocking back and forth gently. Sharleen noticed both of his shoes were untied. “Roger got suspended for three days,” he said.

“Yes, I heard.”

“When he comes back to school, he’s probably going to hit me again because he’ll be mad.”

“If he does, I want you to tell someone.”

“What for?” he asked.

“Because Roger was told if he hit you again, he’d be expelled.”

“What difference will that make? He lives across the street from my house.”

Sharleen took a deep breath, emotions swirling inside of her like a slow-building cyclone. Victor had her heart and she knew it. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not that bad, I guess. My mom loves that I dance, but my dad … he told me I need to man up. I’m not even sure what that means.” He stopped swinging. “Did anyone ever hit you … for playing the piano?”

Sharleen lifted her gaze to the school in the near distance. It seemed so much smaller than she remembered. “Yes, a very mean girl hit me … but it only happened a few times.”

“Did she move away and go to another school?”

“No … I hit her back and knocked two of her teeth out,” Sharleen said. “After that, she never hit me again.”

“So, you think I should knock Roger’s teeth out?” He sounded enthusiastic about the idea.

“As tempting as that probably is, no … I don’t think you should do that.”

“But if I don’t do something, people will always call me names.”

“You’re right. They might,” she said. “I don’t want to lie to you and say it will stop, in case it doesn’t.”

“I want it to stop … more than anything.”

“What else do you want more than anything?” she asked.

“I want to be in the show. I want to dance, Miss Sharleen.” There was a new energy in his words, passion. “I feel happy when I’m dancing.”

“That’s all I want for you, Victor.” She smiled down at him. “To be happy.”

“What about you? Do you think you’ll be happy soon?”

Sharleen felt as if her soul had been touched. That young Victor was turning out to be one of the smartest, most intuitive persons she knew—and he was only ten. It was a struggle not to cry.

No one has ever asked me that question before.

Jake and Ivy flashed in her mind. The night in the gazebo. Decorating the Christmas tree together. The cemetery. “Yes, I do,” she said, for once believing this to be true.

“Really?” Victor sounded surprised. “Why?”

Sharleen breathed in the icy air letting it invigorate her. “Because I’m tired of being sad.”

Victor nodded, his back straightening from the stooped position. “Yeah … me too.” He stepped out of the swing and stood in front of Sharleen. He stuck out his pinky and asked, “Can we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?” she asked.

“That if we start to feel sad a lot, that we tell each other,” he said. “Then I can dance and you can play the piano and we’ll both be happy again.”

“That sounds perfect.” She hooked her pinky around his and said, “I promise.”

“Good.” He cocked his head, a serious look crossing his features. “Miss Sharleen, I have one other question.”

“What is it?”

To her surprise, Victor reached for her backpack and picked it up off the ground, straining to do so.

He wants to help me put my backpack on … the way I help him.

The haunting expression in Victor’s deep brown eyes was a mixture of gratitude and hope. His shoulders lifted and fell as he inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled. “Is it okay if I come back to rehearsal tomorrow?”