Evaluation
I meet Alyna in the parking lot of Andy’s school. She says, “Thanks for coming.”
I say, “There’s no way I would have missed this.”
She says, “I know, but still, thanks.” The way she says this makes me think that Andy’s teacher has become aware of our separation somehow, that I’m walking into what will amount to a two-woman tag-team kickfest of my ball bag. I hope this is not the case as Alyna and I head into Andy’s school without touching one another.
Once inside, we head to Andy’s classroom, where Mrs. Banks is waiting for us. She shakes our hands and goes through all the bullshit protocol that’s probably mandated by the school board or maybe even the state. She sits us down, opens a little book with some notes in it, and says, “First of all, I’d like to let you know that Andy is certainly one of the brightest kids in the class.”
I say, “That’s great.”
Mrs. Banks says, “Yes, it is. He excels at understanding any concept that I present in class, in a wide range of subjects, and he seems to have a proclivity for the visual arts as well as for music. Twice a week we let the kids get out instruments and form their own bands and put on shows for one another. Andy particularly enjoys this, and he’s taken a liking to the drums. My apologies if he starts requesting a drum set for his next birthday,” then laughs a weird, forced laugh. Alyna smiles. I just keep looking at Mrs. Banks and say, “So this is all great news.”
Mrs. Banks closes her notebook and says, “That is all great news. But there was one thing I wanted to speak to you about.” Then she stands up and says, “If you’ll follow me over to the art wall, I’d like to show you Andy’s latest creation.”
We walk over to a wall covered with maybe fifteen or twenty drawings done by four-year-olds. A few of them aren’t bad, but most are shit. Most are just scribbles. Some have barely recognizable impressions of human faces. I zero in on one, though. It’s a skeleton getting shot by a guy with a machine gun. I say, “Wow, this one is really good.”
Mrs. Banks says, “Yes, that’s Andy’s.”
Alyna is impressed by it, too. She says, “Wow. I don’t want to insult the other kids but it’s pretty clearly better than the others by, like, a lot.”
Mrs. Banks says, “Yes. He’s quite talented. He clearly exhibits the ability to create an image that is very representative of the idea he is trying to convey. But it’s the meaning behind the image that concerns me a little bit.”
I say, “What was the assignment?”
Mrs. Banks says, “It was to draw something that you think represents happiness.”
Alyna says, “Oh my god.”
Mrs. Banks says, “Yes. Some of Andy’s artwork, this most recent piece included, suggests a level of distress that I think we might want to address in this evaluation.”
Alyna says, “Is he not getting along with the other kids?”
Mrs. Banks says, “No, it’s nothing like that. He gets along with everyone very well. He’s actually very socially gifted, in addition to his other talents. All the other kids seem to enjoy his company very much.”
I say, “Then what’s the deal here?”
Mrs. Banks says, “At this stage, these drawings aren’t really anything to be overly alarmed with. Children will quite often create violent or frightening imagery in an assignment like this if they feel the need to convey to an adult that they’re not feeling all that happy lately. Which is what I wanted to speak to you about. Is everything okay at home?”
As she asks this question, I’m reminded of a bunch of shitty movies in which a teacher or someone outside the immediate family asks this question with the overt implication that the kid is being abused. The conversation must have conjured the same type of reaction for Alyna, because she beats me to the punch. “Are you asking us if Andy’s getting abused at home?”
Mrs. Banks says, “Oh no. No, no, no. I didn’t mean to imply that. It’s very clear that this isn’t the case at all. Without prying, I’m just curious if everything is stable at home, or if there have been any significant changes in your relationship or your behavior. Maybe due to a situation at work, or anything at all. At this age children begin to learn how to read emotion in their parents, and quite often that can reflect in their own emotional well-being.”
It’s clear to me that Mrs. Banks doesn’t know shit about the fact that I haven’t lived at home for a while, or about me fucking Holly, or about any of it. I don’t know how to respond to the question. I don’t want to air our dirty laundry, but some piece of me thinks that Alyna might appreciate it if I own up and say I’ve been a shitty husband recently but I’m working on it. I’m a second away from opening my mouth to that end when Alyna looks at me and says, “Well, you have been working a lot more lately, and coming home late, and Andy isn’t seeing as much of you as he usually does.” Then she turns to Mrs. Banks and says, “Could that be it?”
Mrs. Banks says, “That could absolutely be it. And, again, this isn’t any cause for real alarm unless it persists or becomes worse.”
I say, “How would it become worse?”
Mrs. Banks says, “Well, if his feelings were to manifest through actions instead of his artwork, that could be problematic.”
I say, “I see. Well, I, uh, don’t really know what the situation with my job is going to be like. It’s not really up to me.” I look at Alyna and say, “It’s actually completely out of my hands.”
Alyna looks at me and says, “It seems to me like you can probably figure something out so you can spend some more time at home this week.”
I look at her and say, “You think so?”
Alyna says, “It seems pretty likely.”
Mrs. Banks says, “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you were a stay-at-home mother. Do you two work together now?”
Alyna says, “I am. We don’t work together. I was just saying, for Andy’s sake, I’m sure we can figure it out.”
In that moment, for the first time in all of this I start to feel normal again. It’s not happiness. It’s not relief. It doesn’t feel good. It just feels normal.