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English class always smells like one of those cheap air fresheners. Maybe a lily one, or something with a tinge of lavender. I can’t be certain. Sometimes, English class feels like the only class that gets me. Other times, it feels like a hellhole I can’t escape, with a teacher that is just as confusing as the variety of posters in her room.
Ms. Daniels.
On the younger side, definitely. At least, compared to the majority of the other teachers. Where wrinkles and lines have made their homes on other teachers’ faces, Ms. Daniels’ skin is smoother, less callous, less rough. Her voice is younger, too. Lighter, less raspy.
Now, she’s standing in front of the class, organizing the plan for today, dark hair falling down her back and floral skirt billowing with her movements.
I can’t say she’s entirely mean. Not like Mr. Miller from I.T. or Ms. Moore, the vice principal whose glare cuts into me every time we cross paths.
However, Ms. Daniels is almost distant.
She skirts around some student interactions. Her cat eyes zero in on some students, gloss over others. She’s a lot more left-leaning than the other teachers at school. Is that a good thing? Not necessarily. She’s one of those liberals that are constantly: help the poor African children or segregation was sad, but it was a long time ago or your English is so good.
She’s one of those people who you can tell in an instant has never interacted with a black person. As in had a full fledged, double-sided, let’s talk type of conversation with a black person. I guess she tries to sympathize but she hasn’t ever really empathized.
“Last year,” Ms. Daniels starts, making her way to the front of the classroom, “we all went over Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird as a class. For sophomore year, the intent is to revisit this book in a mature, well-rounded discussion.”
Some murmurs fill the class, and Ms. Daniels clicks her ball point pen before continuing, “I expect you to take notes, have a respectful discussion with your peers,” She eyes some of the students towards the back who chuckle, “And to listen and wait before speaking, Ryan,” The redhead’s eyes flicker away from his lap, (or really, his phone), before his eyes flicker up to hers, eliciting laughter from the class as he gives her an exaggerated thumbs up.
Ms. Daniels shakes her head before continuing, “We’re revisiting To Kill A Mockingbird to gain a stronger understanding of the text now that you’re all older, and hopefully, more mature.” Light laughter. “We’ll also compare and contrast said book to our next novel that I’ll be revealing later on this month.”
She places her hands on her hips as the students stare back at her. “We’re setting our debate up here,” She vaguely gestures around where she’s standing, “So, pull your seats around the front area, and we’ll begin shortly.”
A few grunts and murmurs follow her instructions, and soon, the shuffling movements of chairs and the clinking sound of people bumping into each other fill the classroom.
Before I can blink twice, we’re situated in a circle, people talking amongst themselves. Ms. Daniels turns on the smartboard. “Listen up,” She says, and the class quiets, albeit slowly, “I have the guiding questions up here on the SmartBoard. They’ll lead our discussion for today.”
So, the discussion starts. I’m almost thankful that Brett isn’t in this class, but I sink further into my seat when I realize some of his lackeys are present.
The discussion starts with the way The Great Depression influenced the plot, the characterization of characters and the seemingly different stories focusing on Boo Radley and the court case surrounding Tom Robinson. Then the conversation moves over to the symbolism of the mockingbird.
“The mockingbird represents innocence.” I find myself saying after Ms. Daniels gives me a pointed look. “Moreover, the title: To Kill A Mockingbird is essentially describing: to kill someone’s innocence.” Ms. Daniels keeps her eyes on me, silently urging me to continue, and the rest of the students keep their eyes on me, as I let out a breath before continuing. “This story specifically revolves around Scout finally opening her eyes to the injustice and racism that exists in Maycomb.” Pause. “Hence, learning about racism is a loss of her innocence, when she’s grown up in such a sheltered world.”
Although, in and of itself, she gets to learn about it, instead of experiencing it. The black characters evidently didn’t get to enjoy that innocence or really, ignorance—when it comes to racism—in the first place.
“Well said,” Ms. Daniels nods, and I think I’m out of the woods when, “How do you personally feel about Lee’s take on racism and ignorance in the novel?” Her eyes bore into mine, and I feel my heart skip in my chest.
Well, it’s hard for me to unhear the way the n-word was said dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times throughout the novel. It’s hard for me to unsee how undeveloped and ignored Tom Robinson’s character was. How he died, and that was it.
It’s hard for me to forget how Calpurnia could’ve said more, shown more. How she’d claimed that ‘colored’ people chose not to learn how to speak properly, despite the fact that it had been illegal for us to even get educated and learn how to read.
It’s hard for me to see Atticus as the perfect, flawless savior who could do no wrong, and could only put his reputation on the line for the unfortunate Tom Robinson.
I bite my lip.
“I thought it was a unique take on racism for the time period it was released in.” I finally say.
Ms. Daniels won’t stop though, “Any personal takes?” She turns to the class, “There’s some controversy surrounding whether or not the book should still be taught in schools, and there’s varying opinions surrounding what message Lee is sending readers about racism.” She turns to me, “I’d love to see more of your take on this, Amina.”
The eyes start to feel like they’re burning into my flesh. I feel ghost bugs crawling up my skin. I can already hear the implicit, “because you’re black,” at the end of her suggestion.
“I guess Lee was very focused on the characterization of characters such as Atticus and Scout, more so than other characters,” I say. The main characters, albeit, but not the ones on the receiving end of the racism.
The black characters; the ones who were facing oppression were the other characters that went uncharacterized.
I don’t say that, though.
“Can you list some examples?” Ms. Daniels asks, leaning forward in her seat.
Daniels really woke up and chose violence today. I exhale, tucking a braid behind my ear. “Uh... Tom Robinson... Calpurnia—when it comes to their own personal takes and experiences of racism.”
“So...” One of Brett’s lackeys cut in, “The black ones?”
My shoulders fall into a shrug while my face burns.
“Well,” Ms. Daniels starts, in the way of someone who asks you a question, but doesn’t truly want your answer, “the readers were given the opportunity to understand that Tom Robinson was a good man. He went out of his way to help Mayella Ewell for no other reason but good morals.”
I mull my choice of words in my head before starting slowly, “He was vaguely described as a good person throughout the novel. Although, it would’ve been interesting to actually see his point of view, seeing as he was the one accused. Maybe some more experiences in his life outside of Mayella Ewell.”
Now, it’s hard for me to stop, “He also inexplicably tried to run away from jail, essentially killing himself,” Ms. Daniels purses her lips and I find myself continuing.
“It just seemed really out of character. I mean, from the little they gave us of his character,” I give a small, dry smile, “He had a wife and three children that he loved deeply and he was careful throughout everything, you know? It just seems odd that all of a sudden he just wouldn’t care anymore and put everything on the line. He seemed like the type to wait it out, even though he was in awful conditions.” I lean forward in my chair, “He was hopeful before, right? Then all of a sudden he wasn’t. He put everything on the line when he tried to escape, despite the fact that he had to have known he couldn’t have gotten out alive when it was a prison with massive walls and a multitude of guards,” I pause, “So, what happened between the court case and his death? Did something in jail change his mind or heighten his desperation all of a sudden? If so, wouldn’t it have been great for Lee to give us insight into that?”
Murmurs fill the classroom. I’m talking way more than I’m supposed to, way more than I allow myself to.
“And all of a sudden, Lee leaves us with this final message that implies that Atticus did all he could, but instead of waiting out his sentence, Tom Robinson decided to run away from those clearly impossible conditions. So, at the end of the day, To Kill A Mockingbird leaves us by giving readers the impression that there wasn’t much hope for Robinson in the first place, and everything goes back to normal, without an in-depth look into Tom Robinson’s mind.” I can feel a subtle shakiness creeping into my voice. I clear my throat, “Then we get some mini conversation with Boo Radley, another person tied to the theme of killing innocence... and then that’s it. It’s over.” My voice softens to barely a whisper. “I guess what I’m saying is that I would’ve loved to see some more in depth characterization of Tom Robinson and any other characters like him, seeing as To Kill A Mockingbird is a book revolving around the anti-black racism that was prominent. Yet, we’re not exactly seeing anything from the point of view of any of the oppressed in this case.”
Silence answers me.
Everyone’s eyes are boring into me, from the sketchy kids in the back to the bubbly girls in front, to Brett’s lackeys. My gaze drifts to Ms. Daniels whose eyebrows are raised.
“Well,” She clears her throat, “That’s certainly one take on the novel.”
One take. Somehow, I hear the wrong take. I sink back into my chair, as though if I sink far enough, I might just disappear and save myself from this painfully awkward situation, and from Ms. Daniels, who probably hates me at this point.
After an uncomfortable few moments, the conversation sways back to themes and symbolism. My little speech is brushed right back under the rug, and Scout’s innocence is the topic that dominates the rest of the class.
When the bell rings, I can’t get out of the classroom fast enough. Well, that’s until Ms. Daniels calls my name and I actually feel my stomach drop to the floor. I turn to her, books still firmly tucked under my arms, backpack hanging from my shoulders.
“You seemed a bit stressed out today,” She says, slowly, adjusting her reading glasses.
“Um, I’m not really stressed,” I reply, giving her a slow nod and a strained smile.
“Well, you can always see the counsellor if you’re feeling bothered.” She says, kind of ignoring what I just said.
I just nod because there’s no point in me telling her that the counsellor doesn’t even know my name and in the few instances that I do interact with Mrs. Clark, she’s always telling me about universities that don’t require AP courses, despite the fact that I’m already taking some APs this year. Not only that, but I’m still flying by in As and A-plusses that prove that a decade of Kumon and sweat-inducing effort has paid off. So, taking APs isn’t something I’m planning on avoiding, especially if I’m planning on getting out of here for college. Meet up with my brother, possibly.
“Anything else?” She asks.
“I think I’m good,” I reply, gently.
Her gaze holds mine for a moment. “Alright, have a good afternoon.”
“You too,” I say, carefully turning on my heel and heading out of the classroom.
While leaving, I pretend I don’t feel the calculating eyes of one Ms. Daniels burning into my back.
