Hottest month of the year
in California.
Emma stands in front of the old brick building
looking up at the name etched on the portal.
She feels the sweat running down her sides staining her nice new dark blue teacher dress.
Her first day as music teacher.
She took the bus
just like Sha’anlres taught her
and here she is
very carefully looking anywhere but
inside herself.
She keeps repeating to herself
her mantras—
me teach kids
and
just look.
She’s already been here
with Sha
met the principal, Ms. Thompson
Angela
Sha’s friend
and she’s been to the room, her room
brought some things in
arranged the chairs
the instruments.
She brought, bought instruments
because the ones they had were awful
and not enough
and one thing she does have, Princess Emma does,
is money.
Sha’anlres said she’d be here but she’s not.
She had an emergency at the clinic,
called the principal’s office and
left a message for Emma—
I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Emma’s heart stutters, stops.
She looks up at the secretary who gave her the note
who has gone back to her work
helping the next of the crowd of people in the stuffy office
parents, children
a crying baby.
Emma says, excuse me
shows the note
says
has she called again?
The secretary sighs
looks annoyed
says, no, ma’am
turns away.
Emma nods
turns, bends to pick up her violin case
her satchel
pushes her way through the crowded room
into the crowded hall
makes her way to the music room
alone.
It’s better there
at least familiar
almost cheery
and quiet, no other people—
and the instruments are there.
Safety in music.
She goes to the shelves holding the
violins in their cases
and stands there
touching one of them
feeling its bumpy plastic skin
but sensing the
glowing golden wood beneath
and the magic inside the wood.
She goes to the desk and puts her own case there
her satchel full of music books and papers
the attendance list
her jacket.
She pulls out the chair, sits
looks around
stands again
walks to the door
walks back and sits.
Waits.
The crowd seems to be thinning in the hall
and still no one has come into Emma’s room.
She stands up and goes to the door again
looks out.
A group of little girls
standing across the hall
huddled, whispering and looking at her door
are suddenly caught
at her sudden appearance.
Emma smiles.
Are you girls in the music class?
One nods,
one says, yes, ma’am.
That’s twice in a half hour Emma’s been called ma’am
something she’s never been called
before in her life.
She shrugs.
One more new experience.
Well, come in—
please—
let’s get acquainted.
Emma stands back to let them pass through the door.
They look around shyly
shifting their book bags from shoulder to shoulder.
Please, Emma says,
just sit anywhere. We’ll work out where everyone should sit later.
Let’s just get comfortable now.
She holds her hands together tightly,
her palms are no longer moist but dripping.
I’ll never be able to play with this sweat
she thinks.
She had thought to play some simple tunes for them today
to get them used to hearing the sound
to get them relaxed.
Where oh where is Sha’anlres?
The girls find seats
together
as much to the back as is possible, given there are only 15 chairs
for the ten students.
Emma goes to her desk
wipes her hands on her new dark blue jacket.
She won’t need it to keep warm,
that’s for sure;
it might as well serve some useful purpose.
Emma asks the girls their names
and they each tell
the first one nearly inaudible
the next ones each a bit louder.
Emma realizes that she has not heard a single name
and will have to ask again when her brain
has re-engaged.
Two more children come in, a boy and a girl
then another boy
and another.
Emma goes to the desk
finds the list with the children’s names.
Yes, this is better.
She decides to wait until after the bell rings to call the roll
in case anymore children come.
She counts the names on the list
then the children in the room
but by the time she finishes
she’s forgotten how many were on the list.
Oh, god, what am I doing here?
I could be home alone in my bed.
She clenches her hands together
her head down
prays
oh, Sha, please come....
please...
It’s quiet in the hall now.
A young man comes to the door, his hand on the head of a little girl.
You the teacher?
Yes, she smiles. He doesn’t nor does the child.
She my niece.
What’s her name?
Che’Litha.
She feels cold now
her dress still wet
the air still hot
but a chill blows off this young man.
He pushes the little girl into the room
and she darts to an empty seat near the door
as Emma watches.
Emma turns back to look at the young man
but he’s gone.
She jumps as the bell clangs just outside the door.
She calls the roll from the list—
everyone is present so she doesn’t have to try to find anyone more lost than she.
She asks each child what experience he or she has had with music
what instruments, if any, they have played
where, how long.
They are all here because they are good students
and excelled with the little plastic flutes
they played last year.
The principal assured Emma
that there would be no discipline problems here
these children are ready, anxious to learn,
to be allowed to play music.
And then her mind goes blank.
She can think of no more questions to ask
cannot remember the tasks she is supposed to perform.
So she wipes her hands on her jacket once more
closes the door
opens her case
takes up her belovéd
and plays.
© copyright 2004 Maggie Wilson
