Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Ms. Walsh,
Mr. Jenkins reported this morning that Marigold is being harassed by a couple of the boys in class. I’ve reached out to the parents of these boys to let them know I’ve asked them to keep their hands to themselves.
Thank you, Brittany.
My heart hits the floor and takes a god-awful amount of time to bounce back into place. Any type of bullying is not tolerated here. I forward this email to Jean. She’ll know to print and add it to everyone’s file. After replying to Ms. Matson, I begin shuffling the papers on my desk and happen to glance at the clock. Somehow, the rest of my morning has flown by, and classes are going to start releasing for lunch.
“I’m heading to the lunchroom,” I tell Jean as I pass by the front. Instead of going straight there, I head down the hall where Ms. Matson’s room is and linger until she opens the door, and the kids file out one by one. I fall in step beside Brittany and smile kindly at her.
“Tell me about Marigold.”
Brittany lights up when I say the young girl’s name. “She’s such a delight in class, but barely speaks unless I call on her. She does all her work, doesn’t complain, and will engage with others if I encourage it.”
“But?”
Ms. Matson sighs. “She’s having trouble making friends. I’ve put her in a reading group with Lacie and Maye. They seem to get along, but Goldie is pretty quiet. Doesn’t talk much.”
“Goldie is what she likes to be called?” I ask, knowing full well her intake form listed Goldie as her nickname.
Brittany nods. “She will answer to Marigold as well.”
I thank her as we head into the cafeteria. As normal, I take my post and greet kids as they walk by. My eyes land Marigold. She’s sitting by herself, away from her classmates. Then I scan the room for Lacie and Maye, who are doing what girls their age do best, gabbing up a storm.
I make my way over to Marigold and sit down. “Hello, Goldie. I’m Ms. Walsh. Do you remember meeting me?”
She nods and picks at her sandwich.
“How do you like our school?”
She shrugs.
“Is it smaller than your school in Jacksonville?”
This time she nods. “I miss my friends.” Goldie looks across the room, at the table where some of her classmates sit.
“How come you’re not sitting with Lacie and Maye? Ms. Matson tells me the three of you work together.”
Goldie shrugs.
“How about I take you over to the girls?”
She says nothing and starts packing her lunch. Goldie follows and as I approach the table, Lacie smiles.
“Hi, Ms. Walsh.”
“Hi, Lacie. Is there room for Goldie to join you?”
“Of course,” Maye and Lacie push aside, letting Marigold sit in between them. Right away, the two girls start chatting with her. I walk back to the front, where I can see the room, but barely take my eyes off Marigold even though the knife in my heart tells me to look away.
seven
wade
At six, I call it quits and head to my parents’ house without digging up the garden for the elementary school. Ever since Goldie came to live with me, I’ve had to find some work-life balance and put her first. Life was definitely easier when she lived with her mom. I could work until the sun set and never had to worry about things like homework and bathtime. Now, my priorities are different. While I love my job and customers, my daughter needs me, and honestly, I need her. And if it wasn’t for my parents, I’m not sure how I’d be able to do this. On nights like this, they feed her dinner and pack leftovers for me to take home.
After picking Goldie up from my parents’, we head home. She seems much happier now than when I dropped her off at school. She skips along the paved path and bounds up the stairs to our porch. Goldie holds the screen door open for me while I slip the key into the lock and turn the handle.
“Can we get a dog?”
“No,” I tell her automatically. I’m not home enough to care for a dog and it wouldn’t be fair to him or her to spend all day in a crate. “How about a cat?”
Goldie’s eyes widen. “For reals?”
I nod and set her bag down. “I think they’re self-sufficient.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they can take care of themselves. For example, if I put a bunch of food out for it in the morning, the cat will probably eat a little bit here and there, saving some for dinner. Plus, they have a litter box, so we don’t have to let them out all the time,” I tell her as she follows me into the kitchen and heads right to the refrigerator. I’m about to ask her why when she pulls out the pitcher of sweet tea. “Can I have some?”