Crayons and Razorwire

Copyright © 2023 by Cameron Ziehlke.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/10/2023

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Foreigner

Chapter 2     Crowded House

Chapter 3     Grigorio Allegri

Chapter 4     Blur

Chapter 5     Primal Scream

Chapter 6     The Happy Mondays

Chapter 7     Suze Demarchi and The Baby Animals

Chapter 8     Tom Jones

Chapter 9     Machine Gun Fellatio

Chapter 10   Dire Straits

Chapter 11   The Plastic Ono Band

Chapter 12   Train

Chapter 13   Kenny G

Chapter 14   Nirvana

Chapter 15   Boys II Men

Chapter 16   The Uncanny X-Men

Chapter 17   New Kids on The Block

Chapter 18   Ratcat

Chapter 19   House of Pain

Chapter 20   The Veronicas

Chapter 21   U2

Chapter 22   The Mamas and The Papas

Chapter 23   Bob Geldoff

Chapter 24   Wham!

Chapter 25   Jan Hammer

Chapter 26   Georges Bizet

Chapter 27   Ennio Morricone

Chapter 28   Abba

Chapter 29   Stephen Sondheim

Chapter 30   Fleetwood Mac

Dramatis Personae

CHAPTER ONE

Foreigner

T HE MORNING WAS cold and overcast. I nestled into the quilt, pulling it up over my exposed shoulder and neck. I was in bed and had no desire to leave. Nonetheless, the alarm was going and had to be turned off. I had to go to the bathroom anyway. There was no fighting it.

Grumbly, I swiveled out of bed and sat looking out the window. The sky was a mottled study in greys, ranging from light to almost black. The whole thing seemed to promise rain and even thunder. I began to increasingly regret my decision to go out last night and the hangover that now had accompanied it. The occasion was a friend’s birthday party. Afternoon Sunday drinks in a terraced bar by the harbour. Late afternoon. Gorgeous skies. Picture perfect. What could possibly go wrong?

It had been so long since I’d actually gotten out of bed before noon, that I’d completely forgotten how the sky looked this early.

I should explain. I’d basically been unemployed for 6 months or so. Not technically unemployed. I had 17 different jobs. Usher. Bartender. Removalist. Funny little things here and there. I worked, but nothing was stable. Every Monday morning I had nothing, but after a bit of nail-biting, experience, and development of a faith in karma, I grew to accept that by the end of the week I’d get phone calls and work would come along to allow me to at least pay my bills.

Just recently, however, I friend of a friend set me up with something more regular.

This would take a lot of the stress off.

It was starting today.

This is why I felt validated in celebrating last night.

This was all a good thing.

However, in the harsh light of day it appeared I may have been a bit too merry last night and was now cold, sweaty and nursing a headache.

Now, this brings up a second point. The nature of the job itself.

I didn’t have to apply for it or do an interview. I would basically just show up. This is what I was told.

So far, so good.

I’m going to be a sort of a kindergarten teacher. I explained to the birthday boy at the previous night’s party.

He stared at me incredulously for a few seconds before bursting out laughing in hysterics. I lowered my eyes a little.

Shane kept saying; You?! incredulously, then repeating himself with greater disbelief and catatonic fits of laughter.

I’m not a bad guy, but perhaps not the most amazingly responsible of people. Nonetheless, Shane’s reaction did hurt a little and left me a little wounded.

I fumbled through my wardrobe. Had a shower. Instant coffee and wandered to the bus stop, still kind of dazy.

The journey to the school had been unpleasant. Actually, getting out of bed was difficult enough. I’d fallen asleep (passed out) with such bold ambitions. I was going to start a new job. A brand new start. I knew I’d be tired and a bit hung over, but to hell with that. My enthusiasm would overcome all! I fully expected to bound out of bed and have a shower.

I’ve got a flatmate. Alex. If he gave me any looks it would be of shock, disbelief and awe. I was hard, and I could shrug off a hangover as easily as taking off a jacket. I was focused, like the samurai.

I must admit I wasn’t too surprised when it didn’t turn out that way. I woke up at 7am and thought; "Oh, no…" and the words just echoed through my head as I lay there.

The cold air hit me. It was uncomfortable. I shut my left eye tightly

and opened the other one a millimeter or two. Alex, my flatmate, was fully dressed and calmly wandering around the apartment.

Hey Dude, wassup? he said in a friendly manner.

I stared at him coldly, mumbling. dnfnfruf -self-righteous early morning person, son-of a cnvruvun….

And good morning to you too, Stephen. He replied, Delightful to see you displaying all the reserved charm and witty repartee that you’re so famous for.

I paused for a second trying to think of an appropriately cutting comeback. But came up with nothing.

What time did you get home last night?

Um… I’m not sure. You were asleep on the couch. I made myself… um…

Dinner…? He offered.

…a glass of water and um… 2-minute noodles, hazarding a guess, I… went to bed. Passed out, you know…?

He looked at me quizzically. Measuring me.

I’m off to work, stated Alex, opening the door.

Mmnnn yeah. I’ll see you tonight, I guess.

Yeah. Good luck with the new job today. You, ah… he started excitedly but stopped himself after looking me over.

First day, right?

Yeah, I replied,

He winced a little but tried to bestow an encouraging nod.

Anyway, see you tonight. Hope it all goes well.

Cheers. I murmured.

"How the hell did you get asked to be a kindergarten teacher

anyway?"

20 minutes later I was sitting on a bus, queuing up with all the other cars as we approached the exit to the highway. The bus was cramped and I was forced to stand the whole way. I’d swallowed 2 aspirins back at the house but they weren’t really cutting it.

Also, I’d borrowed Alex’s green jumper as it gave a professional, teacher-ish flair, but it was hot and prickly. I was sweating so much that I had to take it off, but the outside was cold and gave me a chill. So I put the jumper back on again after a few minutes. I must have done this about six times on the journey. The middle aged woman standing to my left, was giving me a very annoyed glare after a while.

I thought the journey would never end. I’d forgotten about early morning traffic. Waiting and waiting. Creeping along. I kept accidentally falling into micro-sleeps. My eyes shut and my head suddenly collapsed at the neck. Once I even crashed into some high school student. He looked pretty pissed off and snapped at me with a; Watch it!

I was pissed off too but couldn’t do anything other than apologize and rub my temple where we had impacted. It was probably a good thing that I didn’t own a car.

Eventually we arrived across from the school, on the other side of the road, opposite it. I reflected that I knew this school. I’d passed it dozens of times before. Brian Dawson High. I was going to be working at some place called Dawson House which was an offshoot of Brian Dawson Elementary. I figured it was located somewhere on the grounds. I’d been given an address that said Prince Phillip Court, which I’d never heard of, so I assumed it was on the far side of the school’s block, away from the main road.

The kid whose head I’d bumped into, got off the bus too and headed for the school.

Oh damn it. He’s one of my fucking students, I thought as oceans of other teenagers in the same uniform suddenly appeared all around me.

My students… It was an expression I was unfamiliar with. It had a very serious taste to it. I had absolutely no experience as a teacher. I hadn’t studied education at uni but had been specifically asked to become a primary school teacher at some initiative Dawson Elementary had put together.

I hung back a bit and wiped the sweat off my brow and cheeks, letting the kid from the bus vanish amongst the other students and cross the road. I did my best to compose myself and straighten my hair. I caught a reflection of myself in a car piled up at the lights.

My God... I was scared at how pale and sickly I looked.

I really didn’t know anything about any of this. I’d got the job through a friend. Dawson House wasn’t a perfectly standard school. It was a primary school for behavioural children. Which was a bit vague. I was uncertain what to expect, exactly, but could hazard a guess.

They needed a teacher. A male one, and it turned out that there weren’t too many male kindergarten teachers out there, so they’d started looking outside the regular fields.

I was looking for a job and had 3 years of psychology training, having just finished my course. Basically, this wasn’t your typical branch of an elementary school. It was a little wing for kids with psychological disorders, which was now up my alley.

I was friends with the daughter of the woman in charge. I’d spoken with her on the phone on Saturday, when she officially offered me the job and gave me the address and a really brief run-through. She seemed nice.

The whole thing seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but now with the vastness of the school surrounding me, I was beginning to wish I’d paid closer attention to the details and situation. However, that was basically the long and short of it.

Eventually I found myself on a deserted area of the complex. It was way off in the corner and surrounded by high fences with what looked like rather imposing razor wire around the top. The place had the appearance of a Nazi concentration camp from some 50’s war film.

I plodded around a bit. Surely this can’t be it? It had to be an electrical relay station or something. I couldn’t find a way in, but found something I have trouble describing as anything other than ‘a button on a stick’. I pressed it and waited patiently.

Hello…? I offered involuntarily at the button, only then realizing that there wasn’t an intercom. A few awkward seconds of waiting with a few half-hearted glances around for some clue, and then the gates opened.

I’d been waiting by the smaller gate. The one designed for people. However, a different gate that I hadn’t noticed before, suddenly swung slowly into motion.

Ah! I declared. I’d been so focused on the people-gate that I hadn’t even noticed the driver’s entrance. I’d been trying for a while to open it with such little success that I’d even begun to consider yelling the elvish word for ‘friend’ like Ian McKellen did in The Lord of the Rings.

However now, another entrance had suddenly appeared. I made my way around a rather poor-looking garden with some stunted pines that looked far more brown than green and a few things that had once been flowers. The gate started closing before I was in, but I made it anyway.

I wiped sweat from my face and tried to compose myself. I hoped I could manage to reach some point of semblance before I had to actually meet anyone. Sweat was coming out of me like a tap that had the handle broken off.

The courtyard was about half the size of an Olympic sized swimming pool, I suppose. It seemed a bit smaller because about a half a dozen cars were taking up most of the yard. Now that I was in though, I felt another wave of isolation and confusion. There were two buildings. A big one and a little one. I stood between them and kept staring at each in turn. At first, the smaller one looked like an administrative type thing and the place to go, but then the second looked bigger and more like the sort of place where the action happened.

So there I was…staring at one building for a few seconds, then turning and doing the same thing towards the other one, and repeating the whole process again.

I remember taking a few cautious steps forward to the smaller building when a young woman stepped out of the larger one, yelling; Hey! Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?!

At first, I felt out-of-bounds and guilty but quickly shook it off. I often feel this way when caught off guard. Maybe being back in a school had something to do with it.

Today was different, though. I’d been invited. I was going to help little kids or something. Who the hell was this woman? She was being a bit rude and curt? She was being rude, right? It wasn’t just me, surely? Why hadn’t she started her inquisition with a polite Hi? Hell, I’d even say Hi to a cat burglar coming halfway into my window. It’s common courtesy.

Hi, I began in my friendliest tone I’m terribly sorry to disturb you. My name’s Stephen Kovacs. Gabrielle called me on the weekend. I’m supposed to be starting work here today with one of your students, Daniel Nolan.

Well, this did nothing to improve her tone or body language. I was hoping that she would suddenly change and warm up a little. After all, I’d politely explained who I was. I’d mentioned names that she must be aware of. I’d given the secret handshake and everything.

She did not warm up, though. She simply continued to stand resolutely half in the doorway, looking down on me with intractable folded arms and mean, pursed little lips. For a few moments she didn’t even respond and just stared at me circumspectly. I was just about to repeat myself in case she hadn’t heard me and got as far as; Um, Gabrielle Pollito, she called me and-

Gabrielle’s on holiday until next week, she interrupted. Apparently this piece of information was supposed to be helpful.

I knew Gabrielle was on holiday. I spoke to her on the phone. I kind of expected that she had told someone about my arrival though. Even so, I would still expect that someone would throw me some sort of a bone.

How bad must I have looked?

I was aware that my posture was pretty much perfect according to the rules my mother had drilled into me. That whole metal rod running down my spine and across my shoulders thing that she used to mention all the time when I was 15. I was definitely doing that, standing erect.

I was smiling. I’ve got a great smile. My teeth are perfect and I have a tendency to look genuinely friendly. My smile’s on a sort of Tom Cruise scale. And let’s not forget Alex’s sensible jumper.

No. This woman was being genuinely stand-offish and unhelpful. She gave the vibe of someone that was used to giving orders and expecting them to be done. She reminded me of pretty much every teacher I ever had at school.

I instantly disliked her.

I decided not to call her on it, though. I was going to be working with these people and didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with anyone. I still wasn’t going to help her though and offer any more than I’d already given. I had a lot of years experience in customer service and had a very good idea of the difference between a friendly and a hostile interaction.

So I just stood there, continuing with my smile. It was an awkward couple of seconds but slowly the shoe seemed to shift to the other foot. She became aware that she was being cold and defensive. And maybe she also realized that she would be working with me too and it was probably not a good idea to get off on the wrong foot, in some dark reptilian recess of her mind.

Talk to Suzanne, over there, she eventually offered, indicating to the smaller building. I half expected her to immediately retreat behind her door and slam it in my face, but instead she continued to stand there eyeing me, which I actually found a little more disturbing.

I felt insulted and awkward but decided to go in the other direction.

Thank you, you’ve been extremely helpful, I replied with a smile.

I then made my way over to the smaller building and stopped at the door to turn back and see if she was still watching me.

She was.

I gave a ridiculously obsequious wave and moved to open the front door and leave this woman behind me. But the door was locked and I walked straight into it, expecting it to open. I rubbed my injured nose a little and shook myself back into reality.

I didn’t need that, I thought. I certainly didn’t need someone watching it either. Nonetheless, I gave a polite chuckle in her direction, hoping to diffuse the situation, but she still stared at me coldly.

I tried the door again and knocked once or twice before noticing a doorbell. I turned back to the woman and gave an exaggerated expression of surprise and realization, pointing at the buzzer like a French mime.

Still no movement from the woman. Why didn’t she point to the doorbell anyway? I thought. Would it have killed her to mention that the door was locked and there was a buzzer? Who the hell was this quietly self-righteous little bitch, anyway?

I pressed the button and a female voice said; Yes?

Hi, this is Stephen Kovacs. Gabrielle Pollito asked me to come by this morning…

Oh, certainly. Please come right in, replied the voice and the door made a buzzing sound I assumed to be an electronic barricade retreating.

Cool, I thought. That was more like it. This is the way people behave in polite society. At least some of these people weren’t Nazis.

I gave another overly friendly smile and wave at the little woman and entered the door.

The room was cramped and had a low ceiling. There were papers and photocopies lying around the room on chairs, a side table and the floor in sloppy piles. The whole place, right down to the little old lady sitting behind a desk immediately to my right, was that of a backed-up office.

She seemed very friendly though and smiled almost beatifically at me.

I looked back, to see if the little woman outside was still staring at me but the door had closed, blocking my view.

Hello, you must be… began the old woman behind the desk and started darting her eyes around the room. She paused for a moment and muttered some things half-heartedly to herself like; ‘…Gabrielle wrote it out…’, and ‘…I know I saw it a second ago’… ".

Eventually she came across a post-it note half-hanging off her computer monitor. She gently yanked it from the many post-it notes that I now noticed framed the monitor. There were yellow ones and blue ones and pink ones and ones of a slightly darker shade of pink.

The old woman, who I assumed to be Suzanne, held the post-it note at arms length and squinted at it circumspectly. She took a few moments to read it. Also, it was facing away from me, so I couldn’t read anything it said.

Although I did notice that it was one of the blue ones.

…Stephen. she eventually said… quite clearly, before darting her eyes to me. Hello… she finished, letting the word hang in midair.

I sat down in the nearest chair to the desk and smiled at the woman, trying to smile as honestly and happily as I could manage.

Hi, yeah I’m Stephen. Gabrielle asked me to come in today. I hear she’s on holiday but-

Suddenly the phone rang and Suzanne immediately swung her chair around to pick up one of 3 phones that adorned her desk and simultaneously raised her index finger to me.

Hello, Dawson House. Suzanne Tessmacher speaking… Yes… Yes... Uh, huh... Yes...

This continued on for several minutes. I sat there politely. I kept up the friendly and slightly expectant smile for the first minute, hoping Suzanne would break off her conversation and address me again, saying something like; I’m sorry. I’ve got to take this. Just give me a second.

But nothing was offered. Just that raised finger, indicating silence. It was done so smoothly too. I was thinking that I’d be very surprised if it was the first time she’d done this. The whole thing was too natural.

I was left sitting there awkwardly.

This was not going to be the cakewalk I’d imagined.

The whole thing stretched over minutes and I was starting to toss around the idea of playing a quick game of ‘snake’ on my mobile phone when suddenly Suzanne said ‘Yes’ again and promptly hung up the phone.

I was shocked back into action as Suzanne’s eyes rolled onto me. She didn’t say anything though, but simply smiled at me serenely. I had a momentary confusion as to whether she was going to say something and then got sidetracked for another second wondering how someone could have a phone conversation without saying ‘goodbye’, when it was over.

After a few seconds though, it seemed clear that I was meant to initiate this conversation. I offered my introduction again.

Hi. I’m Stephen Kovacs. Gabriellle asked me to come in today. I’m meant to be working with one of your students; Daniel Nolan…

Gabrielle’s on holiday, replied Suzanne, blankly but still smiling at me serenely.

I knew damn well that Gabrielle was on holiday. Gabrielle had told me, herself. The bitch in the bigger building had told me. I’m sure I’d mentioned it at some point a few seconds ago. Now this new one was reminding me. What the hell was going on? It was like Gabrielle’s holiday was the hot gossip of the month. Maybe she had never had gone on holiday before? Maybe this was some unprecedented action that had sent shockwaves throughout the school. I couldn’t think of any other reason to explain the bizarre behaviour I’d witnessed since entering this compound.

I couldn’t think of anything to do but smile and shrug a little. There was another awkward pause but this time Suzanne ended it.

We’re very glad to have you here, she began, which really surprised me. You’re looking after Danny. He has a rare form of autism and the other teachers could really use a hand.

Uh huh, I replied. Things were looking more civil all of a sudden. I thought perhaps that she meant to say; "He could really use a hand, rather than; The teachers could really use a hand," but decided to ignore this misinterpretation.

How long have you been teaching? she inquired.

About 4 minutes, I replied, before adding; If I’ve got the job, that is…? and added a polite chuckle to break the ice.

Apparently this gambit failed. Suzanne’s expression remained friendly and blank but I could swear I detected a shimmer of cold judgement behind her bi-focals.

This school is for children with…? I paused, considering what the current politically correct terminology was, …children with mental impairments, right?

Yes, now let me just get this straight… You have no educational experience, is that right?

Yes, that’s right. None whatsoever. I replied, with a gentle wave of my hand. I’d been hitting brick walls from the moment I showed up. However, I had been specifically sought out for this job, so I felt no need to lie or even embellish my past careers. I called it as it looked on paper and was actually a bit curious to see how they handled it.

This must have taken Miss Tessmacher a little off guard as she made no reply and started shuffling through the contents of a few manila folders. I was left in limbo again for a few seconds.

I suddenly began to notice the rest of the office’s décor, beyond the piles of paper.

There were pictures all around the reception. All drawn by obviously young children armed with crayons. A few above the window had rabbits and colourful chocolate eggs. Some drawings of trucks above a filing cabinet and others here and there, showing random stuff like ducks, horses and the Incredible Hulk.

All the ones within my immediate field of vision said something like; I love you Miss Tessmacher, or something similar.

I had been distracted by the pictures, but Miss Tessmacher jolted me out of my daydream. She’d flipped through her folders thoroughly, and after finding no useful information, went back to square one and again repeated the whole ‘Gabrielle’s away’ speech one more time, adding ‘give me a second’, before shepherding me into the next room.

This shepherding was done in the form of a quick point towards the only other door in the room. I remember thinking, as I exited, that she didn’t stand up when indicating to the door.

I was feeling more and more awkward by the minute. Not insulted, but affected more by the casual disregard displayed. I hadn’t known anyone here long enough for them to dislike me, so I had to conclude that they treated all foreigners with this casual indifference and suspicion.

I made a polite farewell and wandered down a short corridor with a reasonably furnished room, followed by a sparsely furnished one.

At the end of the corridor was a very large room which seemed to take up a fair share of the building. The thing I liked the most about the room was its warmth. They obviously had a kick-ass central heating system.

I sat down at a large table in the room’s center. There were some desks with computers on the wall to the right and a large window to the left, looking out onto the playground. Below this was a long kitchen bench with a sink and a fridge at the far end. All in all, it appeared to be the staff room.

There were also several bookshelves filled with what looked like text books, children’s picture books and some that looked like they were for administration. I picked up a copy of Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.

Awesome! I thought. I hadn’t seen this book in years and remembered reading it or having it read to me over and over again when I was little. I loved the main kid in it, although I couldn’t remember his name. He used to dress up in this white fox outfit and carried himself with this dark mischievous air that was really cool.

There were other books too, that I knew. A collection of Noddys, Snuggle pot and Cuddlepie and even an old copy of The Enchanted Forest by Enid Blyton. The first time I heard that one, I was very little. My Mum read it to me the day I ran too far ahead when we went on a walk. Dad was uncharacteristically furious and yelled at me mercilessly. I was very upset and cried a lot. Someone said I was just overtired and to make me feel better Mum put me to bed and read me this book.

It was quite a long book and we got into this routine of reading a chapter a night for what seemed like months. I loved that book and could even remember wanting to go to bed in the late afternoon, just to hear what happened next. I thought it was surprising that I’d forgotten all this. It was such a major part of my life at one stage.

Also, there were so many other incidental things associated with the memory. Dad had yelled at me in the laundry of our old house and I could suddenly remember the colour of the kitchen wrap on the shelves in there. And one time, I remembered we read 2 chapters because Dad had to fly somewhere on business. He did that a lot back then. And the story had a character called Moonface in it although, on reflection, I had no memory of what the plot was actually about.

I reflected that a lot of random memories of my childhood had suddenly just appeared from a simple scratch of the surface. They were all there. Still.

No one seemed to be coming to talk to me, so I grabbed one of the books and returned to the table. I was about halfway through a copy of Animalia by Graeme Base and tossing around the idea of making myself a cup of coffee from an urn I just happened to notice, when the door was opened.

A woman with short red hair and large black rimmed glasses entered. I stood a little and we shook hands before she sat down opposite me. She introduced herself as Diane and seemed nice enough. For one thing she started her introduction with an apology.

Hi, sorry to keep you waiting. We had to finish the kids’ breakfasts and start first period.

I introduced myself and lied that everything was quite alright.

So, you’re going to be working with Danny, huh?

I guess so. Is he… he’s a bit of a handful, right?

She rolled her eyes and looked like she was about to say something like; ’You don’t even have the slightest idea how much,’ but then seemed to think better of it and tempered herself.

He can er… well you know, maybe a little. He has episodes… from time to time.

There was a slight pause as I considered this. I knew I’d be working with delayed children but hadn’t really put too much thought towards it. Maybe they constantly drooled and threw faeces around and stuff. The whole thing could get very ugly. Maybe this was a bad idea when you got down to the nuts-and-bolts.

Okey-dokles. Sounds like fun. I eventually replied, without anything better to offer.

Now, Gabrielle said you’re not actually a teacher…

Yeah, I was going to mention that. You see, I was job-hunting and Gabrielle’s daughter, Rachel, mentioned that her Mum was looking for a male sort of guy to look after someone. My understanding was that he refuses to work with women of the female persusion. I’m not a teacher but I do have a degree in psychology. I’ve studied autism cases and know a bit about it. I answered, trying a little harder at the impression I was making, this time, but secretly thinking; Yeah, and I also saw Rain Man once.

Uh huh. So have you worked with any autistics before?

I suddenly felt like I was on shaky ground. I was 23. I’d been out of Uni for a few months. I was running on the supposition that although I was not a teacher, I had a psych background and thought that would carry me through. It suddenly occurred to me just how under-qualified I was for this job. Luckily though, Diane didn’t seem to care and dismissed the matter.

I noticed that she also looked at her watch a lot and kept making quick glances out the window at the other building.

Danny needs a personal tutor. She began, We… we just can’t maintain a classroom environment with Danny. He’s… he’s just far too… she paused momentarily to consider her words. "He’s a little too… disruptive."

I had a vision of Diane trying patiently to read a book to the class and some 8 year old with wild, crazy eyes throwing his shit at her and speaking in tongues.

OK, so I’d be his tutor then and… is that right? Does he have any special needs or anything? Some program or something?

"Yeah. We’re just starting a new program with him, which involves you of course, and we’re pretty confident that this one will work."

Ok… Can you outline it for me?

Well, we were hoping to develop something with your input.

Ah… Ok, I understand. I’m happy to help. I understood this as; You’re setting whatever it is up yourself.

I took this in with some mild apprehension but continued on.

I’ll bring him over. Give you a chance to meet him, ok? she suggested.

Uh, ok. I responded. I supposed I was going to have to meet the kid sooner or later, but now that the time had come, I didn’t really want to. Well, I was apprehensive. Let’s say that.

Diane looked at her watch again and made a very pained expression as she looked at the larger building.

They should be finished with show and tell in a few minutes. I’ll go and get him.

Sure, I replied but she was already halfway out of her chair.

Um, she started, as if she had just remembered a minor detail, Do you want them to call you Stephen or Mr Kovacs?

I tossed the question around for a bit and decided on ‘Stephen’. I had flashes of all my teachers from school, Ms Grady, Miss Kelly and Mr Herbert, and decided I wanted no association with them.

Just ‘Steve’ is fine.

Diane nodded and gave a polite goodbye and hurriedly exited. I sat staring into space for a second then decided to return to Animalia. For memory, there was a little boy in a yellow and red striped jumper on every page. Like a sort of a ‘Where’s Wally’ type thing. I continued my search for him and tried not to think about the weird little kid they were about to hand over to me.

They’d probably wheel him in on a jacklift, Hannibal Lector style. He probably wore a face-mask and everything. Who the hell was this kid at the center of all this mess, anyway?

I continued along with the book and managed to get up to the letter V before the door opened again.

Diane had returned with some little 3 foot kid I assumed to be Daniel. She wandered around to the other side of the table and sat the kid down. He paid no attention to me and just focused all his attention on a book he’d brought with him.

Stephen, this is Danny, began Diane before indicating in my direction and saying Danny, this is Stephen…

The kid looked normal enough. He had mousy brown hair and seemed pretty solid. He was big for his age. Danny was going to be a big guy when he grew up. He wore a non-descript pair of shorts and T-shirt. He paid no attention to me at first.

I couldn’t get over how normal he looked. He wasn’t what I expected at all. Although, there was something about his eyes. They were… different. Sort of half-closed and he had an air about him like he wasn’t taking everything in.

It finally dawned on me that the kid hadn’t noticed my presence yet. He’d brought some book with him. At a glance it looked like a Flintstones colouring book or something. Diane sat him a few seats down at my table and gave him some crayons.

This is Danny, Stephen. She again said with a smile.

Danny made no reply.

My hangover had unfortunately crept back a little while I was sitting alone in the room. Now I had this kid to deal with. I knew that this was why I was here in the first place, but now that I was actually doing it…

I kind of just wanted to go home and rest up in my comfy, warm bed and forget that these kids were out there. They were someone else’s problem. At times I’d donated to charities, but I’d never actually gone one-on-one with them. I was doing my part and keeping the whole thing at arm’s length. Everyone seemed happy.

I didn’t want to be thrown into the deep end with one of them. I glanced around the room in kind of a desperate stupor and saw a bunch of posters with letters of the alphabet and corresponding animals adorning them. An alligator with A. A butterfly with B. A lobster with C, which confused me for a bit.

What the hell was I doing here? This wasn’t my environment.

Briefly I considered throwing in the towel and quitting this job I’d just been handed.

At least I could get some sleep.

But here I was and I had to act a certain way to navigate my way to salvation. So I started to reach across the table to shake the kid’s hand. He tried to shake mine but seemed unable to reach me. Frankly, I thought he could have put a bit more effort into it, but decided not to say anything.

Instead I surprised myself by leaping out of my seat and walking around to him. Then the kid surprised me by standing up himself and coming to meet me.

Awkwardly, admittedly. Co-ordination was not his strong suit.

Hah-whoa, he said. He seemed to have a pretty bad speech impediment but it was clear he was saying; ‘Hello’. His style was far from polished but the fact that he had made the effort impressed me.

I cleared the table’s corner and shook his hand properly this time.

Again, his co-ordination let him down. He shook my hand but failed to grip me in any way. His handshake needed work. He might as well have slapped a cold fish into my hand for me to grab. We’d have to work on that, I thought, then shook the thought out of my head,

There was something about our heights that bothered me too. It seemed like I was a good 3 times taller than him. So I squatted down and leveled him, eye to eye.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Diane raise an eyebrow. Clearly no one had ever tried this tactic before. Though, to her credit, she provided the next intro to the conversation.

Dan, Stephen is going to be your new teacher.

I paused a moment before responding with;

Yep. Me and you, Dan! What’s your favourite subject in school?

Skoo bor-y, he mused.

I stood there politely with a big welcoming smile but completely oblivious to what he was actually saying.

Daniel, I’m really sorry, can you say that again?

Skoo bor-y! he said again, with more emphasis. This time I got it, though and almost burst out laughing. Evidently Diane didn’t find this so funny.

School isn’t boring, Dan! School is important! You like reading time, don’t you?

Ree-dy ty bor-y. he replied as he re-settled in his chair.

Again, I almost burst out laughing but quickly recovered myself and decided to keep up the conversation myself.

"No, Dan, reading is great. You’ve probably just been reading boring books. I read this book called The Tree of Man by Patrick White once and that would put anyone off reading." I gave Diane a chuckle and a smile but it was far from returned.

I focused my attention on Danny again and did my best to maintain my serious face.

What do you like to do, Dan?

Diane answered for him which annoyed me almost as much as it seemed to annoy Daniel.

He likes cartoons.

Spun- Bu Sqway pahs! he yelled and seemed to jump up and down in his chair a little. I also noticed he was now smiling excitedly. He was suddenly so excited that I got caught up a little in the moment but had no idea what the hell he was saying. I looked at Diane expectantly and she murmured;

"Sponge-Bob Square-Pants. He likes Sponge-Bob Square-Pants."

Ah… I replied, understanding. Then turned my attention back to Dan. Me too.

I really wasn’t that passionate about