9:24 p.m. - Tuesday, Dec. 18, 2012
Anthony
I crossed my right knee over to the left, twisting my torso, and let my eyes settle on the row of dim lights along the ceiling. They reflected in the mirror, giving the illusion that the dark room was filled with a million tiny lights . . .like fireflies. It's been a long time since I connected body and soul. I tried. I tried to breathe into the space around the heart, like she said. But I couldn't feel the space around the heart. I could feel my back hurting. I could feel my headache.
"I can't DO it," he whined for the 5th time.
"You can't DO it because you're SAYING you can't DO it," I said. I started to pack up the crayons and the paper, putting away the nametags and leaving him in his misery.
"Aaaaeeeeerrrrrgh!" he growled, tossing his pencil and shoving his chair back from the table. Actually pretty tame. At least he wasn't throwing chairs or spitting or tearing things off the walls. I've mastered the art of ignoring his temper tantrums.
He tosses and turns during naptime after everyone else has fallen asleep. He has a few crying fits, which mostly get ignored. This time when he started to cry, I gave in. I scooped him up in my arms and rocked him until his head fell against my shoulder and his body relaxed. He went quiet. I set him back down on his cot and he curled up with his thumb in his mouth and went to sleep.
I don't care if she thinks I baby him. Sometimes, we need to be babied. I suddenly don't care what anyone thinks. About anything. I am grateful for her because she taught me that no matter how nice, how sweet, how easy-going, how respectful . . .Someone will always hate you anyway.
The entire school knows him by name. The infamous Anthony. I usually come back from lunch to find security in my room . . .Because she can't handle a four-year-old calling her stupid. Well, you ARE stupid if you take it personally when a four-year-old calls you stupid. Stupid.
I secretly adore him. His fits of rage, his constant rolling, the annoying noises he makes, the way he can't eat a single meal without getting more food on the floor than in his mouth. His frustration, desperation, anger, sadness, lack of control, the heart that beats too fast.
Now I feel it. The space around my heart.
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