Let's set the scene. It's October, I'm working in Special Education at a Middle School, a position that I never expected to be in. My assignment was with the outside kids. Not the ones who prefer the woods or camping, but the kids who have to be placed apart from the rest of the school due to their behavioral issues. These kids aren't bad, they just don't have the ability to process negativity or emotional distress as well as the others in their cohort, so when they can't keep up, they need special help. This is where I was working. It was great.
Most of the time there weren't terrible problems, and since I was working mostly with 6th graders, even if they did start to lose control, they were just too small to break any bones. Most of the time, the kids were just extra weird. One didn't like sitting in chairs. Okay, goofy, have fun on that dirty ass floor. Of course, there are cases of kids who have such sad and tragic home lives that they just don't have the bandwidth to deal with any kind of added stress. These are the ones we naturally watch the closest, because any explosion goes nuclear in a hurry, so we, as adults, have to be empathetic and aware at all times.
Then there are just odd kids who look kind of like Voldemort and are far to flexible for anyone who isn't in a circus. We'll call him Gumby, for the sake of this story. Gumby is a social creature, I was too as a child, before I learned better. He likes to talk to the people around him, whether it's in a classroom, lunch line, or hall way, this kid likes to chat.
Bathrooms, too. Because the classrooms for these kids is outside, and the nature of their needs requires chaperones, adults have to escort them to the bathroom. Not inside, necessarily, unless there is a problem, but just make sure they get to the bathroom and back to class without incident.
I digress. I ushered Gumby to the bathroom one morning. Every other classroom was closed off, teaches teaching away with glee. I waited across the hall from the boys room, probably flipping through Twitter or some such silliness, waiting for Gumby to do whatever business he has to conduct. Other kids came and went, quickly finishing up while Gumby tried to converse from behind the door of a stall (he went into a stall). After a few minutes I started to get, not concerned, because I hadn't heard any duress. I wasn't worried because...well...sometimes I like a leisurely deuce, so who am I to judge whatever peril Gumby might have found.
But it had been a while. I had to do something. Any action would have been better than no action at this point. A solid 10 minutes on a public school toilet is a terrifying prospect for an adult. For a weird kid, he could just be in la-la land. So I had to do something.
There were no other kids in the bathroom. I checked both ways before crossing the hall. It's instinct, don't judge me. I quietly stepped through the threshold of the bathroom. The smell was chemicals and sewage, like a boys room should be. My mind was racing.
What shitty dad joke can I throw out there to break the ice. I was listening for the sounds of pooping, also. Pooping has certain sounds. We all know them.
Hey slugger, did ya fall in?
Toilet monster didn't get you did it?
Then....I heard the sounds of aggressive pooping.
Then, quietly "meow."
....yo....dude....
Did this kid just meow?
I backed out of the bathroom with ninja levels of stealth. And then I had to take a knee because I found that the laughter exploding from my mouth buckled my knees. I tried to be quiet. I had to compose myself. I took a breath, walked it off, and retook my post opposite the litter box....bathroom...and waited for Gumby to finish up. He eventually did, washed his hands, and went back to class.
I told literally every adult who knew this weirdo about what I witnessed. Holy shit.
-SD
No comments:
Post a Comment