Linda was quiet and shy and never spoke during class, so when
she raised her hand and asked to use the restroom, I readily handed her the
classroom bathroom pass.
When she didn’t return, I warned the class to behave while I
went to check on her. All the stall
doors were ajar except for one. I knocked and called her name.
There was no answer.
I squatted down and saw her feet. I called her name again
and asked if something was wrong. That was
when I saw the pool of blood. At first I
thought she had started her period. She
was a sixth grader and maybe she didn’t know what to do.
“Linda? Sweetie?”
When she didn’t answer I thought maybe she’d fainted. I got
down on my hands and knees and saw her arms hanging by her side and blood
dripping from her wrists. I couldn’t leave her, so I stood and yanked on the
door with all my strength. When it didn’t
give, I threw myself on the ground and crawled under the door. (Don’t ask how I
did it. It was forty years ago and I was
a lot thinner and more limber.)
After that I remember everything in snatches. I unlocked the door. I grabbed both her wrists with my hands; my
fingers clenched over the cuts she had made.
She was not conscious. And I yelled
for help. I screamed and yelled for
help.
I remember footsteps, a small yelp, and the footsteps ran
away. Soon I was surrounded by many
others, none of whom I remember to this day.
Someone pried me away from Linda and walked me over to the one of the
sinks. A woman, I think, washed my
hands.
I remember sitting in the principal’s office, sipping on a
cold Coca-Cola, answering questions, until everyone decided I was calm enough
to drive myself home.
Linda never came back to our middle school. Her family placed her in a facility. A counselor
told me Linda’s father had committed suicide the summer before, a bullet to the
head, and she had been the first to find him.
I never understood why the administration waited until then to
tell me this. Why not before, so we
could keep an eye on her, protect her, help her through her grief?
I think of her often. She was twelve; she must be in her
fifties now. At least, I hope so. I remember her face, her shy smile, her blood
seeping through my fingers as I willed her to stay alive.
I was supposed to be the teacher, yet she taught me something that day that I have never forgotten.
Wow, Raquel. Certainly a life-forming situation. I also hope Linda is well today. Thank you for sharing .Renee
ReplyDeleteThank you, Renee.
DeleteWe see so many of our students suffer unbelievable tragedies. Thank goodness you were there to help Linda. My heart breaks for the ones we aren't there to help.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Suzanne. I agree.
DeleteThank God you had the instinct to check on her. Amazing.
ReplyDeleteThanks. It was all instinct and I had no choice but to do what I could.
Delete