Status: Currently on Hiatus
The Breakdown of Natalie Whitman
Dr. Jennifer Phillips
Rain banged on my window, trying to break in to my new office, what a dark and gloomy day. Nothing special, nothing new it was a boring first week. September 12, a week since the start of school. Sitting there was a rather tedious task, something I wish I did not have to do, but alas one never knew when a teenager needed guidance.
Daphne and I had become rather close friends, to the point of exchanging emails to talk every so often. No longer was I a fish out of water. Slowly but surely, I was developing my own group of friends to be with and to converse. As I thought about this, my moment of truth finally came.
“No, you don’t understand, something must be wrong….” An echoed scream followed by a choke broke the smooth silence. Confused by the racked, the natural thing was to peer outside. A teacher with her arm wrapped around a student whose face was as red as a tomato came my way. Looking professional, I sat and pretend to type something on the computer. The door creaked and in came the wailing student, Natalie Whitman. The teacher looked troubled and rather worried about her student’s wellbeing. Her forehead was riddled with worry lines and her lips curved in a downward crescent. With an extended hand, the teacher introduced herself as Ms. Alden, Natalie Whitman’s English teacher. Apparently, the troubled student became rather upset when she received a C- on the first paper of the year. Ms. Alden assured Natalie that it was just one paper and if she would achieve high marks on the rest of her papers, the C- wouldn’t make a large impact on the total grade. Still, Natalie Whitman wept as if her mother had just died and mumbled inaudible words. Ms. Alden reported that she a class and could not stay, leaving Natalie and I all alone. A smile and a box of tissues were the first gifts I gave Natalie Whitman. The door was closed and the shades were down to create optimal privacy. Finally after a few sobs and gasps, Natalie declared that she didn’t need to talk and that she was fine. This girl was not fine and her tears spoke for her. It was my job to find out why was this teen so upset over a grade, I asked her softly and with her bloody red eyes, she shot me a glare.
“I don’t know about you…but a C- is a bad grade. It’s the worst grade I ever got.” That was amazing in itself. I was above average in my high school, but even I got a C every once in a while. This young lady claims that she never received a grade like this. A C- is, unfortunately, a grade that some people would love to receive. While it was not a stellar grade, it was about average.
“Why does it hurt you to get a bad grade?” A shrug was her answer and a few sniffles. It was as if she was afraid to take off her mask even with someone who does not mind to see the person behind it. After careful thought, I rephrased it: “Will your parents be upset?” At this, there was a small shriek and I knew I had hit a nerve. Natalie wiped her eyes with her old tissue before reaching for a brand new one. A scared little animal lost in the big woods, that is how she was now. I assured her that anything said in this room provided it is not about hurt herself or others would be confidential. Unfortunately, it is a lot easy said than done.
“Am I crazy? I bet you think I’m crazy…” No, the thought never crossed my mind. What I did think she was hurt and needed someone to help her pick her up and tell her that life was not as dark as she made it out to be. I needed to teach her that she did not need to please anyone.
“What would make you say that? I think you are just a very conscientious young girl who cares about her schoolwork, but what I need to teach you is that life does not revolve around grades. In a couple of years, when you are married and with children, you won’t even remember what you got on this paper. It will be a small bleep on the radar.” There was an ounce of doubt written all over her face and then she crouched so her hair would hide her small face. I wanted her to believe me and feel safe, but of course that was not going to happen anytime soon. Instead, the best I could do now was to try to calm her down.
“I feel so stupid; I can’t show my face out there. This is an awful day, first I get a horrible grade and now people are going to laugh at me.” This was something that I couldn’t really answer. I remember high school was a vicious place filled with vicious people, but as a source of guidance, I had to make her feel comfortable. In a hushed voice, I told her that she need not to worry and that if anyone made a comment to just see me so I could take the proper disciplinary actions.
After five minutes of crying, Natalie finally calmed down. Her face was blotched and her eyes sparkly and red. In order to help her feel better, I asked her some non-aggressive questions, questions that she could not or should not find as hassle. Her name, her age and her interests topped my list. She responded with the obvious Natalie Whitman but added her middle name: it was Ann, Natalie Ann Whitman. She was currently 16, but she would be turning 17 in May and she played the piano. With that remark, I told her that I was an avid violinist and perhaps in the near future, we should have a duet. Finally, a little chuckle escaped, whether it was sincere or a sarcastic laugh, I wouldn’t know. All I knew it was a laugh and she was getting comfortable. After much tears, Natalie felt ready to go back to class. However, I wanted to see her again to help her with her feelings. There was something much deeper hidden behind those dark chestnut eyes, a world of locks and codes waiting to be open, to be discovered, to be revealed. Natalie reluctantly agreed to come back next week and talk more about this issue. With a small smile, she nodded her head and wished me a happy weekend. My office, empty with only books to keep me company, not anything on the walls just yet and she was the first…and yet, in the back of the my mind, I knew that she was the most complex person I knew.
Daphne and I had become rather close friends, to the point of exchanging emails to talk every so often. No longer was I a fish out of water. Slowly but surely, I was developing my own group of friends to be with and to converse. As I thought about this, my moment of truth finally came.
“No, you don’t understand, something must be wrong….” An echoed scream followed by a choke broke the smooth silence. Confused by the racked, the natural thing was to peer outside. A teacher with her arm wrapped around a student whose face was as red as a tomato came my way. Looking professional, I sat and pretend to type something on the computer. The door creaked and in came the wailing student, Natalie Whitman. The teacher looked troubled and rather worried about her student’s wellbeing. Her forehead was riddled with worry lines and her lips curved in a downward crescent. With an extended hand, the teacher introduced herself as Ms. Alden, Natalie Whitman’s English teacher. Apparently, the troubled student became rather upset when she received a C- on the first paper of the year. Ms. Alden assured Natalie that it was just one paper and if she would achieve high marks on the rest of her papers, the C- wouldn’t make a large impact on the total grade. Still, Natalie Whitman wept as if her mother had just died and mumbled inaudible words. Ms. Alden reported that she a class and could not stay, leaving Natalie and I all alone. A smile and a box of tissues were the first gifts I gave Natalie Whitman. The door was closed and the shades were down to create optimal privacy. Finally after a few sobs and gasps, Natalie declared that she didn’t need to talk and that she was fine. This girl was not fine and her tears spoke for her. It was my job to find out why was this teen so upset over a grade, I asked her softly and with her bloody red eyes, she shot me a glare.
“I don’t know about you…but a C- is a bad grade. It’s the worst grade I ever got.” That was amazing in itself. I was above average in my high school, but even I got a C every once in a while. This young lady claims that she never received a grade like this. A C- is, unfortunately, a grade that some people would love to receive. While it was not a stellar grade, it was about average.
“Why does it hurt you to get a bad grade?” A shrug was her answer and a few sniffles. It was as if she was afraid to take off her mask even with someone who does not mind to see the person behind it. After careful thought, I rephrased it: “Will your parents be upset?” At this, there was a small shriek and I knew I had hit a nerve. Natalie wiped her eyes with her old tissue before reaching for a brand new one. A scared little animal lost in the big woods, that is how she was now. I assured her that anything said in this room provided it is not about hurt herself or others would be confidential. Unfortunately, it is a lot easy said than done.
“Am I crazy? I bet you think I’m crazy…” No, the thought never crossed my mind. What I did think she was hurt and needed someone to help her pick her up and tell her that life was not as dark as she made it out to be. I needed to teach her that she did not need to please anyone.
“What would make you say that? I think you are just a very conscientious young girl who cares about her schoolwork, but what I need to teach you is that life does not revolve around grades. In a couple of years, when you are married and with children, you won’t even remember what you got on this paper. It will be a small bleep on the radar.” There was an ounce of doubt written all over her face and then she crouched so her hair would hide her small face. I wanted her to believe me and feel safe, but of course that was not going to happen anytime soon. Instead, the best I could do now was to try to calm her down.
“I feel so stupid; I can’t show my face out there. This is an awful day, first I get a horrible grade and now people are going to laugh at me.” This was something that I couldn’t really answer. I remember high school was a vicious place filled with vicious people, but as a source of guidance, I had to make her feel comfortable. In a hushed voice, I told her that she need not to worry and that if anyone made a comment to just see me so I could take the proper disciplinary actions.
After five minutes of crying, Natalie finally calmed down. Her face was blotched and her eyes sparkly and red. In order to help her feel better, I asked her some non-aggressive questions, questions that she could not or should not find as hassle. Her name, her age and her interests topped my list. She responded with the obvious Natalie Whitman but added her middle name: it was Ann, Natalie Ann Whitman. She was currently 16, but she would be turning 17 in May and she played the piano. With that remark, I told her that I was an avid violinist and perhaps in the near future, we should have a duet. Finally, a little chuckle escaped, whether it was sincere or a sarcastic laugh, I wouldn’t know. All I knew it was a laugh and she was getting comfortable. After much tears, Natalie felt ready to go back to class. However, I wanted to see her again to help her with her feelings. There was something much deeper hidden behind those dark chestnut eyes, a world of locks and codes waiting to be open, to be discovered, to be revealed. Natalie reluctantly agreed to come back next week and talk more about this issue. With a small smile, she nodded her head and wished me a happy weekend. My office, empty with only books to keep me company, not anything on the walls just yet and she was the first…and yet, in the back of the my mind, I knew that she was the most complex person I knew.