Crayons

“Emily, you can sit over there, in the pink chair.” Adam Watson pointed to a bright pink dining chair that was sat in the middle of the room.

Emily didn’t hear him. The floors of the classroom had purple polka-dots. She liked purple.

“Emily?” Suddenly, Adam was right in front of her, holding up her face to look at him. “Emily. Are you listening to me?”

She nodded, her cheeks turning pink from how close her new teacher was to her.

Adam took a gentle hold of her arm and led her over to the chair. “Sit in this chair, okay? The pink chair is your chair, and the blue one is mine.” He smiled when she didn’t argue like he was expecting.

Emily murmured something to herself and sat in the pink chair. Adam sat across from her.

“Now,” he began, “I know that you enjoy having a specific routine for each day. Is that right?”

Emily nodded, fumbling with her hands in her lap.

“That’s good, because at this school everyone has a routine. Can you read Emily?”

Emily flinched. She wasn’t expecting this question. She wasn’t expecting a question at all. Emily liked to be prepared for things, especially questions, and when she wasn’t, she sometimes repeated them, instead of answering. She murmured the question to herself, almost inaudibly, but Adam heard her.

“Emily? Can you read?”

She was expecting it this time. She nodded.

“Good. This is your schedule for this year.” He handed her two pieces of paper, both with magnets on the back. “One is for home, and one is for here. Why don’t you read it to yourself?”

She did. She read it very carefully, and slowly, while Adam waited patiently.

The first thing on her schedule was Math, and she knew that word from school. Next was Break, and sure, she knew that one two. After that, English, another break, Science, another break, and then History, and one last break.

That’s a lot, Emily thought to herself. She started to worry about her lessons. She could feel her back and neck start to get hot.

She continued to read down the list, smiling at Snack, but frowning at Recreation. She handed the paper back to Adam, pointing to the unknown word.

“That word is rec-re-a-tion.” He said to her. “That means play-time.”

Emily smiled at that. She loved play time.

-

Adam had told Emily where to put her book-bag, on a hook by the door, and showed her around the classroom. On the left was a table and two chairs, a pink one and a blue one. Adam called that table the lesson table, and Emily understood that it would be there that she would learn her different subjects.

In the back, was a big mat, some toy cars, blocks, crayons and markers, play-doh and little table. Adam didn’t have to tell her that this was the Recreation area, but he did anyway.

On the right was a little kitchen like the one Emily had in her house, only much smaller. It had a tiny refrigerator, sink, and a little microwave. There was another table there, with a pink chair and a blue chair. This was the snack area.

In the middle of the room, where they had sat before, was the Meeting Area. Adam told Emily that this is where they would take their breaks in-between lessons, and where they would do therapy.

Emily was confused. Therapy wasn’t on her schedule. Her back started to feel hot again.

“Therapy only happens if you have a bad day at school, or if you think you need to have it. It’s a time where you can talk to me or someone else about how you feel, so you can make yourself feel better.”

She liked that idea.

-

“Alright, Emily. How many numbers do you know?”

Adam and his new student were sitting at the lessons table. He could tell that Emily was nervous just by the fumbling of her hands.

Adam was nervous, too. It was his first time dealing with a child or teenager that had PDD by himself, and he was worried he was going to screw it up somehow. He was also worried because of some of the weird reactions Emily gave to him. Every time he talked to her, her cheeks got red and she wouldn’t look at him. (Even though it was a symptom of PDD, she looked at everyone else, why not him?) It made him wonder what was going through her head, and if she liked him or not. It was important to Adam that she liked him.

When Emily didn’t reply to him, Adam took out a pen and began to write on the paper in front of him.

“Emily?” She looked up at him. “What number is this?”

Emily looked down at where he pointing and whispered, “Two.”

“Good!” Adam smiled, feeling the success of the situation lesson his nerves. “And this one?”

“Ten.” She replied, a little louder.

“Great!” Emily smiled up at him; loving the positive words he was giving her and the tone of voice in which he said them. It made her less nervous.

Adam continued through the twenties and thirties, and then skipped to one-hundred-something numbers. After she knew all of them, has tried something different. “What about this number?”

Adam was trying to challenge her. He did, expertly.

Emily shook her head, her spirits falling and the feelings of wanting to hide arose. Her hands started fumbling again.

“That’s okay, Emily. It’s alright.” Adam soothed. “It’s a weird number. It’s called seven-hundred seventy seven. Can you say that?”

Emily tried. But failed. She couldn’t remember most of it. “Can’t.” she whimpered out, and the tears lined up under her eyes.

“Yes you can.” He told her. “You can do anything. It’s seven-hundred-”
“Seven hundred.” She whispered.

“Seventy-”

“Seventy.”

“Seven-”

“Seven.” Emily smiled.

“Good job!” Adam put a hand on Emily’s back, and her face flushed red from the touch. He smiled at her, but pulled away. “Ready for a break?”

-

Break wasn’t exciting. It was only five minutes long, and they didn’t do anything, but Emily was happy for it. It gave her a chance to let her mind relax.

English was especially nerve-racking for Emily because of English at school. During this time, a student teacher would take her to the back of the room and teach her some very simplified English One. Emily understood most of it, but she didn’t know how to spell most words. The teachers always talked to her like she was stupid because of this, and so she usually chose not to pay attention.

Adam reached into a drawer beside him labeled ENGLISH LESSONS and pulled out some child-ruled lined paper. He set it in front of Emily, next to a sharpened pencil.

“Today we are starting something called a Journal. Every day, you’ll write a paragraph or two about something that happened to you or how you’re feeling…”

Emily had a question. Well, she had something to tell Adam and she really didn’t know how to interrupt him. So she raised her hand.

Adam chuckled. “What is it, Emily?” When Emily stayed silent, he assumed she didn’t understand what he meant in his explanation. “Do you know what ‘paragraph’ means?” he guessed.

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Well then…what’s wrong?”

For Emily, it was extremely hard to admit she couldn’t do something because there were a lot of things she couldn’t do. She didn’t like to admit she was different then everybody else, but sometimes she had to.

“I can’t spell.” She whispered, and the tears came back to her eyes again.

“Emily, sweetie,” Adam panicked, rubbing her back and trying to keep her from crying. “That’s okay! In a journal, spelling doesn’t matter. You just do your best. At the end of the year, you can read it to see how you’ve improved your writing.”

“Just do my best.” Emily repeated, and she did.

Emily wrote in her journal about her first day so far at her new half-day school.

It started out with:

Hi. My name iz Emily, and Im 16 yeres old.

I hav a mental condishun. Thats wat my docter says.

He sed that my mind and body dont always coo-operate with each other. Whatever that means.

I hav the mental capasity of 10 yere old. And the physical capasity of a 3 yere old.

Im moving to a new scool for haf of the day. Im geting a new teecher who iz a boy.

Hiz name iz Adam.

Im nervus.