Free Somebody Else’s Kids by Torey Hayden Page A

much,” she said softly. “I guess maybe he’s right. I flunked kindergarten. And I’m probably gonna flunk first grade too.”
    Across the room near Benny’s driftwood Boo had sat down on the floor, his legs crossed Indian-style. He looked like an elf. A deep seriousness rested over his features as he watched us.
    Lori looked up at me. “Is he right, Torey? Am I a retard kid?”
    I put my fingers under her chin and lifted her face to see it more clearly in the gray afternoon light. Such a beautiful child. Why was it all these children looked so beautiful to me? I thought my heart would burst some days, I was so overwhelmed by their beauty. I could never look at them enough. I could never fill my eyes up fully with them the way I wanted. But why was it? Surely they were not all physically attractive. I knew something must happen with my eyes. Yet no matter how I tried to see them right, they seemed so unspeakably beautiful. This kid was. So very many of my kids were. I was troubled because I could not answer that question for myself. Were they that beautiful? Or was it only me?
    “Torey?” She touched my knee to bring me back. The question she had asked had gone beyond words and now rested in her eyes.
    No answers for my questions. No answers for hers. I looked at her. What could I say to her that would be honest? That would satisfy her? No, she was not retarded. Her brain did not work for a different reason. Mikey Nelson just had the wrong label. I could have told her that. Or perhaps I could have told her it was all a lie. To me it was. Mikey Nelson did not know what he was talking about. But what a laugh. In this world that prizes accomplishments so highly, I would have been the liar then. For Lori there might never be enough teachers, enough therapies; enough effort, even enough love to undo what had happened to her in one night’s anger. And then Mikey Nelson’s word would seem truer than mine.
    Gently I pushed back her hair from her face, smoothed the mop strands, straightened the pointed hat. She was so beautiful.
    “There’s nothing wrong with you, Lori.”
    Her eyes were on my face.
    “That’s the truth and you believe it. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. No matter what. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
    “But I can’t read.”
    “Hitler could read.”
    “Who’s Hitler?”
    “A man who really was retarded.”

Chapter Seven
    “G ood afternoon, Tomaso,” I said. “My name is Torey. I’ll be your teacher in the afternoons.”
    “You leave me the fuck alone, you hear? I sure the hell ain’t staying here. What kind of a place is this anyway?”
    We stared at each other. I was between him and the door. His scrawny shoulders were hunched up under a black vinyl jacket. He was tall for his age, but too thin. Lank, greasy, black hair hung over angry eyes. Angry, angry eyes. He was one of the migrant kids, no doubt. His hands were hard and calloused, he had already known the fields by ten.
    I had not been prepared for Tomaso. A call in the morning from Birk and here he was. One look at him and his fearless, defiant body and I could guess why he had been brought to me. Not one to fit into the regimen of a school, not Tomaso.
    “What kind of shitty place is this anyway?” he repeated a little more loudly.
    Lori came around to stand between Tomaso and me. She gave him a long, appraising look. “This is our class.”
    “Who the hell are you?”
    “Lori Ann Sjokheim. Who are you?”
    “What have they stuck me in? Some babies’ class?” He looked at me. “
Dios mio!
I’ve been put in some fucking babies’ class.”
    “I’m no baby,” Lori protested.
    “Some goddamn, stinking baby class, that’s what this is. And with little girls in it. Go have a tea party, sweetie,” he said to Lori.
    Her lower lip went out. “I’m no baby. I’m almost eight. So there!”
    “Shit. I’m not staying in here.” Tomaso straightened his shoulders and raised one hand up in a fist. “You get