first thing in the morning. She sat across from his desk in an overstuffed chair that was big enough for two of her, even with her being a bit on the plump side. With all the aplomb she could muster, she plunged in.
“Jamie is in tears. He can’t sleep. Sean, a boy in his class, is calling him names. Pushing him. He was so excited about being in second grade this year, he couldn’t wait to go to school. Now he makes up excuses not to go. Twice this week he pretended to be sick. He didn’t tell me until last night what was going on. I think he was ashamed.” She gripped the arms of the chair and bent her upper body toward him. “I’m sure you don’t want bullying in your school any more than I do, Ray. I know you’ll make sure that boy is punished.”
The principal scratched his chin and glanced out the window. “It’s good you came in,” he lied. “Tell me, how is Jamie doing in school otherwise?”
“He’s being bullied. He’s being called a dirty injun. How do you think he’s doing?”
“I’m not suggesting...” He paused. “It’s just that sometimes when children like Jamie reach second grade, they start to have problems. Especially, you know, given his background...environmental risks and other factors.”
“Excuse me?” Mary glared at the principal. She didn’t know which infuriated her more, what he’d just said or the obscure language he’d used to cover up what he really meant.
“We’re here to help. It’s important that children get the services they need early. You know what they say, Mary: an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
The soft cushion under her started to suck her down and she fought it off, extricated herself to the edge of the chair. “I would think Jamie’s teacher would have called me if he was having trouble,” she said. “I’m surprised she didn’t notice that he was being bullied.”
Mr. Nelson picked up the phone. “Please ask Miss Withersteen to come to my office,” he said to the receptionist. “Great, tell her Jamie Buckley’s mother is here.”
“Williams,” Mary said. “His name is Jamie Williams.”
She looked at her watch. Only a few minutes left before school started. She shot a fierce look at the principal. There was nothing wrong with Jamie. He was reading at grade level. He was a happy, well-adjusted boy. Jamie was not the problem. The bully was the problem.
“Good morning, Miss Withersteen,” the principal said. “I’m sure you remember Mary, Jamie Buckley’s foster mother?”
“Jamie’s been with us since birth,” Mary said, her hand sweating as she shook the teacher’s much slimmer hand.
“Mary and I were just wondering if Jamie might be having any learning difficulties...or any other problems,” the principal said.
“Ray here is the only one wondering that.” Mary curled her fists into the soft folds of the chair cushion.
“Is there something you’re concerned about?” the teacher asked.
What a cleverly disguised accusation, Mary thought, from a teacher who looked too young to have graduated from high school much less have children of her own. What could she possibly know about Jamie? She took a deep breath and looked directly into Miss Withersteen’s eyes.
“A boy in your class named Sean is pushing my son around. I want him punished and I want the bullying to stop.”
“Jamie is the sweetest little boy,” Miss Withersteen said, “but he doesn’t like to read out loud. I was going to mention that to you at parent-teacher night. It’s not unusual for these children to have problems like that.”
“What do you mean these children? Jamie is just like any other little boy.”
“Of course he is,” the principal said. “I’m sure Miss Withersteen didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“I certainly did not,” the teacher said. “What I am suggesting, though, is that it might not hurt to get him tested.”
“What kind of testing?” Mary started to feel shaky. She’d noticed that Jamie wasn’t interested lately in reading his favorite Archie comic books to her. Was that because he was too upset about the bullying to read or because he was having some kind of trouble reading? Could it be possible that he didn’t want to go to school because of some learning difficulty? Could he have made up the story about the bully because he didn’t want to tell her what was really going on?
“There’s a whole battery of tests,” Miss Withersteen said. “I don’t usually recommend all of them because they’re expensive, but in Jamie’s case the Bureau of Indian Affairs will absorb the cost. He’s enrolled with his tribe, isn’t he?”
“I...I...I think so,” Mary stuttered, not because she wasn’t sure whether Jamie was enrolled but because one too many seeds of doubt had now been planted for her to ignore. She was floundering. Should she insist that Sean be punished and refuse to have Jamie tested? Was Jamie really having difficulty learning or did the teacher think she saw symptoms of learning disabilities, probably fetal alcohol syndrome, too, because she expected to see them?
“Well, then,” the principal said. “It seems that the next step is for you to make sure Jamie is enrolled with his tribe, okay?”
“He is,” she muttered.
Miss Withersteen and the principal glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, then looked back at her.
“Jamie is enrolled.”
“Good.” Mr. Nelson smiled. “Then our school psychologist can take it from here.” He sat back in his chair, obviously pleased with himself.
“It’s wonderful that people like you are willing to help children like Jamie,” Miss Withersteen said with a sympathetic smile. “He’s such a lucky little boy. So sorry, there goes the bell.”
Miss Withersteen rushed out the door then, leaving Mary clutching at her self-confidence like a timid mouse trying to keep it from trailing behind an imposingly large and self-possessed cat.
“Rest assured.” The principal stood up. “We’ll do everything we can to help Jamie.”
Mary suddenly felt slow and heavy. It took all her energy to pull herself up and release herself from the chair. She stood as erect as she could and looked the principal in the eye. “What about Sean,” she said. “What about the bullying?”
“This kind of thing happens all the time with boys. They usually work it out on the playground...if you know what I mean,” he said with a chuckle and a wink.
Mary clenched her fists, then realized she didn’t have enough strength left right then to fight both Mr. Nelson and Wayne. The principal reached out to shake her hand and she turned away from him. At least she could do that.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said with a wave.
She dragged herself from the building, her steps weighed down by doubts now nibbling at the edges of the truth that had been so clear to her just an hour before. She sucked in the crisp fall air and spit out a wild fury of invectives through her clenched teeth. Wayne was right; she never should have come. She’d only made things worse.
SEVEN
