it is not because of lack of intelligence.”
Shirley commented in her soft voice as she leafed through Luke’s book, “His stories seem to be mainly about animals. Does he talk about other things?”
I shook my head. “No, not much, although he didn’t object when I asked him to draw the House-Tree-Person – or even to drawing his family. I really feel he’s trusting me an awful lot when he talks at all. Do you think I should ask him more?”
“Not yet,” Jerry answered. “The records at the clinic show he didn’t talk at all while he was there. Just poured the sand back and forth from bucket to bucket. I’d go slow for now. Besides, he’s telling us a lot with his drawings.
“See how tiny the door is on this picture of a house?
“Now I don’t feel you should try to read an entire psychoanalysis into children’s drawings, but if you treat their pictures as one more piece in the puzzle, they can be helpful.”
“What’s the matter with a little door?” Hud asked. “I bet I’d put a little door on a house if I drew one. I’d probably draw my camping tent with a very little door.”
“I doubt it,” Jerry said. “In any case, don’t put too much weight on any single drawing. But still, studies do show that a door like this one often means the child is reluctant to share his thoughts and tries to keep a lot inside.”
“That certainly fits Luke,” I said.
“Notice how small his picture of a person is?” Jerry continued. “How over in the family picture there is no father, the mother is positioned a great distance from the three children, who are huddled together?” Jerry talked further, pointing out evidence of anxiety, depression, and hostility.
“Are there three children?” I asked.
Jerry nodded. “Luke has a younger brother and sister, The parents are divorced. His mother was described by the clinic social worker two years ago as having physical and emotional problems, and much of the care of the two younger children was left to Luke, but the social worker added that it was hard to get much information as Mrs. Brauer was very guarded.”
I sat silently, trying to put together all Jerry had said. What did it mean? How would it help Luke? Finally, I asked the last question out loud.
Jerry shook his head. “Tests can only give so much information. The rest you have to get from personal interviews and interaction. Let me ask you about that, Mary. What’s your impression of Luke?”
Again I sat without speaking, thoughts tumbling through my head. Impression of Luke? I shook my head, trying to answer.
“I don’t know, Jerry. I guess the main thing is he just doesn’t seem that bad to me. He is not spitting or biting himself, or talking in weird gibberish, or refusing to eat.
Besides, the way he acts in the music room just doesn’t fit with the boy described in the folder.”
“Well, don’t let him fool you,” Jerry interrupted. “Remember the fires, remember the thefts. Those weren’t accidents. Those were planned destructive acts.”
I nodded. “I’ll remember. But why? Why did Luke do those things? And how can we help him not do them?”
Jerry shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Remember he spent six months at the clinic without making any progress and he was a year younger then and supposedly more reachable.”
“Listen,” I said, “I know he can be reached. Sure, he’s reticent and suspicious, but you give him half an opening and he’s off and running. My God, Jerry, he can walk, he can talk, he can even read. Maybe he doesn’t use what he’s got, but maybe he’s never seen anyone use words effectively, so he hasn’t bothered to try. If his mother’s ‘guarded’ and his father’s not there, maybe he’s never learned that you don’t have to set fires to show how you feel. Maybe he’s never had anyone he could trust.”
I stopped abruptly, realizing I had been speaking with too much emotion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound off.”
Jerry smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe that’s one thing nobody’s tried. Just caring about the kid.”
I collected all the tests carefully and put them back in Luke’s folder. I would return to them many times in the next months, remembering, studying, searching for clues that would help me reach Luke. But usually it was not until I was with him that I had a real feel for what we should do that day.
Lisa Eckhardt made my times with Luke successful. She was far from a model teacher; she might not be able to keep thirty seven-year-olds in perfect order; she might yell and scream in frustration; she might not always be sensitive to an individual child’s problem; but she loved the kids and set me up for success with Luke, and I blessed her for it.
Each time I arrived in her second grade she would great me with “Hello, Mary. Okay, Luke. No more work for you for a while. You get to go with Mary now.” And Luke came with increasing eagerness as his classmates shouted, “That’s not fair, Miss Eckhardt! Luke went last time.” “He always gets to go.” “When’s it gonna be my turn?”
How smart of you, Lisa. Finally, Luke had something that the others wanted, even if it was only an out from work.
I arrived at school one Tuesday in March and even though it was still cold, the sun was so bright that the air seemed warm, and as I walked up the gray stone steps, I knew it was ridiculous to stay inside on a day like this. Luke and I had been working together for several weeks, gradually building rapport, but we had not moved outside of School 23. It was time to expand our world.
Mrs. Karras gave immediate permission for Luke and me to go out for a walk. The groans and complaints from the other second graders were louder than ever as I told Luke to bring his jacket.
“Hey, Mary. I wanna go. Why don’t you ever take me?” A small bevy of second graders crowded around us. I smiled down at them and then at Lisa. Thanks to her, we at least didn’t have to worry about stigma.
Down the hall and out the door. The white dog set up his uproar, throwing himself against the fence, as if to tear holes in the wire links.
Luke picked up a small stone and threw it at the dog. Instinctively, my hand went out and pulled his hand down so that the stone fell short and landed on the sidewalk.
Luke looked up at me inquiringly.
“It must be hard to be fenced in like that,” I said.
“Ah, Luke. That’s the first time I’ve touched you. I wouldn’t have planned it like that. Never mind. Let it go.” I jogged out into the sunlight. Luke ran beside me.
I didn’t know the town very well. Where should we go? What would be the right thing to do? Easy. Ask Luke.
“Where’ll we go, Luke? We have forty minutes.”
Luke knew. “The doughnut shop,” he said without hesitation.
I nodded. “Okay, you show me.”
