The Night Child by Anna Quinn

Author:Anna Quinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2017-10-31T19:08:29+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

January 31, 1997

The next morning, Nora sits at her desk sipping coffee and writing comments on essays. It is necessary she keep her head in the game and not dwell on confessionals, shoe boxes, and saints. Outside the door, students slam lockers, establishing their positions by calling each other names: Gay. Loser. Shithead. The word “fuck” replacing most of their verbs, some of their nouns, and all of their adjectives. She takes a deep breath and opens the door. “Good morning,” she says, pretending cheerfulness to each one as they drift in, morose and heavy-lidded.

Once they are seated and she’s taken attendance, she stands in front of her desk, leans on it, smiling and fighting an urge to run from the room.

“Okay,” she says, “today we’ll begin with a freewrite.”

There are a few groans from the audience but mostly grins. Freewrites are easy for most of them—they like that there’s no right or wrong. “Remember,” she says, “this isn’t about sounding smart or clever. It’s about listening to your thoughts and recording them in whatever way they come out.” She feels then, suddenly, that someone is behind her, though she knows there isn’t, how could there be? No one has left their seat or come in the door. She resists the urge to look over her shoulder, but still, the pervasive sensation unnerves her.

“I hate freewrites,” Jessica mutters, slumping back in her seat and sucking on a strand of her hair.

Good, Nora thinks. Good. Focus your attention on her. The girl who likes math because there are answers. Look at her. You are the teacher. Nora moves to the whiteboard and picks up an orange Magic Marker. Orange. The orange box. Shit. Don’t go there. You are the teacher. Teach. Nora plucks the cap off the marker and draws the outline of a brain with a wiggly line splitting it in two. It looks like a cracked lima bean. She does this sometimes, teaches them how the brain works. She points to the drawing and says with a forced steadiness, “Jessica, here’s the thing. When you freewrite, you know, just free associate and write as if no one will read it, you’re tapping into the right side of the brain.” Nora taps the right side of her drawing with the Magic Marker, surprised she can act as if she’s fine. “The right side can offer us discoveries,” she continues, “aha moments, ideas no one ever thought of before. I mean, don’t get me wrong, important things happen over here, too”—she taps the left side of her drawing—“but”—now she points to the right side, draws a light bulb with an exclamation point inside it—“here in the right hemisphere—well, this is where the new stuff happens. And honestly, Jessica, if you want to come up with some new mathematical equations someday, you might want to spend some time over here.”

Jessica considers Nora for a moment, smirks, and says, “Whatever,” but picks up her mechanical pencil as if she may indeed write.

“Okay,

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