Death of a Society

The boy had climbed the short cherry tree when we reached the bus stop. He was a naughty one and Anu chuckled, “Mama, what if the bus came now and he can’t get down? That would be so much fun”. I thought about it and was a little worried because he did not seem a good climber. But the kids at the stop were having fun while Jackie spoke loudly to everyone from the top of the bare cherry tree.

Jackie, as I saw him when winter had begun, was always sparsely dressed. When I asked him if he weren’t cold, he would reply in an unusually loud voice, “My hoodie keeps me warm. I don’t need a jacket”. He was a stick thin half Brazilian half American kid in 4th grade and I wondered how his mother could let him walk out at 20 degrees not wearing a proper jacket.

As the snow season began and the snow altogether stopped melting, the kids were caught at times hurling snowballs at each other and Jackie would be at it too. He always spoke a little louder than usual and would start a conversation with anyone out of the blue. I thought he was a little odd. He never seemed exactly happy or sad. He just did not seem to be there although he was playing with the other kids. I could never place a finger on his emotional state.

Once during Halloween I had seen Jackie’s mother accompany him to the bus stop. She was enormously overweight at the center of the body, which seemed a little eye catching, but apart from that she looked to me as any loving mother, talking with other kids, just like me.

Jackie had climbed higher on the cherry tree and the kids urged him more and more. He continued talking in a loud voice and very soon, just as Anu had predicted, the bus came along. The kids started to line up to get into the bus. Jackie wanted to get down fast but his stringless canvas shoes kept getting caught in the empty branches. He kept urging himself loudly while making an effort to move down. All the kids were now seated in the bus. The driver was just about getting impatient when Jackie lost his left shoe and finally touched ground. He made a dash for the bus. As he climbed the first step, he realized his backpack was missing. Jackie stuck his head into the bus and asked loudly, “Hey, Brandon have you seen my backpack?” Brandon must have answered his question for Jackie ran down again and rushed past the cherry tree to the corner near the town homes and retrieved his backpack from behind a bush. He climbed the bus speaking loudly, “I found it. You hid it behind the bush, Brandon”. The driver pushed the stick to drive and the bus started to move. I waved at Anu and headed home.

One late evening there was a knock on the door. Expecting no one in particular at that hour, I opened the door to see Jackie’s mom standing outside. I knew she was at the wrong house and before I could say anything, she said to herself, “…but I thought it was #31” and then to me, “Sorry I must be in the wrong house”. I closed the door and told my husband, "That’s the naughty kid’s mother".

Today we trudged along the crunchy snow covered path to the bus stop. We were a little late as I had to drop off mail and Anu had walked by herself. I ran to catch up with her. As on a typical school day, I kept reminding Anu to not chew her nails in class, to finish lunch, to remember to bring her planner home and to drink lots of water. The kids were already at the stop talking and playing in the snow. Jackie was there too. As we turned the corner, he walked briskly up to me, as if with some news and said in his loud voice, “My mom died”. I was caught off guard. “What?” I asked as loud as Jackie. He repeated the same news in a matter of fact way again. I was aghast. At several things. The other kids were listening to Jackie with a mixture of wonder and fun. Everyone was expressionless. I asked, “What happened?” Jackie said, “She had a heart attack”. I asked again, “Is there an adult in your house?” Jackie said, “My grandmother is here and my brothers are visiting me”. I made another query that I should not have, because it made me sadder still. “Is your dad with you?” I asked. Jackie spoke loudly as always, “I have two dads. One is dead and the other is in Brazil”. I stopped asking more questions.

Jackie ran to a new kid that was walking to the bus stop now. He proclaimed again, “My mom died”, to the new kid. The kid just crunched some snow under his booted feet. Anu pressed my hand. She asked me to bend down and whispered fearfully into my ear, “Mama, do you think Jackie is happy that his mom died? I would be crying if anyone in my family was gone”. I whispered back at Anu, “No baby, I don’t think he can understand what has happened”, and added, “Anu, I will pray that your mom never dies”. Jackie ran back to give some more of the same news to the other kids. Everyone looked casual. No one said anything to him. Just then the bus came along. Kids filed in. Jackie climbed up the steps and announced loudly to the bus driver, “My mom died”. I heard the driver say, “I am sorry” to no one in particular and push the stick to drive.

I cursed the cherry tree for not crying for Jackie.

(Picture of a snow hole---grass blades are still green underneath)