Ch. 2: Hints
A/N: Thanks to my sister for the Spanish translation.
Reneé was back Wednesday afternoon. Baker dropped her off at 2:30 and told me she'd be picked up by 4:00. Apparently, her driving privileges had been revoked in the same punishment that left her spending time with me. She was quiet and looked very tired.
"How are you feeling today, Reneé? You look like you didn't get much sleep."
"I'm fine."
"¿Realmente? Lo dudo." "Oh, really? I doubt that."
"No dormí bien." "I didn't sleep well."
"¿Por qué?" "Why is that?"
"No quiero hablar de eso." "I don't want to talk about it." She waited sullenly until I changed the subject.
"How old are you, Reneé?"
"Sixteen."
We made small talk for a while, then I asked her about her homework. She had with her some algebra homework that I was hard-pressed to figure out, despite having studied Chemistry in college. Once I figured out what she was talking about, I was able to explain some of the concepts to her and correct a lot of misconceptions. Algebra comes easily for me, but the impression I got is that the teacher expected them to learn almost solely out of the textbook, which happened to be one of the worst I've ever seen. No one could have learned from it.
I enjoy teaching, but I hadn't done any algebra since my accident, and I quickly discovered how frustrating it was to try to teach Reneé without writing. I was able to help her with a lot of concepts that she hadn't understood before. Even though I was unable to write, we managed, and when her ride came at 4:15, we were still talking algebra. The man who picked her up looked about 25 and pushy, and something told me he wasn't a brother, and it wasn't just the fact that he was Hispanic.
When Reneé came back Thursday afternoon, it was with a black eye. I could tell she wasn't ready to talk about it, so I pretended not to notice. We worked through some algebra, then she showed me some biology. I don't know a lot about biology, but reading her notes, I got the impression the teacher taught well, and she just wasn't trying. The textbook made sense, and my best guess is that she was probably too tired most of the time to concentrate, and even when she'd had enough sleep, she just wasn't trying. She was far enough behind that trying to catch up was intimidating. I talked her through a few of the concepts, and found she understood them quite well but just hadn't figured that out herself. I think part of her wanted to do well academically and part didn't. She was very intelligent, but the so-called friends she spent time with discouraged her from trying. No ride came at all that day, and she finally left at 4:45, saying she'd walk. I let her go, but called Baker once she left. He said he'd look into it.
Friday came and went without anything exceptional. Reneé arrived at 2:45 (apparently someone else had driven her), and I talked her through homework in a variety of subjects. We chatted in Spanish for a while, then I started teaching her a few words of French. Teaching a language like French is almost as difficult as algebra when you can't write. The spoken language works well enough, but French is a difficult language to learn without actually seeing it written out. I had her write some of it out, but describing the accents made it interesting.
The same big guy who had picked her up Wednesday came back at 4:00. He entered the room without even knocking and grabbed her by the arm, telling her in Spanish (and no uncertain terms) that is was time to go. He pulled her out into the hall and complained that she should have been ready before he got there and waiting in the parking lot. I think he didn't realize I could both hear him and understand the words.
I muttered under my breath, "Tira ten' rashwe, Reneé. Be careful."
Reneé didn't come the next Monday, but I didn't say anything. After all, our arrangement wasn't necessarily every day. When she didn't come Tuesday, either, I got worried. I phoned Baker, and found out that he thought she had visited both days. She had left school at the usual time to come here, but never arrive. He promised to check on her, and that was the last I heard that day.
When Reneé arrived, with Baker, Wednesday, she looked tired and had several bruises. Baker would have stayed, but I brushed him away. He was worried, but I don't think he realized just how disconnected from the situation he really was, and also how little he could do about it.
"Reneé, what's going on? Don't tell me nothing, because I'm not going to buy it."
"It's none of your business."
"So? Then I'll be a nosy busybody. Is that guy beating you?"
She looked down for a moment, then said, "No." She was trying to sound firm, but her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Really? I think I've seen a little too much to buy that."
"No." It was almost inaudible. The answer was vague, but I knew what it meant. It was difficult for her to admit, but he was definitely beating her.
"Why do you stay with him, then?"
"He's better than nothing."
"Is he? I wonder." I paused for a moment, trying to compose myself and figure out exactly what to say. "Don't let him take advantage of you. It's easy to go from one guy to another, or to stick with one even when he's bad for you, but sometimes you do have to go it alone. I've been doing that for the last ten years."
"Did you ever have anyone?"
She was sniffling a little, and I think we were both glad for the change in subject. Still, I took my time answering. I wanted to be honest with her—she deserved that, but I wasn't certain how much I was ready to reveal. There were some things she wasn't ready to know. Finally, I answered. "Yes, I did. It was a long time ago. I was on top of the world…"
"Then what happened?"
"A drunk driver left me paralyzed."
"And he left you?" I debated my answer for a moment.
"No. No, he didn't leave me. It was more like I left him."
"Because you were hurt?"
"Not really. I actually wasn't trying to leave, but that's just how it turned out."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She was more than a little skeptical. "You weren't trying to leave, but it happened anyway? You would have been too old for parents to interfere. Was it a job or something? Did you leave him to take some better job somewhere? You don't look like you could work, anyway."
"No. It's nothing like that. It's complicated, and personal. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it." It was a lame excuse, but it was partly true. The pain was still very real. The wounds had never really healed. It was also a way to change the subject before I revealed too much.
"OK, whatever. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"No, Renée. It's OK that you asked. I don't mind. It's just that it's been a raw wound on my heart for a long time, and it's going to take some effort, and time, to get it all out. I'll tell you the whole story someday. For now, let's see your homework."
A/N: Thanks to my sister for the Spanish translation.
Reneé was back Wednesday afternoon. Baker dropped her off at 2:30 and told me she'd be picked up by 4:00. Apparently, her driving privileges had been revoked in the same punishment that left her spending time with me. She was quiet and looked very tired.
"How are you feeling today, Reneé? You look like you didn't get much sleep."
"I'm fine."
"¿Realmente? Lo dudo." "Oh, really? I doubt that."
"No dormí bien." "I didn't sleep well."
"¿Por qué?" "Why is that?"
"No quiero hablar de eso." "I don't want to talk about it." She waited sullenly until I changed the subject.
"How old are you, Reneé?"
"Sixteen."
We made small talk for a while, then I asked her about her homework. She had with her some algebra homework that I was hard-pressed to figure out, despite having studied Chemistry in college. Once I figured out what she was talking about, I was able to explain some of the concepts to her and correct a lot of misconceptions. Algebra comes easily for me, but the impression I got is that the teacher expected them to learn almost solely out of the textbook, which happened to be one of the worst I've ever seen. No one could have learned from it.
I enjoy teaching, but I hadn't done any algebra since my accident, and I quickly discovered how frustrating it was to try to teach Reneé without writing. I was able to help her with a lot of concepts that she hadn't understood before. Even though I was unable to write, we managed, and when her ride came at 4:15, we were still talking algebra. The man who picked her up looked about 25 and pushy, and something told me he wasn't a brother, and it wasn't just the fact that he was Hispanic.
When Reneé came back Thursday afternoon, it was with a black eye. I could tell she wasn't ready to talk about it, so I pretended not to notice. We worked through some algebra, then she showed me some biology. I don't know a lot about biology, but reading her notes, I got the impression the teacher taught well, and she just wasn't trying. The textbook made sense, and my best guess is that she was probably too tired most of the time to concentrate, and even when she'd had enough sleep, she just wasn't trying. She was far enough behind that trying to catch up was intimidating. I talked her through a few of the concepts, and found she understood them quite well but just hadn't figured that out herself. I think part of her wanted to do well academically and part didn't. She was very intelligent, but the so-called friends she spent time with discouraged her from trying. No ride came at all that day, and she finally left at 4:45, saying she'd walk. I let her go, but called Baker once she left. He said he'd look into it.
Friday came and went without anything exceptional. Reneé arrived at 2:45 (apparently someone else had driven her), and I talked her through homework in a variety of subjects. We chatted in Spanish for a while, then I started teaching her a few words of French. Teaching a language like French is almost as difficult as algebra when you can't write. The spoken language works well enough, but French is a difficult language to learn without actually seeing it written out. I had her write some of it out, but describing the accents made it interesting.
The same big guy who had picked her up Wednesday came back at 4:00. He entered the room without even knocking and grabbed her by the arm, telling her in Spanish (and no uncertain terms) that is was time to go. He pulled her out into the hall and complained that she should have been ready before he got there and waiting in the parking lot. I think he didn't realize I could both hear him and understand the words.
I muttered under my breath, "Tira ten' rashwe, Reneé. Be careful."
Reneé didn't come the next Monday, but I didn't say anything. After all, our arrangement wasn't necessarily every day. When she didn't come Tuesday, either, I got worried. I phoned Baker, and found out that he thought she had visited both days. She had left school at the usual time to come here, but never arrive. He promised to check on her, and that was the last I heard that day.
When Reneé arrived, with Baker, Wednesday, she looked tired and had several bruises. Baker would have stayed, but I brushed him away. He was worried, but I don't think he realized just how disconnected from the situation he really was, and also how little he could do about it.
"Reneé, what's going on? Don't tell me nothing, because I'm not going to buy it."
"It's none of your business."
"So? Then I'll be a nosy busybody. Is that guy beating you?"
She looked down for a moment, then said, "No." She was trying to sound firm, but her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Really? I think I've seen a little too much to buy that."
"No." It was almost inaudible. The answer was vague, but I knew what it meant. It was difficult for her to admit, but he was definitely beating her.
"Why do you stay with him, then?"
"He's better than nothing."
"Is he? I wonder." I paused for a moment, trying to compose myself and figure out exactly what to say. "Don't let him take advantage of you. It's easy to go from one guy to another, or to stick with one even when he's bad for you, but sometimes you do have to go it alone. I've been doing that for the last ten years."
"Did you ever have anyone?"
She was sniffling a little, and I think we were both glad for the change in subject. Still, I took my time answering. I wanted to be honest with her—she deserved that, but I wasn't certain how much I was ready to reveal. There were some things she wasn't ready to know. Finally, I answered. "Yes, I did. It was a long time ago. I was on top of the world…"
"Then what happened?"
"A drunk driver left me paralyzed."
"And he left you?" I debated my answer for a moment.
"No. No, he didn't leave me. It was more like I left him."
"Because you were hurt?"
"Not really. I actually wasn't trying to leave, but that's just how it turned out."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She was more than a little skeptical. "You weren't trying to leave, but it happened anyway? You would have been too old for parents to interfere. Was it a job or something? Did you leave him to take some better job somewhere? You don't look like you could work, anyway."
"No. It's nothing like that. It's complicated, and personal. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it." It was a lame excuse, but it was partly true. The pain was still very real. The wounds had never really healed. It was also a way to change the subject before I revealed too much.
"OK, whatever. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"No, Renée. It's OK that you asked. I don't mind. It's just that it's been a raw wound on my heart for a long time, and it's going to take some effort, and time, to get it all out. I'll tell you the whole story someday. For now, let's see your homework."