A Safe Space

The girl sucked in a breath and dried her tears, glancing over to her mother.

"It's OK, Shirley," her mother said with a slow, gentle tone. "You can tell us what happened."

Shirley nodded briefly at her mother and then looked over at the principal sitting behind his looming desk, stacked with folders and colored post-its and plastic bins full of pens and paperclips and rubber bands.  She'd always been so afraid of this man and of this office, a person and a place you were only sent when you were bad.  

"Yes, Shirley, this is a safe space," the principal said in a reassuring tone that more confused the young girl than set her at ease.  Wasn't this the same man who had not so long ago yelled at her best friend Margot for running in the hallway or who suspended her friend Kevin for talking back to a teacher, even though the teacher was mean to him first?  Was this the man who created the safe space in the school?

Shirley looked at the floor.  "I don't want to get anyone in trouble," she murmured in a barely audible voice.

Her mother reached over and took her hand.  "It's not about getting someone in trouble," she said.  "It's about making you feel safe here at school."

There it was again -- safe.  Here, at George P. Barnes Elementary School.  The same place where they had to routinely participate in drills that taught students how to survive an active shooter or that forced the teachers to focus on standardized tests instead of simply focusing on learning what the students were interested in and making an average week in the classroom about that.  Safe, ha, what a farce.

Shirley looked up and locked eyes with the principal.  "Chloe Jackson put a note in my backpack that said, Your dad died probably because you smell bad," she reported, feeling more and more numb with every confessionary syllable.

The principal's eyes grew wider for a moment before he leaned forward and asked, "When did this happen?"

"Two days ago," Shirley said.

"How do you know it was Ms. Jackson?" the principal asked, his neatly folded hands starting to twitch.

"She signed her name," Shirley said. "And I also know what her handwriting looks like because we have been in the same class almost every year." She paused before adding, "She usually sits right behind me in class, because of alphabetical order."

"Right," the principal said, awkwardly clearing his throat.  "You have the note?" he asked.

Shirley's mother pulled it out of her pocketbook and handed it across the desk.  "I found it in her backpack when I was looking for her lunch bag," she offered as a preemptive means of explanation.

"Right," the principal repeated, this time the syllables dragging out as he examined the torn half-sheet of paper that did, indeed, contain the exact message described.  He seemed to read it a few times before setting it on his desk.  "You didn't tell your mother about the note when it happened?" he asked the girl.

Shirley shifted uncomfortably.  "I didn't see it until she found it," she confessed.

The principal nodded.  "Well, I'll need to investigate this a little more before I can make decisions about what actions to take," he said.  "I'm just so troubled that this happened, Ms. Jablonka."  He paused and looked over at her mother.  "And I'm so sorry for your loss as well.  This isn't the sort of thing anyone should have to be dealing with during a grief period like you're experiencing.  I will keep you informed as my investigation continues."

Shirley felt a bit stunned as she sensed this was the end of their meeting.  "Don't you want to know why she wrote this note to me?" she asked, her tiny voice growing stronger with every word.  "Don't you care?"

The principal looked at the girl with some confusion.  "Of course I care," he said defensively.

Shirley turned to her mother.  "Chloe's father is on the school board," she said.  "He has a lot of money and so Chloe never gets in trouble, even though she bullies a lot of kids."  She turned to the principal. "Did you know that Chloe was a terrible bully, not just to me but to a lot of kids?"

The principal seemed lost for words.

"She's mean.  She writes mean notes to a lot of kids," Shirley went on. "She's written other mean notes to me, too, but I usually just throw them away.  The only reason we're here today is because my mom found the note and she said we had to come have this meeting.  But Chloe, she is mean a lot.  And I don't think she's going to get in trouble for this, even though saying my dad is dead because of me and not because of cancer is pretty mean and terrible.  She won't get in trouble because her dad will make sure she doesn't get in trouble."

Her mother turned to face the girl whose face was puckering once more as tears started falling again.  "Shirley, I'm sure Principal Morris will take this seriously," she said, smoothing the girl's hair.

"I don't even smell bad," Shirley said, her tiny fists now resting in her lap.  "I didn't make my father die because I smell bad."

"Of course not, sweetie," her mother said.

"I can assure you I will look into this," the principal said, his voice sounding more and more hollow.

"She's just a mean bully," Shirley said.  "That's all you'll find out when you look into this. But what will be different?  She'll still write mean notes.  Even if you decide to punish her this time, she'll still keep doing it because she's not nice.  She'll probably be smart enough not to write another note to me but she'll find other ways to be mean because she knows her dad can yell louder than a little girl like me.  He has power and I don't."

"I will speak with Ms. Jackson and her father, if need be," the principal said, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"When you do, will you tell them both that this school is supposed to be a safe space where all the kids and the teachers and everyone actually is safe?  Will you tell her and her father that the reason this school will never be safe has to do with people like them?" Shirley asked defiantly.

"Ms. Jablonka, I will investigate the matter," the principal repeated, his once calm face now looking tense.

Shirley stood up quickly, causing her chair to push back on the tile floor and make an awful screeching sound.  "Thank you," she said, spinning on her heels and walking out of the office. "Thank you for your time," she heard her mother say as she heard the principal say, "I will be in touch as my investigation continues" as he closed the office door after her exit.

Shirley's cheeks were flushed and her entire body trembled as her mother reached down and held her fingers wide for her to grasp.

"Want to go get some ice cream?" her mother offered as their hands interlocked.

Shirley felt her mother's love course through her as their palms pressed together.  "Yeah, OK," she said.

In the car, the girl looked out the window from her spot in the backseat as her mother drove.  Everything about the view was predictable and it calmed her down.  Later, when the girl and her mother would sit across from each other at Parish's Ice Cream, each with two large waffle cones full to the brim with multiple flavors of their choosing, she would find herself savoring this moment as one of the safest she'd ever feel, just a girl and her mother and a couple of ice cream cones existing in their own trust-bubble that could never be popped, no matter how mean the outside world could seem to be.  

First line by Nicole Hatcher

2023

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