Fishbowl

By: David H
(© 2011 by the author)
Editor: Ken King

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

 Chapter 2

Just a few days after his interview, Elias was happy to be going to work.  It wasn’t going to be paying much, but it was better than what he’d made in the job he’d worked at all through college─and up until just a few weeks before, actually. 

Within a week, his office was set up on the Administration Building’s second floor, where all but three of the other counselors maintained their own offices.  It was a room he’d been in so many times before as he had worked through his own problems.  The desk that was in there was the same one that had belonged to Mr. Herald, his former art therapist.  The small table had on many occasions been where he’d sat quietly reflecting on the life he’d experienced before his arrival at the Baur Center.  Now, though, all these things were his, and it was from there that he would work with students one on one.

In the School Building, a large classroom had been set up for him with long rectangular tables fashioned into a square in the middle of the room. Around the edge against the white walls were twelve painting stations that the kids would be using as both a part of art class and group art therapy.  With a modest budget and a very generous donation, Elias had filled the supply closet with stark white paper in varying sizes, crayons, colored pencils, kid-safe scissors, glue, construction paper, and just about everything else he could find at Cossart Art Supply Store in Hoover, one of Birmingham’s southern suburbs. It was at that very store he’d worked from his sophomore year of college all the way through graduate school.

The center bought him a new computer for official use: a MacBook Pro, pre-loaded with the school’s administration software and gobs of other electronic goodies that he could put to good use with his work.  A shiny new iMac with a 24-inch screen was placed in his office for use by the students, if therapy led them in that direction, as it had done several people when he was there.

That weekend, Jenny’s parents threw him a small party at their house in Trussville to celebrate his newfound employment.  Jenny, her parents, her brothers, Ashton and Steven, their partners, both of whom were named Shaun, and her sister, Kate, all pooled together to buy him a $500 gift card that he could use at the Galleria on new clothes and such that he could wear to work.  In the years that he’d known Jenny, they’d virtually adopted him into their family.  He was expected to be at family functions, just as Jenny was.  When he got a bad grade or something in college, Jenny’s mom yelled at him while her dad lectured him about the future.

As the next week started, so did his transition from “Elias” to “Mr. Thompson.”  One of Dr. Owens’ rules for counselors was that they never permit the kids to call them by their first name.  A couple, over the years, had bent that rule by allowing kids to refer to them as “Mr.” or “Ms.,” followed by their first name.  Elias’ name badge, in fact, read “Mr. Thompson,” so that the students would know what he was to be called.

Pulling up to the gate of the school at 6:45, the guard smiled as he handed Elias his permanent hangtag and then opened the gates for him.  As he arrived at the Administration Building, he pulled into an assigned parking space, climbed out of his car, and quickly grabbed a box from the trunk of his car that had a few last minute decorations for his office, things that were important to him and might also end up helping a couple of kids along the way.

Walking up to the main entrance, he entered a code into a panel on the door while carefully balancing the box, hoping that he wouldn’t drop it as he struggled to open the entry.  Walking through the lobby, Elias took the elevator to the second floor of the building, which he promised himself he would never do again; it was only because of that box that he did it that morning.  Walking into his office, he set the box on his desk before walking outside the office to see what had been placed in the cubby just outside his door.  It was the itinerary for the Monday morning meeting that Dr. Owens had warned him about at the end of the previous week.  Since he had a few minutes before the conference, he walked into his office and opened up the box.

The first thing Elias took from the box was a framed picture of Jenny and him at Halloween a few years before.  There were framed replicas of his diplomas which reminded him of all his hard work and, hopefully, they would inspire some kids that might come through there.  There were a few knickknacks that would sit on his desk, but the very last thing he took from the box was a photo album.  He smiled as he thumbed through the pages and looked at his own art work, from the very first drawing of “Super E” to a program from the gallery show he’d done as part of his Senior project as an undergraduate.

With a proud smile, one that he’d learned how to wear well while a student at the Baur Center, he placed the book on the shelf before grabbing a pen from his desk and the piece of paper and heading to the School Building for a meeting that happened every Monday morning before the students started their day.  Walking into what had always been Dr. Owens’ Literature classroom, he found that he was the second person to arrive. 

“Hi,” he said to the lady with cropped, dark brown hair and porcelain skin.

“Hello.  You must be the Art Therapist,” she said as she stood to introduce herself.  “I’m Lisa Atkinson, the Girls’ Dorm Coordinator.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he said.  “Elias Thompson.”

“Likewise, Elias,” she smiled as she invited him to sit with her toward the back of the classroom.

“This place hasn’t changed much,” Elias commented as he looked around the room at pictures of famous poets and writers surrounded by students’ original work.  On the shelf were books in which Dr. Owens had kept at least one poem from every single student that had passed through there in her 20-plus years at the facility.

“You’ve been here before?” Lisa asked.

“I was actually a student here once,” Elias smiled.

“Really?” she countered, a smile coming across her face.  “You don’t know how much you’ve just made my job better.  To know that at least one of the kids coming through here has made something good of himself is a wonderful thing!”

“Thank you,” he said as a few teachers and a couple of counselors came into the classroom.  He turned to see Mr. and Ms. Leon, the Spanish and Math teachers, respectively.  There was Ms. Peggy, his first counselor at the school, one of those who bent Dr. Owens’ rules about how the students were to address them.  She walked over and hugged Elias tightly.

“My single most difficult student ever!” she kidded as a single errant tear slid down her cheek.

“Yeah… I was an ass when I first got here!” Elias joked as she hugged him again.

“It’s good to have you,” Ms. Ranaldi, the PE and Sports Therapy instructor said as she came over to shake his hand.

“Just don’t start any food fights!” Ms. Miller, the Cafeteria director said, smiling as she took a seat close to the front of the classroom. 

“Hey,” he said, smiling back, “Was I not the one who coordinated the clean up after Dr. Owens threatened us all with punishment points?”

“Right,” Ms. Miller said as people began taking their seats. 

Five minutes after the meeting was supposed to start, Dr. Owens walked in with a genuinely sweet smile across her face.  “It’s a new week, ladies and gentlemen, and to start it off, I would like to share something that I found in my cubby when I got to work this morning.  It’s a poem from Alonzo Martinez entitled ‘Thanks.’”  She unfolded the piece of paper and looked around.  “Thanks / For a home / For a family / For friends / For good food / For games / For class / For everything / Thank You.”  She pulled the piece of paper away and adjusted her glasses.  “As all of you know, Alonzo is getting ready to ‘graduate’ from our school.  He’s been here for two years, and in that time, he’s probably worked on all of our cars at some point or another.  He told me last week that he’s been communicating by email with a car dealership in Nashville about the possibility of his moving up there to work in their service department.  On Thursday, he told me that they’ve extended him a definite offer of employment.  The service manager, noting his situation, has an apartment in his basement that he’s going to rent to Alonzo until he gets situated and can save up enough money for his own place.  So if y’all don’t mind, when you see him, congratulate him.  I’m also going today to Barnes and Noble to pick up his ‘Graduation Gift.’”  It was corny, but she, on behalf of the school itself, bought every single graduating student a copy of “The Places You Will Go” by Dr. Seuss. 

“And,” Dr. Owens continued, “I would like to share yet another success story with all of you.”  She turned to look directly at Elias.  “Officially joining us today is Mr. Elias Thompson as an Art Therapist.  He holds undergraduate degrees in Art and Psychology from the University of Montevallo, as well as a graduate degree in Counseling.  His Master’s thesis was a comparison of various forms of art therapy for children and adolescents and an empirical comparison of their success rates in helping children deal with problems.  Those of us who have been here for a while know him in another capacity, but for those who don’t know him yet, Elias, from 1996 to 2000, was a student at the Baur Center.  So...” she concluded, walking from the front of the class to where Elias was sitting, prompting him to stand, “this is truly our success story of the week!”

Clearly embarrassed by the attention he was receiving, he blushed before Dr. Owens continued with the other business at hand.  By 8:30, as breakfast was ending for the students, the teachers and counselors left to go about their days.  Since the school was giving him the rest of the month to go through files and student histories before he actually started seeing students, Elias returned to his office and started reading.

If he thought his situation had been bad, he read some stories of kids that made him cringe.  One student had stabbed her father rather than allowing him to continue raping her; another boy’s mother forced him to steal to feed her addiction.  He was malnourished and had scars from where he’d been beaten by her, as well as a succession of ‘uncles.’  Academically, neither of them could read, but both of them had excelled in drawing.

As it approached midday, Lisa came to his office and invited him to lunch.  Together the two of them walked to the School Building and got through the line before the “noon rush” when most of the kids were brought in for their midday meal.

“So, I have a question,” Lisa began as the two took a seat one of the square tables in the long room.

“Shoot…” Elias smiled as he also sat and took a moment to open his small carton of milk.

“And feel free to tell me that it’s none of my business…” she prefaced, “but is it weird to be back here?”

“No,” Elias answered quickly.  “When I first came here, I couldn’t wait to be gone from this place.  Of course, at the time, I wasn’t thinking clearly.  Over time, though, this became home to me like it has, I’m sure, for a lot of the kids here.  So, in a sense, it’s more like coming home.”

“Awesome,” she expressed with genuine relief. They were soon joined by a couple of other people that Elias didn’t know, two teachers that had joined the school since his departure in 2000.  Like Lisa, they both wanted to know what it felt like to be back at a place which must have so many memories for their new colleague.

It was as they talked that Elias noticed some of the students there were walking into the lunch room.  There was a white kid, no older than he’d been when he got there, with scars that he knew without a doubt were from the drugs that he’d also used.  A little black girl also had scars on her face from where she’d been cut by someone at some point.  One of the older kids at the school was walking with him, watching out for them as Caleb had done for Elias.  In them, he could see their superhero personas.  Maybe that would have sounded weird had he said it out loud, but he could see the young girl as having super strength and the little boy as being able to run like the wind. 

When Elias returned to his office after lunch, he sat down at the desk.  Before he could sit and start reading, though, he pulled out his laptop and sent a quick email to Dr. Owens, asking if she knew how to get in touch with Caleb, as the two had lost contact years before.  Before he could get started again with the third folder, she’d responded with an email address and a phone number.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed the Atlanta number she’d typed in her reply.  With a deep breath, he reached with his thumb and pressed the green call button.  Slowly, he moved the device to his ear and listened as the first ring passed, and then the second. 

“Hey guys and gals!  This is Caleb Rosario.  I can’t take your call right now, but if you’ll leave a message after the tone, I will get back to you as soon as possible,” he said in English before recording what Elias assumed was the same thing in Spanish.  He sounded the same as he always had, confident and jovial.

“Hey,” he started after the tone.  “So this is going to be a blast from the past, but this is Elias Thompson.  I just wanted to call and talk to you for a second.  Um… Give me a call on 205.555.1982 when you get the chance.”

He sat and dutifully continued reading through folders until the sun was beginning to set over the western horizon.  A couple of times over the course of the day, he stopped just to collect himself.

“You ready to quit yet?” Dr. Owens said as she stood in his office doorway.

“You think it’s gonna be that easy to get rid of me!?” Elias smiled.

“Well...  honestly...  No,” she smiled.  “However, being that you are the first student to come back to work for us, I wanted to check on you.  Just to make sure you were OK and everything.”  She stepped in, holding her briefcase with both hands in front of her.

“I am fine,” he said truthfully.

“But?”

“I have been reading these files all day,” he told her, “and I find myself wanting to reach out and just hug these kids, to just tell them that everything will be OK.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Of course,” Elias said.

“This job isn’t just about being a counselor, but also about being a teacher, a mentor, and, to some, an inspiration.  In each of those things, we’re supposed to be able to keep our objectivity, to be able to separate ourselves from them.  The truth be told, I have been here for 22 years, and I have seen countless thousands of students come through this facility.  Some stay a few weeks, some stay years.  Every single one of those kids, though, is an angel.  It just takes people like us to remind them that, whatever they’ve been through in life, they are safe here.  We will not judge them; we will only help them to realize what living actually is.  Some kids, like yourself, go on to do things to help others.  Some kids discover their passion for other things, leave us, and really excel in the world outside.  Some kids, as much as I don’t want to admit it, end up back on the streets, going back to their old lives.  Our job, therefore, isn’t to separate ourselves from the children, but rather to be cheerleaders, to give them the structure that they need, in an environment that will help them reach their true potential.  Does that help?”

“It does, actually,” Elias told her.

“OK.  So lesson two─separating work from outside,” she smiled.  “Put everything away and go home.  Watch some TV, have some dinner, and think about something other than this place!”

“Is that possible?” he smiled.

“Not really, but my woman definitely helps!” she smiled as Elias began putting things away.

Together, the two of them walked down the stairs to the lobby and then out of the building.  As Elias started up the car and waved at Dr. Owens as she pulled away, his cell phone began to ring.  Quickly he pulled it out and realized that it was the same Atlanta number he’d called earlier.  With a smile, he pressed the green button and pulled it to his ear.

It was good to hear Caleb’s voice, the way he laughed, the way that his words flowed between English and Spanish.  He was living; there was no doubt about it.  For his entire drive home, the two talked.  They caught up; they praised each others’ accomplishments.  Caleb was happy to hear about his Elias’s job; Elias enjoyed listening to Caleb go on about his very first fashion show after spending years designing for other people.  As he stopped to pick up dinner on his way home, the two continued to talk.  Caleb and his partner, Luis, were getting ready to go to Canada to tie the knot; Elias still hadn’t met anyone, he explained, but it wasn’t like he was really looking for it to happen, either.  As Elias approached home, their conversation slowly began to wind down as well.  Each promised the other that they would keep in better touch, a promise that they both made with the best of intentions behind it.

After talking to Jenny for a bit and enjoying his dinner, Elias went to bed.  He vividly dreamed, as always, but tonight the dreams weren't bad.  In fact, his dream placed him in some familiar place that seemed to be a cross between the University of Montevallo and the Baur School.  Elias was happy as he awakened the next morning ready to back to the grind once again.

To be continued...

Posted: 09/16/11