The Breakdowns .7 (Part I)

The hall is filled with the sound of voices. We’re waiting for Mrs McNeil to step on stage for the emergency assembly she’s called.

Some fool behind me is whisperin that I’m gunna get it. That he’s heard about me and knows what I’ve done. They’re coming for you, he says.

I keep starin straight ahead. If I turn my head I know he’ll want a fight. It’s all about not meetin their eyes and giving them a reason to go, What you lookin at?

The hall is shaped liked an octagon or hexagon and has thin strips of glass that run from the high ceilings down to the wooden floors. The skinny curtains are the colour of the mustard that goes on hot dogs. Tables are stacked behind us. To the front, there is a stage with a microphone stand an a row of brightly painted gallon oil drums that we use for our school’s steel pan band.  

What you blankin me for? says the voice behind me, sucking spit through his teeth.

I’m relieved to see Mrs McNeil appear as it means the idiot will have to pipe down.  

Mrs McNeil crosses to the centre of the stage, wearing her long denim dress and the necklace with the fat white pearls which everyone makes jokes about. It goes quieter when she walks to the microphone. She taps the mic, making sure it’s on, and then she gives us a stare, not saying a word, and even the oldest kids go quiet cos her face is floatin with murders.

She waits until there is silence and says, It makes me sad that I had to call this assembly today.

Long pause.

There is so much that I am proud of in this school and the things we have achieved – it’s reflected in how we are seeking to improve our standards, which both myself and the teachers of this school are confident we will do. I am proud of our diversity, how we embrace the rich cultural mix within our classrooms, and the brilliance of the pupils who have gone on to study at college, university or have gained apprenticeships to have successful careers. I know there are many of you here today who work hard, who are committed, who understand that education gives you a better chance to choose your future, and that you have the drive, determination and self-belief to be successful in achieving your goals. However, there is a small number among us who have a different attitude, an alternative agenda, and it’s those people who are responsible for holding us back, forcing the teaching staff to make decisions we do not want to take. We all know the challenges of being a state school…

There’s this sigh that rushes through us. From her tone of voice, we can hear what’s coming. It’s like,  ever so briefly, we’re one single creature, with the same thought flashing through our brain, DON’T FUCKEN SAY IT.

… in this deprived inner city area, which is full of the most wonderful history, where the actor Charlie Chaplin grew up, where the poet William Blake lived and also, not far from here, the painter Vincent Van Gogh stayed for a period, where we at Katherine Bails, which is the closest state school to the Houses of Parliament…

She’s gone and said it again.

The creature starts laughing.

… continue to defy the odds of poverty and funding cuts…

Bullshit, a boy coughs into his hands, causing more laughter.   

One of the teachers, on guard duty to the side of the rows of chairs, curls a finger for the boy to stand up.

Out, yells the teacher.

The boy gets up, loose and baggy limbed, like he’s made of rags, lettin everyone know he’s not bothered, and the teacher tries to march him out of the hall.

McNeil death-stares us until you can hear a pin drop. She says, I have called this assembly because I do not accept violence or the threat of it as part of daily life in this school. We will not tolerate discrimination and abuse of any kind, verbal or physical, and we will not have a repeat of what happened in the past week. I have expelled one pupil for a vile racist remark to a teacher. Another pupil was hospitalised after being assaulted and I have learnt that classmates filmed the attack. This is disgraceful behaviour, simply not acceptable, and there will be consequences for anyone directly or indirectly involved. We have a policy of zero tolerance for abusive language and violent behaviour in this school. Each one of you is also fully aware of our gate to gate policy on phones – if we see the use of phones, even during breaktimes, you will face immediate suspension or worse.

And, if any of you see someone breaking these rules and do not report them, you will now also be liable to punitive action.

Groans.

She pauses, watchin us.

This school only wants pupils who respect each other and are here to learn and with that comes a collective sense of duty and responsibility which, at present, I believe is lacking. Am I understood?

Murmurs.

Loudly, she says, Do you understand me?

Yes, Mrs McNeil.

She’s not finished. I feel the mood shift. It’s gettin nasty cos we can’t believe she’s trying to make us grass each other up.

There's tutting, teeth kissin and swearin.

It also seems that there continues to be fighting at the three bus stops on Banningstone Avenue after school. A pupil was nearly run over by a taxi cab last Thursday due to scuffles in the road….

There’s sniggering at the word, Scuffles.

McNeil carries on, The police are extremely concerned about these incidents at the bus stops…

A voice shouts, Brendon Clarke got beatings.

Laughter.

Someone shouts back a mum cuss and there’s a giant, Ooooo, noise, like a bad tackle at a football match.

A scuffle breaks out.

Chairs are knocked over.

McNeil yells into the mic.

The rumour is she’s religious.

Praying on Sundays.

Bashin her Bible.

I wonder how she ended up here.  

Teachers break up the two boys.

She should be in church, singin Kumbaya.

I sit on my chair, wonderin how many times I’ve heard teachers tell us to follow the rules, promisin us some random fucken reward if we do so.

Like, when I look at my brother locked up and I see how mum is, I can tell there ain’t no prize for us whatever we do. It don’t matter whether we do or don’t follow the rules. Most of the teachers, they’re figurin it out too, cos being in this school ain’t the reward they were expecting. They don’t wanna be here neither. It’s why they’re always off sick, leavin or having breakdowns.

The more McNeil tell us about rules, the more we start trouble and fuck shit up.

She’s shoutin into the mic. Threatening detentions, suspensions, expulsions.

Give up, lady.

None of us care what you have to say.

It’s all been said before.  

 

***

The English teacher, Miss Robinson, asks me to stay behind.

We wait for the class to leave.

Close the door, she says to the last pupil walking out. They leave it ajar and Miss Robinson sighs, going across to shut it.

Am I in trouble, Miss? I say.

She comes over, smelling of coffee. She’s nicknamed Hamster cos she has light, fuzzy hairs on her chin an top lip.

No, she says, why’d you think that?

I don’t answer.

I liked your contributions earlier in class for Whole of a Morning Sky, she says. You were very thoughtful. You have a real feel for the characters and what they’re going through as they move from the country to the city.

I can hear girls singing outside the portacabin.  

You should read Grace Nichols’ poetry. I can give you some to read if you like.

I don’t know why she’s like this with me. I kind of wish I was in trouble. At least I’d know where I stand. It’s the do-gooders that freak me out.

Have you spoken to your mother?

Yeah.

Will she come in for a chat?

She says she wants to but she’s not well.

Again?

Yeah, yeah.

Mr Leonard told me you’ve been unwell too, which is why you’ve not been attending classes.

Nah nah.

She looks at me and says, You’re very pale. 

I’m fine.

She goes to her desk and pulls out a chocolate bar. I bought an extra one by mistake, do you want it?

I can taste the spit in my mouth from not eatin. My gums are sore. She hands it to me and I peel the wrapper and start bitin into the hard chocolate.

Jason, she says, I don’t want to cause problems for you, but I am worried.

About what?

Your welfare.

I keep quiet.

The school will call the services in soon, do you understand?

I eat the chocolate.

Here, she says, writing on a piece of paper, please tell your mother to call me.

I look at Miss Robinson’s number and see her first name, Justine.

If need be, I can meet your mother for a coffee or go for a walk, unofficially, so you’ll have to keep this between us. Do you understand?

Mum don’t drink coffee.

Tea, then. Water. It’s talking to her that matters.

The singing outside fades. One of the girls has a magic voice.  

We don’t have much time, Jason. A few teachers have flagged their concerns about you. Things are in motion. Will you speak to her?

I swallow the last segment of chocolate.

Miss Robinson touches my shoulder, Will you?

I run my tongue along my teeth to wipe off the gooeyness. I put the paper she handed to me in my pocket, noddin.

Her face is an advert of kindness. She’s looking down at me, her eyes sad an her lips sorta curled in a smile. It’s like she thinks I’m a fucken kitten.

I shove my notebook, pen and Whole of a Morning Sky in my rucksack.

Tell your mum I can meet her whenever suits her, she says. Before or after school, obviously.

She keeps her Samaritans smile.

I throw my rucksack over my shoulder. Thanks, Miss.

I walk down the steps of the portacabin. I’m nearly drownin in the waves of her do-goodin fakery.

The next lesson has started. I’m already late so I figure, whatever, and I head to a school building that’s boarded up and under a tape that says, No Trespassing, and walk round the back. I sit on the ground and lean against a wall. I see someone has written in chalk on the bricks, Molly Hates Racists n Rapists.

I look at the slip of paper and the name, Justine. I wonder what her life is like outside of school. The rumour is she’s a lesbo, but I think that’s cos of the hairs on her lip and chin. She tries to hide that she talks posh. She’s one of those teachers that acts like she’s anti people-in-charge and is one of us, going on long rants about how she hates the Government and what politicians have done to what she calls, The Education System and Society.

Cept I bet she has a nice house with a garden. I’ve seen her car in the teachers’ car park and it’s shiny and new and she was playin classical music.

I open my pack of cigarettes. I’m nearly down to smokin the one fag I turn upside down for good luck.

I start creasing up about what Justine said – meetin mum before school starts.

Like mum would ever wake up that early.

The problem with do-gooders is they haven’t got a clue.

I look at the estate across the road.

I don’t want people interferin. Sticking their noses into my business.

It’s mad, but I start to cry.

My eyes are clouds full of rain, chuckin it down. I put my head between my knees. There’s a Tower Block sadness in me, deep in the pipes, right through to the plumbin, the bones and organs, bricks and mortar, blood and tissue, and more tears are falling and I can’t… I mustn’t… I don’t know how to blow the clouds away and the water is floodin out of me, enough to drown the portacabins, the assembly hall, PE Block, and the whole school in this fucken embarrassin rainy-flood-tsunami that keeps gushing…

I squeeze my knees into both sides of my head, into the temples, trying, trying, tryin to block out the noise of my heavin chest.

Lips bubble with spit.

Coughing. Spluttering. Snotting.

A Tower Block grows inside of me. Takin me over. I feel what it feels.   

We don’t stop blubbing.

 

***

Part II https://www.abctales.com/story/mark-burrow/breakdowns-7-part-ii