Fresh out of college and desperate for meaningful work, a friend connected me to a job as a county-wide special ed. teachers’ aide substitute. One of my first weeks on the job, where I would usually report to a different classroom each day I worked, I was assigned to an adult daycare for an entire week. Most of the “students” were between 18 and 22; sweet, friendly, and extremely disabled. Among a dozen students there was Tony, always smiling from his wheelchair, always friendly but unable to speak; Jimmy, 22 years old, autistic, and after memorizing each answer in a Wheel of Fortune computer game, he’d play and solve each puzzle on the first guess; and Nick, 18 years old, indicatively skinny, curious, and talkative. When he learned that I could throw on an old prospector’s voice and say, “Dog…gonnit!” He’d ask me to, “Do dog gonnit, dog gonnit!” every half hour or so.
There were four computers along the first wall, a big wooden table where everyone would gather for organized activities, and a snow-haired teacher, months from retirement, as welcoming as any grandmother. Along with the soft-spoken teacher was a veteran teachers’ aide who had smoked enough meth in her life that, though she seemed sober, was stuck in the habit of speaking in hurried salvos of words, curled fingers and chewed nails guarding her mouth.
On Tuesday and Thursday, the reformed addict and I accompanied the students on Work Experience field trips where, with permission from the company, we’d hang around pizza places before they officially opened. The students would be given small tasks and it was our job to follow them around and goad them to return to their task each time they lost focus.
I had been assigned to work with Nick one morning and we shuffled around Straw Hat Pizza, filling parmesan shakers and wiping down tables with a wash cloth. Nick had short blonde hair on his oblong head and blonde whiskers on his chin. Nearly blind, his good eye would curl up into his head when he’d get his headphones and CD player out during free time at the center. Following him around Straw Hat, he’d lose focus every minute or two to remind me that he wanted to listen to music after lunch. I promised him until I could barely stomach the words.
There’s a foul smell to a pizza place at 11am. Ghosts of yeast, sweat, and pepperoni steamed into every bit of wood and cloth. When Nick was finished with the tasks that got him no closer to ever holding a job, we sat on the barren back patio at a rot iron party table. Unlike the empty shop, the fenced back smelled like eucalyptus and tall grass.
“‘Member, I want to listen to music when we get back.”
“I promise.” And searched desperately for something else to talk about.
Everybody loves TV so I asked, “Nick, what’s your favorite show?”
“Mmmm…” He thought and swiveled his good eye onto me. I can’t remember his answer but in the conversation, I asked,
“Have you ever seen Cops?”
He had and he claimed to like the show though he never elaborated on anything. After some thought, Nick asked, “Why do people go to jail?”
Incredible! When I started the job, I’d dreamed of having a teach-able moment like this, a chance to educate outside the classroom, but I never expected Nick to find such a meaningful question from a tangent. As excited as I was, I knew I had to temper my words and focus my answer because it was clear he wouldn’t have the attention for some huge explanation.
“You know,” I said, “how there are only a few computers in the classroom but everyone likes to use them?”
“Uh huh.”
“Sometimes, when people want something but there isn’t enough for everyone, they’ll hurt other people to get the thing that they want. And when they hurt other people, they go to jail.”
“Mm hmm.” He agreed and drew his good eye up the tall eucalyptus behind me.
The frustration and futility I felt in watching Nick struggle to remember to wipe a table, the same way he’d wiped the last eight tables, was hidden in the glow of this moment. Whether he’d remember my answer or not, Nick gave me the gift of a beautiful, honest question; a connection between us that I didn’t think was possible.
And not three minutes later he said, “After lunch, remember, I want to listen to music!”
