*𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 & 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆.

dossier.

musings.

    damp tissue is squeezed in hand,  fingers finding something to do now that they’re bare,  on their own again.  “  of course!  i can give you my…   email? “   rising intonation towards the end tells them both it’s an uncertainty.  has she just shown her age?   it isn’t even hers,  anyway.   ( we all know who’s it is. )   no matter.  distraction puts a nice end to the tears,  and as melanie neatly secures the documents in her bag,  an even better one arises.     “  oh,  completely,  “  is it the pregnancy glow or the post-crying one?  doesn’t matter;  she’s got it.   a smile now,  too,  as a palm returns to her stomach.  for a month it’s been public knowledge,  and for a month it’s been on the tip of her tongue at all times.   it’s a surprise she’s held it until this point.   “  fifteen weeks now.  the mood swings are just reminders she’s there.   that’s what my mum says,   at least.  “

“ sure thing. let me give you mine, actually. ”   lucia suggests, putting pen to a star shaped post-it note.  she wagers, given melanie’s poor frazzled nerves, that perhaps it’s better she does the writing.  and what’s next, the woman has to drive herself home?  no, lucia will keep her sat in the chair until she calms down.  melanie needn’t know the con.  the teacher delicately places the bright yellow note atop one of the pamphlets: email paired with phone number and name (in case the woman forgets).   “ whenever you need me. ”   lucia promises, intending to keep it.  fifteen weeks?  her gaze drops to melanie’s stomach.   “  oh! i had no idea! ”   her tone floods with an overwhelmingly earnest excitement.  lucia loves babies, if the context clues weren’t enough for you to figure it out.   “ congratulations, melanie. i couldn’t be happier for you. ”   in fact, she even feels a little guilty.   “ i’m so sorry to drag you out of the house so late! i hear the second trimester can be exhausting, you poor thing. ”   ‘i hear’ may more accurately be put to the tune of ‘i’ve done my research’.   lucia had looked into getting a sperm donor herself, once or twice.  but adoption (and all the paperwork she’s filled) was shaping up to be a much better fit.

                One day Miss Flores will have an interaction with Kai which doesn’t involve the latter being impossibly frazzled and on the verge of a single-parenting-induced breakdown – but not today, it seems.       It’s a sentiment he’d struggle to even articulate, let alone openly admit, but it all gets a bit much sometimes. His life often feels like someone running around in preparation for a storm, hurriedly boarding up windows and protecting finery. Raising three children, all hurtling in opposite directions, all wildly differing personalities and all needing different things from him… it’s a lot. Endless, unfathomable anxiety that there’s something he’s forgetting, that there must be. He’s a good father – most days that’s a question, rarely a certainty.   Would a good father be late to pick up their son ? Would a good father have to rely on the bottomless well of kindness from his teacher ?          ( Lucia is so kind to them, so kind it can bring Kai to tears if he thinks about it too much. )

        Arthur loves Lucia; that isn’t reflected in his behaviour, which is as poor as ever, but the adoration is evident in his wide eyes. Kai sees it when he rushes into Arthur’s classroom this afternoon, two hours later than he’s supposed to be, having been kept back by one of Cléo’s teachers who wanted to discuss her mature vocabulary ( aka she’d called her geography teacher a sanctimonious twat and told her English teacher to go fuck herself ). He’d dropped Cléo, very pleased with herself for all the trouble she’d caused, at home with Agnès and rushed to get to Arthur. It’s evident on his features – a sheen of sweat on skin, stray strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead, eyes red-rimmed from crying in the car. Those tears very nearly start up again at the sight of Arthur and Lucia sitting together, heart fraying at the edges.   

             “Hi. I’m – so sorry I’m late. So unbelievably sorry. How has he been ? Has he behaved himself ? ”        ( Wishful thinking on Kai’s part. Arthur is incapable of behaving. )

lucia wears the remanence of a long day beneath her eyes.  to say teaching was a labour of love would prove to be exceptionally, even painfully accurate.  but sitting across from the small boy:  marked with the mischief of a long day of his own, lucia was continuously being reminded that it was worth it.  she had had her fair share of students that others might’ve labeled ‘bad kids’.  lucia (first and foremost) didn’t believe bad kids existed, but even if she did, arthur certainly wouldn’t be one of them.  sure, he had more energy than he knew what to do with and a little less supervision than most, but neither made him a nightmare.  a... handful, perhaps, but not a nightmare.  lucia is more patient than most though, admittedly.  two more hours of patience than she was being compensated for, even.  there’s a reason miss flores’ yearly reviews are quite so glowingly positive. “ mr winterson! ”   there’s a reflexive sigh of relief to accompany his name, but her features quickly dissolve into concern.  oh goodness.  to put it kindly, he looked exhausted.  lucia rose from her desk, accompanying arthur to greet his father: bleary-eyed and worn.   “ please, i understand. ”   she quickly dismisses the apology, spurred by a desire to soften the dogged look in his eyes.  lucia knows kai’s home situation is... less than ideal.  her sympathy for him abounds, and especially so, considering how hard he works.  lucia had all the time in the world for parents who tried.   “ we had a ... creative day today, didn’t we, arthur? ”  she offers in explanation as to his behaviour, and indeed the paint splattered across his clothing.  lucia makes an attempt to preempt any further stress.   “ -- don’t worry, it’ll come out in the wash. promise. ”   she assures kai, of the new colourful additions.  and then, lucia strives for delicacy (lest she reveal too much in front of arthur).   “ ... how are you, kai? ”   what she really means, is: are you okay?

   touch like this is foreign;   it feels tender and of heart.   lucia wears a soft hand and mel likes the way it sits;  it’s on hers.  her starvation grows no words,  but it dictates a gaze that is just pressed,  entirely,  by the hold.   it simply is.  when eyes do straggle,  lucia’s part way through her words—  who are each just as supportive,  of course.   help?  well…   it’s a quick and easy thing to offer.  but to accept?  it isn’t the giver’s way to receive.  it’s not familiar.  focus deviates to the box of tissues,  placed in her direct path.  how did lucia know?  it’s too much to deny now,  those which wish to spill,  and mel’s never been good at holding back tears.  she can hold back the rest of it,  though-  the stuff that needs words.  that’s easy.           “  i’m so sorry, “   hurriedly,  the mother not yet of three tugs tissues like holding a personal vendetta.    dabbing her eyes,  like she didn’t do this just to hide her face.   “ you’re terribly kind and-–  it’s the hormones,  is what it is…   what i mean is— thank you,  lucia.“

“ you don’t need to apologise, melanie. ”   lucia insists, keeping a warm hold of her wrist.   “ this kind of information can be overwhelming to hear. ”   some of the words they had exchanged this evening had been big, scary.  lucia was just glad melanie had wanted to listen.  she gives the woman one final, gentle squeeze, before letting her go -- hands returning to sit clasped on the table between them.  “ of course, melanie. i appreciate you coming in tonight and hearing me out. ”   the tears tug to play a sad song on lucia’s heartstrings.   “ let me give you these, to take home with you. ”  she offers, reaching into her draw and pulling out the pamphlets.   “ and i’ll be happy to send you over my availability and hourly rates, where tutoring is concerned. if that’s something you’d like to go forward with. ”   lucia will leave that door open for melanie to walk through when she’s ready.  but upon reflection, something in there hadn’t quite made the sense lucia wished it would.   “ i’m sorry, the... hormones, did you say? ”

     matt?   oh god.  she’ll have to dress this wound again,  with matt?  as lucia speaks,  mel has a moment of head in hands,   a brief dig through strawberry blonde to their roots.  none more than a few seconds and she returns,  fingers holding up her chin,  eyes teary but none spilled.   she feels like the body dragged by 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆.  a pessimistic take.  but,  still,  there’s hope isn’t there?          “  his grades, too ?  “    oh boy.  she’ll have to detour to the chemist on the way home,  aid the migraine before it begins.   the teacher is filled with remedies,  though,  spoken in a casual confidence mel hasn’t exercised— with anything,  ever.   it means she’s attached with concentrated frown and full trust.         “  i would be …   you have no idea how grateful.   for the pamphlets,  too,  but i’m —-  i’m referring to the tutoring,  is this what you’re suggesting?  “  it clearly is,  but mel is nothing if not a double checking mechanism.   besides,  there’s barely a second to breathe in.       “ —- we must look terrible.  matt and i.  from the cancellations,  to the…  to this!   i had no idea things were so bad…   he teases his sister—  but i thought it was just a boy thing.  we’re good parents.  and we adore our children. “    subconscious hand holds her stomach.   susie is not yet born,  but must feel her love.  she must.   paranoia creeps. “ this doesn’t… i don’t know, go on his school record, does it? ” will that impact university? he’s ten, for christ sake!

she feels a sharp pang of sympathy as melanie’s head drops into her hands.  but make no mistake: this is the better outcome by far.  lucia is sat across from a mother who loved her son, that much is clear.  the concern she displays for his sake is shockingly earnest --- so much so that it coaxes an ounce of guilt of of lucia, for expecting any less.  then again, she certainly could not have predicted melanie.  “ tutoring, yes. ”   she repeats for clarity’s sake, when the woman reappears.  lucia repositions the tissue box on her desk, placing it gently within melanie’s reach.   “ and i’d be happy to do it. ”   she’ll charge a... small fee, naturally.  but those are details for another time.  lucia scoots further forward in her chair, amongst the heartfelt pleas.  when one of melanie’s hands drops below the table, lucia reaches naturally forward to take the other: her hand landing warmly on the woman’s wrist.    “ of course you’re a good mother, melanie. ”   lucia can speak to that, even from their brief interaction.  mother, not parents.  the omission is accidental.   “ no-one is in trouble here. not you, and certainly not josh. kids just... need a little help, sometimes. everyone does. in fact, it quite often happens to the best of us. ”   there had been plenty of instances where lucia had needed a helping hand.   she would offer hers, now, where she had never been given one herself.

   there’s the urge to burst out something inappropriate.  like an excuse.   like,  ma’am, are you aware joshua attends church every sunday without falter?  ( kicking and screaming,  omission wouldn’t tell. )   it’s resisted;  melanie opts to smooth the skirt of her dress instead,   fingers crossed in her lap.   in her silence,  shame brightens her cheeks and drops her gaze.   it can only be something melanie did wrong.  she’s his mother.  and yet,  you wouldn’t believe the skill she brings to holding her tongue when it’s on fire.  one hand cannot count the amount of times she’s lost her temper with him,  because it hasn’t been enough.   tonight mel can toss and turn,  ripping her hair out in the name of a cause,  a reason for this.       but right here and now,  behind a desk,  lucia offers a solution.   rather,  the promise of one.  mel’s gaze shoots back up to where it belongs,   leaning forward in posture that mirrors lucia’s.              “   yes,  of course.  of course !   what do i do? “

the spirit is willing.  this is a good enough start, for lucia.  relief relaxes her briefly concerned features:  making return to a smile.   “ well, there’s a few different places we can start. i can send you home with some reading that might explain things a little more thoroughly than i can tonight. ”   lucia knows this is information that needs time to sink in.  the pamphlets sitting in her desk draw will hopefully find themselves put to good use.  her fingers knot, chin rested delicately atop.  “ in the meantime ... i would encourage you to spend some time with your son. perhaps bring up with him some of the topics we’ve discussed this evening. ”   she then adds, with weighted importance:   “ these are issues your husband should be aware of, as well. ”   lucia had hoped to be able to tell him as much herself, but alas.   “ you may be recognising josh exhibiting these behaviours in the home, as well. ”   in the home is a topic lucia would like further insight on, but she warns herself not to push boundaries.  “ as far as his academic performance is concerned, i believe josh could benefit from tutoring. i’d like to see him catch up with his peers, with any luck, before winter break. ”   is it ambitious?  slightly.  but that’s lucia for you.   “ i can make my time available for extra lessons in the evenings, if that’s something you’d be interested in. ”

    it feels like a confrontation.  her body seizes up like it is;  some verbal attack on her son.  calling him josh when it should be joshua;  she isn’t his friend,  and it feels disrespectful when it just didn’t three minutes ago.  miss flores came prepared for the onslaught.  does she have a list?  something physical mel can crush in her hands and denounce with frozen smile?  because each thing is mentioned,  and for each it’s hard for mel to keep a grasp.  the mind does funny things under stress,   like choosing not to process the bad.  all it tells her,  once lucia has finished with a hell of an introduction,  is that this isn’t good.  this is not good.   that general feel,   and one accusation that stood out like a splinter,  festering.        “ did you just— … are you…  calling my son a bully? “    mel blinks.  the shock of it stuck,  still;  a broken clock whose hands point only to one moment.

“ if that’s the word you’d like to use, then... yes. i’m afraid i am. ”   lucia tends to shy away from more disparaging labels, but the term isn’t inaccurate.  she watches the distress flood melanie’s features, and takes the opportunity to let the woman sit with the idea for a moment before continuing.   “ josh is still young. this kind of behaviour isn’t out of the ordinary, but it is cause for concern. i know - as i’m sure you do - he’s not a bad kid. he’s just... having trouble. ”   she will extend that much, as far as reassurances go.   “ which is why i’m so glad you’re here, melanie. ”   lucia pivots immediately towards solution, in the hopes the woman’s confusion won’t turn to anger.  the sweetest of mothers may surprise you.   “ these are things we can work on. together, i hope. ”

   … charming?   were it written,  melanie would underline it right now.   in red.  maybe even circled,  too.  because charming isn’t the word to describe anything about this woman.  once,  perhaps.  today clumsy is better suited.   muddled.   “ well…  thank you!  whatever you’d like to call me is… just fine with me. “   now that melanie’s been said aloud for…  only god knows how long…  well,  she quite likes the sound of it.  but again.  there are important matters,  here.       “  oh,  he is,  isn’t he?  “  his creativity is something she’s noticed herself.  jasmine pleaded for bedtime stories too,  but nothing compared to the younger mills,  all stompy-feet and enormous-noise.  mel gave in so willingly of course,  fingers in tresses while the dribble wets his pillow,  snores sounding softly.   he asked less,  then none,  but mel has found scribbled stories shoved under his mattress.  yes,   she has looked— and does.   it’s just what mothers do.      it’s easy to admit him creative.  less-so the rest…     “   i —-   okay,   is he—–  what is the—–   ….  “   up ‘n down brows further demonstrate the turmoil,  here.   melanie takes a rounded breath.   “ what would you like to say? “     it might not be bad.  who says it has to be bad?

“ i don’t mean to alarm you, melanie. ”   she will begin with that, in response to the woman’s furrowed brow.  but lucia must tell her the truth, however worrisome it may be.  “ but i have noticed some behaviour in josh that concerns me. ”   the list is longer than either of them will like.   “ he has a lot of friends, which --- is good! of course. and he seems very interested in making them laugh. but ... it’s often at the expense of the other children. josh can be ... he can be quite mean, melanie. and that’s not the kind of behaviour that i accept in my classroom. ”   lucia’s elbows meet the desk, leaning in to the conversation.   “ outside of that, well --- he never has his homework done, of course. and i try to be lenient with that kind of thing, but it’s everyday, now. and in class, well he just can’t sit still --- even when he tries, which i think he does, sometimes. these may be symptoms of something, or a byproduct of his life at home. i can’t say for sure, and i’m certainly no doctor. ”   she draws breath, finally.   “ but ... i am someone who has been doing this job for a long time. and i’m pretty good at it, to tell you the truth. ”   lucia is wary such information may be received as an attack, which is a confrontation she’d like to avoid.  her voice drops, holding the woman in more quiet conversation.   “ melanie, as josh’s teacher ... these are things that worry me. and as his mother, i think they should worry you, too. ”

    lucia leads and melanie follows.  it isn’t with silence;  two women have plenty to say to one another,  none of it just noise.  the mother is quick to notice the teacher’s polite fashion;  they are a rare breed,   yet two of them share the same room and gaze.    “ that’s correct !  “  the round eyes of surprise, tall brows.   “ most guess melinda,  melissa…  even melrose,  would you believe?  “  despite the free-fallen laughter and the chair’s comfortable cushion,   the guest in this house sits straight.  mel reminds herself what she’s here for…   that it’s not nonsense about her name.       “ anyway,   my son,  joshua.  i’d love to hear what you have to say about him.  “   does she?  sudden is the urge to return to the small talk,   far away from the problems that exist in her boy.

“ well, melanie suits you. it’s very charming. ”   she compliments, in earnest.  call it a habit, and perhaps the reason lucia keeps so many friends.  good things deserved to be spoken into the world, she tells her students as well as herself.  she takes her regular seat across from the woman, happy to follow her lead into business.  lucia has a tendency to linger in places she shouldn’t.   “ of course. josh is one of my more ... creative students, i hope you’ll be happy to hear. ”   lucia will begin on the most positive note she can.  “ he’s very imaginative. and when he’s able to put those thoughts on the page, they’re fantastic. but ... ”   and there is a ‘but’, unfortunately.  lucia makes an opening attempt at delicacy.   “ there are ... a few reasons i was so eager to speak to you, melanie. ”

   a weight she didn’t know was there has left the shoulders;  this woman is kind,  it’s something mel just knows already.  detail of joshua’s hiccups will soften the blows of truth,   their words coated in honey.   “ and all the same to you,  lucia.  you can call me mel.    and i’m so sorry about all those darn reschedules.  “  the mention of her husband’s vacancy dampers nothing.  when the teacher peers over her shoulder,  mel does not.  there won’t be a sudden show,  because there never is.  there was a time the reality of it dropped smiles and eyes.  not anymore.   “ oh,  i’m afraid he couldn’t make it tonight—  a last minute work thing.  this isn’t going to be a problem, is it?  “  

“ well, mel, i’m glad you’re here now. ”   lucia can’t bring herself to chastise the woman for rescheduling -- her apology arriving in such earnestly wrapped sentiment.  and she arrives this evening alone.  how unfortunate.  “ oh! that’s a shame. no, no it’s alright. i understand. ”  lucia will not ring her hands over things that can’t be changed.  and besides, mrs mills seems like terribly agreeable company.  perhaps a mother might be easier to appeal to about her son’s behaviour, than a hypothetical father would be (as was often the case).  but there was plenty of time for that.   “ come on in. ”   lucia beckoned, holding the door open for her and welcoming her into the class.  the comfiest chair she could find was parked opposite her own desk at the front of the room, allowing them to sit face to face.  “ mel ... is that short for melanie? ”   she remarks, curiously.  ‘mel’ was a nice enough name, but it didn’t do the woman justice.  lucia would have picked something much prettier, herself.

    it’s not a great look,  walking this fast-paced,  this close to six o’one.  clicking heels are like ticking clocks,  a comparison which doesn’t help risen stress levels—-  but she made it.  she made it!  kids fed and watched,  washing’s on the line,  dinner’s still warm on the stove,  and melanie mills made it.   this time.    “  hi !  yes !  that’s me.  “   she’s all pink-cheeked,  unsteady breath,  but a smile so bright the rest isn’t worth noticing.  similar is said of miss flora;  the latter,  that is.  it takes her a moment longer to offer the customary shake of hand,  distracted.  do you blame her?   “ you must be miss flora.  oh shoot, i’m not late,  am i?  “  melanie checks her empty wrist.   ah,  yes.  her watch will be beside the bath,  where she left it.  hopefully not eaten by rust,  but certainly not here.

“ right on time. ”   lucia assures her, without needing to check.  honestly, she’s just relieved the woman has made an appearance at all.   “ thrilled to finally meet you. and please, call me lucia. ”   the ‘finally’ might have felt like a subtle dig, if anyone else had said it.   but from lucia’s lips, it only sounds sweet.  the meets the woman’s hand to shake it, holding her gaze with warm intent.   “ --- should we ... wait until your husband arrives, to begin? ”   she suggests, peering expectantly over melanie’s shoulder down the hall:  still waiting for her partner to make his entrance.   she always asked for both parents for these kind of things, if at all possible.  lucia found meeting her students’ parents endlessly insightful.  to look at his mother (for one example), she can see where joshua gets his brilliant smile.

whether the hours are billed or not, lucia spends most of her workdays staying late after class.  sometimes cleaning, others decorating ---  occasionally keeping watch over students whose parents hadn’t shown up on time to take them home.  small, comfortable tasks.  although admittedly, lucia did like to be out the door and on the road before dark.  but tonight had different plans for her.  she checks her phone:  no cancellation email, yet.  well!  that’s a better omen than the last two times the mills family had asked to reschedule.  it worries her, truth be told.  paired with josh’s erratic behaviour ...  lucia hopes she isn’t sensing a pattern.   she’ll do her best to stow her preconceptions, before meeting the pair.  speaking of! lucia hears the clicking of shoes bustling down the hallway.  either the janitor has gotten himself a new shiny pair of boots, or her company for the evening has arrived.  she checks her watch:  right on time, thankfully.  sweeping the hair off her face, lucia makes for the doorway, pushing the half-open door wide.   “ mr & mrs mills? ” she beckons, wandering into the hall.  but lucia spies one figure (obscured by dwindling evening light), not two.  perhaps she has the wrong woman. ​​