March Meadow had bells, like any other school. They ran a neat and sharp nine times a day, like any other school. The difference is that, at last bell, March Meadow did not empty out. Instead, the last bell was trigger to begin and 30 to 45 minute coordinated dismissal where every child was sent to the right person and/or pathway.
The rumor was that at some point a March Meadow student left at 3pm and was then found at 6:15pm murdered. The rumor varied from year to year and even morphed across the brief time a student spent there. Students began in the 6th grade saying it was when March Meadow was an elementary school and it was a kindergartener named Betty (or Johnny) who was taken by a hobo. By 8th grade it became that someone's angry cousin stole the child and sexually assaulted the child before dumping their body behind the RTA stop on 44th with the missing glass panels. Sometimes there was a dog in the story and how the kidnapper took the student behind the "scary house" and kicked the dog trapped in the backyard out and there murdered the child and drank their blood. In that version, the dog came across as just much a victim. It was exiled from its comfortable prison with the rainwater feed bowl and kiddie pool of kibble to wander the streets. None of this was helped when Christian Rorevy, then a 7th grader, but now someone in first year of law school at Cleveland State, tied a red helium balloon by the sewer grate on the road across from the gym door. He had smuggled the thing under his coat and then insisted he keep it on through all of homeroom. When they broke for first period, his class had gym, and he snuck out and tied it off then screaming "PENNYWISE!" while beating the gym door from the outside. It was the only time Alexis ever used the camera system herself insisting she find the culprit and how it happened. 'I am going to Columbo this until I nail both Christian and whoever let him sneak out!" she screamed when she realized she needed to updated her computer before viewing the footage. Zoey was there, in the office, making copies and was looped into to explain how to "clear a fucking browser cache!"
But, there were no murders. Just changing sensibilities and the fear of litigation. If you left March Meadow you either did pedestrian door with Mr. Joshua and Ms. Amanda (Mr. Joshua insisted on calling it pedestrian door to the point he corrected anyone that called it the "walker door." He snarled that walkers sounded like zombies) where they knew each parent who came and gingerly hustled kids into the right hands. Or you left on the bus going through the shared exit and service doors where they kept all the salt to line up into the "Southie" or "Upper" bus. Here, the bus drivers made sure everyone got on right one, each of them having a fresh print out of attendance for the day. Or, you left with you parents via the pick up line. The pickup line pulled up to March Meadow's front door where teachers ran kinds in sets of three through the broken slats in a wrought iron fence and then directed the cars back onto traffic. "Its like an aircraft carrier," said the receptionist, whenever a parent came a bit too late to get their kid early and ended up needing to wait in office or in their parking spot while the flight deck cleared.
Even during the snow, this whole process did not change.
Carlos opened the door onto the pick up line and it was urban tundra. The air hurt your face and the surface had a mottled black and white pattern where the wind exposed pavement but then quickly blanketed it back with snow. There were cars, but instead of in a line up of a fifteen or so, it was jagged pattern of five. Attendance had been horrible that day and Carlos let in four sets of parents in the 20 minutes he spent before 3pm, volunteering to help shovel the pathway for car line.
"Oh, I would help you, brother," said John Johnson, the custodian as he snuck past Carlos to get into the sidedoor in the welcome lobby that ran to the basement. "But, I want to save my back. I had this hernia, when I was in the Navy, years ago, but it still hurts. And, I think I am going to be here all night." Carlos politely waved him off "No problem. No worries." John worked hard at what he felt he should work hard on and key to getting any help was to leverage that. It was harder for Carlos as he floated between classes as building sub and general unofficial building "go-fer" so there was no space he could say was his. And, John also was a sucker for teachers young and pretty. "Only reason he hasn't quit to work for his brother at the glass panel factory is that I let people wear yoga pants," is what Alexis often chided when people came to complain he had not done something somewhere sometime.
Carlos also appreciated that part of dress code policy. However, today, everyone looked like they were about to storm Echo Base on Hoth. The storm had been a disaster already announced in the news for a full day. Carlos covered for Mrs. Bacderd's homeroom that day ("It takes me 40 minutes to get to work on a good day and today it would take like 2 hours to get back if I can. I'm sorry. We should close anyway. Sorry!" said the text she sent announcing her absence) and the kids showed up in the stark dichotomy of winter. Some kids bundled up top to bottom and other coming in just hoodies and sneakers. Sometimes it was a choice and sometimes it was an obligation.
The path he shoveled already started to fade under the snow. He could run down the hall and take two turns to get to the bus door and some salt but he already had students lined up behind him
"You look like an Eskimo, Mr. Carlos," said Jerriah Thomas, a sixth grader he had covered earlier in the day.
He did have two hoodies on, nested into one another, and then an orange windbreaker liner from an old Columbia jacket to which he had lost the inner fleece. Under his jeans he had a pair of red plaid pajama fasts and he felt immediately self conscious that somehow they had peeked out. Either during class or right now. He looked at his leg and it seemed normal and then at Jerriah. "The situation demands it." He gestured at the increasing white and grey outside. "I also think it is better to say Inuit instead of Eskimo."
"Why?"
"Its what they actually call themselves. Eskimo is something people made up. When people from outside those parts of the world, Canada and Alaska and Siberia, came and saw people living there. Oh, Greenland too"
Jerriah steeped to the side on her left foot to peer down the ersatz car line and could see her aunt's car second in line. "So, its something white people made up?"
"Maybe not so blunt but, yes, people from outside. Colonizers, is what I would say. All kinds of people say Eskimo and now we just need to change it." Carlos also confirmed her car and picked up the beaten wooden door wedge made smooth by years of use. "I think we can sneak out. I see your ride."
They side shuffled the few feet to her ride in a rhythmless walk to her car. Carlos hovered a hand over he shoulder to catch her if she slipped "This is how the Inuit must walk," she said once her hand was on the car door and she slide into its overheated cabin.
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