The Insatiable Desire

I stared at the face before me. How had I let this go on for so long without understanding the truth? In all my fourteen years of teaching, never before had I witnessed such a shocking transformation.

"Mr. Deusen."

I could hear my other students calling me, yes. But I was so focused on my newfound realization. As children do, however, they did manage to shake me out of my reverie. I had thought at first that the trembling of my arm was a result of my anxiety of the knowledge still to come. I placed my sane hand atop the shaking one, only to discover some foreign object had rested itself against my own. I looked down, letting my eyes wander easily from the fingers wrapped around my arm up the child's beaming, worried eyes. Our eyes met, and I immediately felt disappointed in myself. My service was supposed to be towards my students, not consume myself with egotistic flames.

"Mr. Deusen. Are you okay, sir?"

My eyes darted around the room, finally coming to rest on the pansy sitting on the windowsill across the room. I remember when, about two weeks prior, we all had welcomed it into our classroom after Jack brought it in for show and tell.

"Roosevelt," I said to the boy standing beside me. "Our pansy seems thirsty. Would you please bring it this water?" I handed him a paper cup.

Roosevelt nodded excitedly as he hurried across the room to help the flower. Dodging the zigzagging rows of desks and his joking classmates, he was extremely careful to not spill a single drop of that water. I smiled at his enthusiasm. At the beginning of the year, Roosevelt had been my shyest student. Now, I had some difficulty in fulfilling his ever-growing thirst for knowledge.

"Here you go, Mr. Deusen." Roosevelt handed the cup back to me. "The pansy's satiated now."

I chuckled inwardly. It seemed that every week Roosevelt tried to use as many vocabulary words in his daily speech as possible. I admired his persistence greatly. That reminded me...

"Class, did everyone complete their vocabulary assignment for today?"

A roar of joy erupted immediately.

"Would anyone care to share with the class what you wrote?"

Again my question was met with utter enthusiasm.

"Lucille, want to start us off?"

A small girl with tiny blond ringlets rose on the right side of the room. She began reading her composition: "Mickey is a little boy. Yesterday, when his older sister asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he was befuddled. All day long he contemplated his choices. Then, he decided he wanted to teach for his occupation. Mickey asked his..."

Her voice seemed to trail off. I closed my eyes. I had not realized how heavy they felt today, like uncut logs were being pushed against my lids. Why could I not focus? I did not understand. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, that I could recall. It was so strange. I just...

Ouch. The sudden thud forces my eyes open. Inches from my face is my desk. I do not remember sitting down here, yet here I am. Maybe I just need some water. I raise my head slightly and see the crowd of students who had banded around me. They appear worried; I don't blame them. I just want to know what's happening to me.

"Mr. Deusen, can we help you?"

"Somehow."

"Anyhow."

"Please, Mr. Deusen, let us do something for you."

My students are so supportive; we truly are like a family here. Whenever somebody misses a question, no less than two of his classmates are there by his side, willing to help him. I did not, however, expect them to come to my own rescue.

"I'm sorry for frightening you, class. I guess I'm not feeling well today. Sheila, would you please run down to Mrs. Bogart's room and ask her to take the class out for recess?"

"Yes, sir."

As she sprints out the room I gaze at the clock. There are three hours left of the school day. A twenty minute nap while the students are outside should suffice until then. Slowly they begin to trickle out. Sheila must have returned without my knowing. I lay my head down gently, basking in the silence of the room.

A buzzing sound soon awakes me, however. But no matter; I have regained my composure already. Where is that noise coming from though? I must know. I stand cautiously and begin to amble about the room. As I pass the crowd of desks, I picture my students sitting there, working so diligently on their assignments for the day. I stop for a moment and look towards the door. From what I can see, the hallway appears empty. This knowledge gives me that necessary bit of confidence that I need, and so I anxiously sit down at the one nearest to me.

It has been quite some time since I have sat in one. The room seems so different from this perspective. Along the ceiling hang the leaves that the students had decorated during yesterday's art lesson. Autumn will soon be departing, and the students had begged me to let them capture the beauty of the chromatic leaves while they still existed. Turning, I look out the window adjacent to the desk in which I currently sit and gaze half-absentmindedly at the children playing outside.

Oh, how I wish I could join them right now. But some unforeseen, invisible barrier seems to block me from my insatiable desire. I jump up instantaneously and rush toward the window. As I look outside, my eyes immediately become focused on Jack. The small boy is running excitedly with his friends, enjoying an intense game of tag. He notices me shortly and stops in front of the window. Smiling, he waves at me; it is as though I stand there in perpetual eternity, questioning the supposedly simple response of waving back. I raise my hand slightly. But as I do, a searing sensation shots through to my fingers. In agony I grab it with my free hand and place it resting on the windowsill.

I look up again. Jack is still standing there. Perhaps he had considered my twitch to be a wave. Either way, he seems satisfied that I have given him an appropriate response. Giving me a final smile he swivels around about his heels to come face to face with the tagger. I feel sorry for the boy; my indecisiveness has caused him to be caught. I figured him to be very upset with me, but, watching him still, I notice that he does not appear disappointed in the slightest bit. Instead, he is fully engaged in the game, accepting with vigor the challenge of being "it."

I admire him. I cannot explain how or why this is so, nor do I think I want to analyze it down to that intricate level. Instead I simply accept the fact that I am capable of learning from my student.

I return to my desk with a sense of astonishment. Before I sit down I look at the paper cup teetering on the edge of a stack of papers. It is the cup that Roosevelt had used to water the pansy earlier. I clasp it cautiously and examine its inners. I am surprised to discover some water droplets still swimming about the bottom.

An overwhelming sense of thirst sweeps through my entire being. I quickly down that bit of water and hurry outside to join the children.

19 January 2007