“It meant she was still alive.”
I felt a little sick. Kids all over the world put up with too much from people who should know better. And then those kids turned into adults that repeated the cycle. I would probably do the same if I ever had kids. All the more reason not to. Georgia continued on while I considered how much people truly sucked.
“My mom lets the kids tell her five things that are bothering them, things they needed to express. They count them off on their fingers.” Georgia grabbed my hand and ticked the items off on my fingers to demonstrate. “Like, I’m tired. I miss my mom. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to go to school. I’m scared. Whatever. Then they make a fist with the fingers they just used to express their problems. And then they throw the things away, they toss them.” Georgia illustrated the motion with my hand, wrapping my fingers around my palm, making a fist so I could throw away the imaginary ball of wadded up complaints. “Then she makes them name five greats. It helps them to refocus and it reminds them that even when life is pretty bad, it isn’t all bad, ever.” She looked at me, still holding my hand, waiting. I stared back.
“So give it to me, Moses. Five greats. Go.”
“I can’t,” I said immediately.
“You sure as hell can. I can name five things for you, but that doesn’t work as well. Gratitude works best when you’re the one feeling it.”
“Fine. You do it then—you name five greats for me,” I fired back and pulled my hand from hers. “You think you know me?” I said it mildly, but there was a prickling under my skin, an irritation that I couldn’t quite tamp down. Georgia thought she had it all figured out, but Georgia Shepherd hadn’t suffered enough to know shit about life.
Georgia grabbed my hand back stubbornly, and lifting it up, she gently placed a kiss on each fingertip for each item on the list. “Georgia’s eyes. Georgia’s hair. Georgia’s smile. Georgia’s personality. Georgia’s kisses.” She batted her eyes. “See? Definitely five greats for Moses.”
I really couldn’t argue with that. All of those things were pretty great.
“Feeling pretty good about yourself, aren’t you?” I said, shaking my head, grinning in spite of myself. My fingers tingled where her lips had been. I wanted her to do it again. And somehow, she knew it. She pulled my hand back to her mouth. “And these are mine.” She kissed my smallest finger. “Moses’s eyes.” She moved to my ring finger. “Moses’s smile.” Another kiss on the tallest tip. “Moses’s laugh.” Her lips were so soft. “Moses’s art.” She rounded to my thumb and placed her mouth gently against the pad. “Moses’s kisses.” Then she moved her lips from my fingertips and pressed her mouth to my palm.
“Those are my five greats for Georgia today. Those were my five greats yesterday and they will be tomorrow and the next day, until your kisses get old. Then I’ll have to think of something else.”
Georgia
WE ALL STARED. Even though it was only the second week of the new school year and he was a new student, everybody knew Moses. Or of him. He wasn’t white, for starters, in a small school of mostly white kids, so that made him stand out. Plus, he was beautiful. But that’s not why we were staring. Moses was in my English Lit classroom, drawing on the board, and he wasn’t even enrolled in the class. We’d come back from lunch to find him there, the two huge boards filled with a drawing that was beyond anything any of the students had ever seen. Except for me. I knew what he was capable of.
Moses had halted abruptly, as if torn between finishing his masterpiece and running from the room. And then Ms. Murray was there, and running was no longer an option. There was a black smudge on his brown cheek and the sides of his hands were stained as well, as if he’d used them as tools to blend and create the erotic image behind him. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and his eyes were restless and wide, their golden color making him look like a cornered animal. And he was definitely cornered. Ms. Murray stood in the doorway, her eyes trained on the chalkboard. When I looked at her to see whether or not Moses was going to get yelled at, or worse, kicked out of school, I noticed that there were tears streaming down her face and her hands were pressed to her lips. It was kind of a weird response.
Ms. Murray wasn’t really a crier. She was usually pretty serious and stiff. She was a good teacher and she didn’t yell or get all emotional when kids messed up or were disrespectful, which I frankly appreciated. High school was crazy enough without teachers adding to the drama. When Ms. Murray wasn’t happy, she usually just stared you down and started heaping on the homework. She didn’t cry.
This wasn’t good. Apparently Moses recognized that fact, because he dropped the marker clutched in his hand and stepped away, looking from side to side like he was planning his escape.
“What is that, anyway?” Charlie Morgan spoke up, never one to hold still or hold his tongue. I usually hated that he could never shut up. But I didn’t hate it now. Now, I was glad. I was glad because I wanted to know too. Charlie pointed at the board. “Is that a waterfall?