I’m a teacher. They pay me to torture children. It’s a nice life.
Gerry doesn’t talk. He’s maybe said twelve sentences all year. Today I handed him a file folder full of paper that I had accidentally taken from another teacher. I said, “Gerry, take these next-door to Ms. Whiner and tell her, ‘Ms. A. is an idiot.’ Can you do that?”
Gerry nodded his head. “Are you sure?” I asked. “You can’t just say, ‘here.'” Gerry nodded his head. “Maybe you should say it now for practice. Try it. Ms. A. is an idiot.'” Gerry shook his head. “I can send someone else, you know. You don’t have to do this. Jasmine-”
“I can do it,” Jerry answered. His voice was strong and firm. He disappeared through the door into Ms. Whiner’s room.
I shook my head and told the class, “He just said his sentence for this month. What do you want to bet-”
Gerry returned. “Did you say it?” Jasmine demanded.
Gerry turned red and shrugged. “You didn’t, did you, Gerry?” Pansy queried.
Gerry turned even redder.
“So,” I asked, “What did you say?”
Gerry mumbled something.
“What?” Jasmine, Pansy and I all demanded. The whole class leaned forward as Gerry shouted: “I said: Here!”