Ms. Angel and I were talking about some scheduling difficulties. The children were organizing themselves for Sesame Street (aka nap time, they doze off about half way through). I could hear Chaz talking. I’d been hearing him talking all day — pretty much nonsense — so I had him tuned out.
It slowly penetrated my consciousness that Chaz was saying, “Excuse me,” over and over and over, and sounding more and more impatient with each repetition. I turned to look at him. He was sitting up on his mat. His pillow awaited his head and his blanket covered his legs. Nobody appeared to be too close to him. In fact, nobody appeared to be paying him any mind at all.
“Chaz,” I said in my best no nonsense voice, “What is your problem?”
Chaz, still seated, plunked his hands on his hips, jutted out his chin and said, “You is in frond of da T.B.!”
Light dawns. “Oh! Excuse me!” I say, and move.
Chaz lays back, heaves a heavy sigh and pulls his blanket to his chin. “All bedda now,” he says.