Teen Time

Green Orchids, Dead Birds, and Love

Green Orchids, Dead Birds, & Love

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Green Orchids, Dead Birds, and Love

         “You’re too funny,” Daniela screamed as her chair fell backward. Since I was the teen-counselor-in-charge, I rushed over and caught the little girl before she got hurt.

         Little Mack was in the center of the group. He was attempting to pantomime a cougar, but apparently he had no idea what one looked like, and the children were all laughing hysterically at his silent gestures. The entire game was reformatting itself into chaos.

         ““Okay,” I said. “Enough. Time to call it quits.”

         Several of the children groaned. A couple protested. Little Mack fell to the ground and began to sing,

I’m a big green orchid growing on a vine.
Crawling up the stem is a little creepy crawly.
“Chomp,” says a bird as it eats up the crawly.
I’m a big green orchid growing on a vine.

         “Where did that come from?” Jason laughed.

         I couldn’t tell him. I was equally mystified. Little Mack was always making up wonderfully creative poems and songs. He couldn’t read, and he couldn’t function in a “normal” classroom, but he was sometimes a remarkable seven-year-old poet.

         The children were so delighted with Little Mack's impromptu song, they froze in place, listening.

         Then Zachary cried out, “Me, bird", and he swooped down to peck at Little Mack.

         “He’s an orchie. Don’t eat him!” screamed Daniella.

         Jason, the other teen counselor of the day, and I rushed forward to save Little Mack. We were just in time. The group was a second away from bedlam, each one of the kids wanting to be a creepy crawly, a bird, or the flower that Little Mack had sung about.

         “Time for a snack,” Jason called out, marshalling the group. Chairs were moved back around the tables, Little Mack and Zachary turned back into little boys, and Sammy, who couldn’t walk and had no hands to push his wheel chair towards the table where the rest of the group was headed, was wheeled forward by Daniella.

         I stood back to observe. I enjoyed watching Jason. He was really something. I’d always thought he was cool, and I knew he was smart, but that day I was learning that he was gentle, too.

         Jason and I had never worked together in our jobs at the Children’s Home for Special Children. Jason always came on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. I worked on Saturdays and Wednesdays after school. But Jason was subbing for Carmen, the other high school student involved in the program. Jason would be with me all day. I smiled, liking the fact very much.

         The children ate graham crackers and drank their juice. Jason and I scurried about helping various kids with their straws. I connected Sammy’s juice box to the gripper device next to his mouth so he could drink. Jason prevented Zachary from squirting Daniella with grape juice. When the graham crackers were all dismantled fragments on mouths, cheeks, and laps, Jason and I cleaned up, sponging off faces, hands, and the table.

         Then it was time for outdoor play. The children rushed to the door and waited for Jason and me. We unlocked the exit into the play yard and escorted the children out.

         Most of the kids headed for the sandbox. The toys were already there: little red buckets, plastic shovels, giant forks for scraping and leveling the sand, and a hose that trickled water for sips and bucket-loads of moat-fillers.

         Jason and I watched them, our eyes never once straying far from Zachary’s ballistic tendencies or from the needs of Sammy who we'd lifted down onto the edge of the sand so he could wiggle his feet in the cold-warm layers.

         “You’re good with the kids,” Jason said to me, his head shaking a “no” at Zachary’s lifted shovel of sand.

         For once, Zachary obeyed. He poured the sand down onto his own feet and giggled. “Dead bird, green orchid. Dead bird, green orchid."

         One of the roving psychologists passed by, his pen scratching notes as he categorized the children’s activities.

         When he walked away, I said, “You’re good with the children, too.”

         Not much of a romantic beginning, but it was a step. Jason smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then we separated Zachary from Christina, who didn’t want to play dead bird and be buried beneath the sand.

         The sun felt delicious. It was too easy to relax our diligence. For the moment there was a hush of happy children playing contentedly and peacefully. The smell of lilacs drifted in on the breeze. My eyes took another survey of the group, counting noses, checking for problems.

         Sammy was nodding off to sleep. He started to fall forward off the edge of the sandbox. Jason and I both grabbed him at the same instant. Jason’s hand cupped mine a minute before he released his hold. I smothered a giggle and smiled at him. Together we put Sammy back into his chair. While doing so, I noticed that Jason’s eyes were forest green with tiny specks of gold. I wheeled Sammy back inside thinking about that.

         Time passed quickly, a story read, a problem solved, several more sentences exchanged with Jason in which I learned that he wanted to be a doctor and that he lived alone with his father.

         Then, it was time to leave. Jason and I grabbed jackets and backpacks and headed out the door to go our separate ways.

         “Are you studying for the chemistry test tomorrow?” Jason asked as I took a step away.

         “Yes, of course,” I laughed. “Aren’t you?”

         “You want to come over? My dad’ll order pizza if we’re studying.”

          My smile felt over-large. I tried to curb it, but it kept getting bigger.

         Jason reached out his hand and took mine. Gently he pulled me closer. “We could start now and continue tomorrow.”

         I laughed, and so did he. Before I knew he was going to, Jason kissed me and backed away.

         “One o’clock?”

         I nodded, and then we parted, my heart still beating double time, my smile even bigger than before.


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