I See Red Read online

  [I see red.]

  Carolina is a girl in my class. Her is still only five, which makes me better because I am a bigger number. I only knowed her for three days but I think I win more things than her does, but here is one thing to know: Carolina is so pretty. Her won at being pretty, but I didn’t even enter that competition. Her wants to play with me and I think that is OK because last time we played her wasn’t bossy. Carolina only likes me on some days and today might be one of them.

  “What are you building?” her asks.

  “A city,” I say.

  “What place?” Carolina says.

  I don’t want to tell her because they’re my ideas from my own head and I can share this area with blocks but I can not share all my ideas. Some things are only for me.

  “Hey, I said, what place?” her says another time.

  “It’s just a city, you can make up in your head which is what place,” I a little bit yell at her with a tiny bit of an angry voice. Oops—that made The Evil She walk over to us.

  “Hey guys,” Evil She says. “Is everything OK?”

  “He...he...he… isn’t sharing him’s ideas,” Pretty Face tattles. Now she looks less pretty.

  “I don’t have to share my ideas!” I yell again.

  “He’s right, Carolina. It’s really nice of you to be interested in what he’s doing, but it looks like he might need some space right now. Is that what you want, Dallas?” The Evil She says.

  I nod my head.

  “Let’s use words. Can you politely tell Carolina that you need space?”

  I nod my head another time.

  “I need space,” I say all mumbly into my sleeve.

  “Meany!” Carolina yells, “Dallas is a bad boy. That’s why he has no friends.”

  Carolina stomps her foot before she leaves the block area in a huff, and I’m mad that she talked bad about me. I’ve only been at this school for a little bit of days, that’s why I don’t have friends yet. The Evil She is all happy and gets out the gold stars again. Why She’s happy? I just told a kid to go away. That’s not needing a sticker.

  [I see you.]

  Yes! He’s getting it!

  Mrs. Garcia checks in with me, and assure her everything is under control, but ask her to follow up with Carolina. Things are better than alright—Dallas is using words and complying with directions. Finally! I wish the Principal would randomly walk by right now so I could brag, but funnily enough, she only responds to ‘Hot Dog.’

  [I see red.]

  Now I am back to work in the city I made for myself, by myself. I have added tons of things, like for example a pool for people to swim or take a bath. When people are sick, them shouldn’t just swim for fun because they might catch their death, but at the church, I heared a story about a sick man who sat next to a pool all day, every day. Rachel telled me. I used to know a grown up called Rachel, and her was my Sunday School teacher. Her liked me, even when everybody else didn’t want to be my friend. Her held my hand, her hugged me, her told me about Grey in heaven. Rachel said all these prayers with me, and her said that no matter what happens in my whole wide life, God and Jesus will be my friend. Jacob won’t let us go to church anymore, so I never see’d Rachel again.

  Rachel telled me about the sick man who was lying on a yoga mat by the pool because him’s legs didn’t work anymore and he just waited and waited for him’s turn to get in the pool, which would heal whoever went in the water because an angel stirred it. The problem was, the guy couldn’t do a magic swim when him couldn’t move, and nobody helped him. Jesus didn’t let someone help the guy, but he just made him’s legs better and told him to walk away with the yoga mat. That’s why we have a pool in this city—so Jesus can decide if he wants to help.

  Jesus and God are the same, like how ice is made from water—that’s what I got teached when I went to church those times. Jesus lived on the Earth, and him could heal whoever him wanted but also the people had to want to be healed. God is the Dad, and dads can choose to listen to kids or drink beer instead. I think God is a big dad, the kind of dad who lives at your house forever, not like my Dad who left. God could leave us all if he wanted to, but I don’t think that’s the way him wants to be. God has billions of kids, but him can be their dads all at one time.

  About three or five minutes ago I pretended to get a tissue for my snot, but in real life, I took two toy cars from the box near the shelves. Them are in my pockets now, and they poking my leg, but I don’t mind because I have a plan for later. Right now, I am making the doors to the shop real wide so that the sick people can easily go there and buy things. Them will be tricked into thinking they got healed when them buy cool clothes and phones, but guess what? The people forget to buy medicine! Them buy too many lattes, so their credit cards run out of money, and they don’t pay their banks and then the men yell at the Moms, “Imma throw you and that kid out on your ass if you ever speak to me like that again, crazy bitch.”

  Uh oh! The mail carrier is delivering a letter to the Mommy. Her opens the letter and it says, “We are taking your car away because you’s credit card is called Max.” The Mom in this game is crying and her man tells her to shut up.

  Him is angry and her needs to watch out before him blows up like a volcano.

  [I see you.]

  ____________

  Notes by Zoe Fletcher

  Time: 10:35am Situation: Block Play, Classroom

  ____________

  Before: D has been playing independently for 2.5hrs, building what appears to be a block city.

  What happened: Noise level increased at 10:32 am, as he began to look angry. D speaking to the block (people?) I think I heard him say, “I’m going to throw you out on your ass, crazy bitch” or something to that effect. One of the (people?) blocks in his left hand crashed into the building made from the arch-shaped block. The left-hand block then said, “Don’t listen to their bullshit, you can’t go there anymore, it’s closed forever.” He then knocked down the whole block city.

  After: I approached D to see if he needed to take a break. He did not respond, remained stable but mildly dysregulated. Proximity used to prevent escalation/elopement.

  _____________

  [I see red.]

  I hate this city. I never liked it in the first place, so I knocked it all down, and you know what? I’m not going to clean it up. There’s a rule in this classroom, “You make it, you break it.” I made this city, and it is my job to break it. I won the right to break it down, and I also won these cars in my pocket. I deserve these cars at every minute of the day because the stupid teacher doesn’t know I am the boss.

  I run away from the block area, straight to the bathroom. I slam the door because I like things LOUD LOUD LOUD. I told you I had a plan for these cars! Vrrrroooom, VROOOOM, I say. Plop! The blue car did a long fall down into the toilet, and he sinked to the bottom. He can’t swim, so he’s dead from drowning. Goodbye, car! Flush! And now, the red car… he has a long journey ahead. He’s going somewhere other than the toilet. I need some tape, which is also in my pocket with my teacher’s phone. Nobody knowed I took it, because she set it down on the table and I am the winner of the sneaky award. If you act normal, stealing things is easy.

  Tape makes a loud sound when you wrap it around a phone and a blue car. I am trying to be quiet because everyone knows sneaky people do things quietly. The Evil She is calling out my name through the main door of the bathroom. She can’t come in, because teachers aren’t allowed in a kids bathroom unless someone is dying or dead. I tell her, “I’m OK!” and, “I’ll be right back!” and her tells me she’s giving me a gold star for using words. Now the tape is definitely sticked on the car, and it is back in my pocket. Time to breathe in and make my tummy little, because the glass is out of the skinny window and I am climbing out into the wide world.

  [I see you.]

  Third gold star in less than three hours! I had nothing to be nervous about today. He’s been pretty solitary, but apart from that, he’s
acting like the most normal kid in the world. Seriously, thank goodness for these moments to breathe. He’s been talking to himself in the bathroom lately, I think he was acting out car noises just before. When he gets out, I’ll get him to pack up the blocks and I think we can just take a game tablet break. The schedule I made this morning was OK, but not exactly realistic. If we can just get through the day without anything major, we’ll be fine, and he can stay at this school. I honestly don’t care if he learns anything today, as long as he can hit some really basic social expectations. I’m setting the bar so low a mouse could do the limbo.

  Jeez, he’s been in the bathroom for a while. I’m trying not to be too much of a helicopter shadow (worst kind of support professionals—they don’t give kids any space), but I guess it’s time I checked in.

  “Dallas? Are you OK?” I inquire.

  I count to five in my head, because you know, he rarely answers the first time.

  “Dallas? Are you OK?” I repeat verbatim because it’s important I don’t change the wording of questions the second time I ask. He generally processes changed wording as though it was a different question, so I don’t want to confuse him. He doesn’t answer again, which isn’t unusual. Personally, I don’t like to repeat a question more than three times, so the third time has to be more than pissing into the wind. I walk into the bathroom, and the cubicle closest to the wall is locked. I look under—lo and behold! No feet.

  Dammit. I’m so embarrassed I let this happen again—so much for trust! The friggin’ window is open, too, and I start to suspect this is how he Houdini’d his way out of here yesterday. The open part is less than a foot high, so if he got out of there he must’ve pulled some mouse level shit—mice can squeeze through holes as small as 1/4in. I guess we discovered the kid equivalent.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Flight of the Blue Car

  [I see red.]

  The red car is in for a much bigger adventure than the blue guy could ever do. The red car is always better because it’s a faster color like Fire Engines. You don’t know how important the red car is until the blue is dead and gone. The red car will sometimes remember his friend Mr. Blue, but thinking about him will never bring him back. That is why the red car sometimes hates the blue car in his memories. Remembering is stupid and boring.

  I found a ladder on the outside fire escape, which is way too high up for me to reach, but I have a plan. I always have plans, don't you know? Kind of close to the ladder is a tree, which is not the strongest but also not the unstrongest. I grab a hard box from the play yard and stand on it. Hmm—too small. I grab another box because that will make it two times big, and when I stand on it, I am tall enough to climb onto a branch. I jump up, and the boxes fall down, but lucky I am in the tree now.

  I hit my knee on the bark, and it’s got blood but I don’t care. I hate band-aids, mostly I hate when people try to put them on for me. The blood falls down to my sock. I climb to the next higher branch stick, and I am close enough now to get onto the ladder. The branch is a bit skinny for climbing and bends when I stand on it. I think I have to do this lightning fast so the branch doesn’t snap, so I get down low and BURST my energy like a rocket. I jump and grab onto the ladder like a cat. That was tricky, but I won.

  I climb up the ladder fast, fast, fast. Now I am where I want to be—I’m on the roof. Did you know most of the roofs in San Francisco are flat? I did. Even if they look pointy at the front it’s all fake—they’re flat behind the front. I wanted to climb this roof the minute I came to this school, but I never got the chance. Well, today is my day. Red car and phoney are in my pocket, so I get them out. The phone lights up under all that tape, and I see a picture of a stupid man giving a kiss on Mrs. Garcia’s cheek. I slide open the lock, and there isn’t a passcode. Her doesn’t have any games that I like, so I open her music. She has two songs the same as me but a hundred songs I hate.

  The green square with the speech bubble is for texting. There’s a red circle in the top corner, and it says the number two. I tap the green and it opens a page with texting from a guy who’s name is Will, and there’s a love heart picture beside the word. He wrote a text that I can’t read, so I press some buttons, and it spells words automatically which makes me seem very smart. I press send. Oh! I know! I will add a photo to send to him. I open the albums and send a picture of Mrs. Garcia kissing a different man than the one when the phone was locked. OK, enough time wasting. Now it’s time for red car and phoney phone to have the ride of their lives.

  I walk to the edge of the roof.

  [I see you.]

  I lift the walkie-talkie to my mouth and press the button reluctantly.

  “Hot dog,” I confess (famous last words).

  I sense the principal is shining her shoes, readying herself to kick us to the curb. It must feel good to be right all the time. I run outside, but I can’t see him anywhere before help arrives. I ask one teacher to look in the bathroom and another to check all the staircases. The principal bursts from the building like mints in a cola bottle, and I can tell she’s absolutely livid.

  “He’s gone! He’s out!” she says with her beady eyes melting a hole in my already deflated soul. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into keeping him here a single moment longer, Zoe. I had faith in your ability to change him.”

  I interrupt her rant, “Can we talk about this later? Right now we have a child to find, which I am sure you’d agree is more important.” Suddenly something falls from above and crashes into a thousand pieces on the cement.

  “What the f...udge?” I alter my speech to remain professional. On the ground before me is a red toy car, wrapped in tape, connected to a device that once was a phone. The blood drains from my face, and I look to the roof of the building. F-Word. Dallas is laughing and yelling, “Blast off!”

  I slowly grab the principal’s arm and calmly whisper, “Don’t make any sudden movements, don’t talk, just stand here. I’m going to tell you something, and I am trusting you not to react. I need you to act as natural as possible—can you do that?”

  “Yes,” she whispers confusedly, “What is going on?”

  “Dallas is on the roof,” I murmur.

  Her eyes grow wide, and I’m pretty sure she just shit her pants a little bit. “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t look up,” I say, as she is frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “What if he jumps?” she says, as though I hadn’t already thought of that possibility.

  “We will get him before he has the chance,” I lie through my teeth.

  “How?” she says, almost inaudibly.

  How indeed. I need to think fast.

  “We have to look as though we’re still searching for him. Get some staff out here, and just direct them to look for him like we did yesterday. Make him think he’s winning,” I convince myself. “I am going to climb up on the roof.”

  “Don't be stupid. You can't get on the roof,” she whispers bluntly. “Call the fire department for God’s sake!”

  “Not yet—trust me,” I say, without fully believing what I am about to do. “Call them when I catch him, and not a moment before.”

  Why did I volunteer myself for this? This is the stupidest plan I have ever hatched, and with one wrong move both of us may need scraping off the sidewalk. This kid may literally be the death of me, and here I go like a lamb to the slaughter. The principal rallies the crew, and I hear them starting the fake search party. I run to the fire escape, extend the ladder as quietly as possible, and climb on and on not stopping to look below.

  When I reach the top I see Dallas standing on the other side of the roof looking towards the city. He’s singing with all of his heart, and I see the lengths to which he's gone in order to get a moment he can call his own. I don’t want to scare him—I’m trying to be sneaky, not stupid. When I get within ten feet, I know it’s time to say something.

  “Buddy,” I say quietly.

  “I won!” he laughs, “You better watch out, or I’l
l fly like the car.”

  The moment passes in slow motion, as I realize the gravity of the situation. There is no time to be afraid, and by the look in Dallas's eyes, he’s definitely not 'home' right now. I cease talking to the boy, and I begin conversing with his demons.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “I am the boss,” he snarls.

  “Dallas, listen to me,” I assert confidently, “Dallas, take the wheel.”

  He jumps on the spot, arms flailing.

  “What’s your name?” I say.

  “D… Damn you, asshole!” it screams.

  “Dallas. I see you, Dallas. You’re called Dallas,” I say, trembling.

  His eyes close and face winces.

  “I’m Dallas,” he says through clenched teeth, and he returns to me, so slightly. I need to seize the moment—and fast.

  “Have you ever played this game? It’s called Undead Pirate Ransom. They’re zombies, and also pirates. I think you’d like it,” I mention casually, my heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. I sit down in my place and put the phone’s volume on full blast. Zombies moan words like, “Argh!” and, “Shiver me timbers!” The sound of swords brandishing fills the air, and Dallas follows it like catnip. He runs towards me.

  “Let me see!” he says, trying to take the phone.

  “No way, I’m playing right now!” I retort, grasping my phone tighter than ever before.

  “Can I be next?” he begs.

  “I guess. But you have to watch me now, so you know how to play,” I reason.

  Dallas sidles up beside me, and without a second’s hesitation, I extend my arm and scoop him into my lap. My phone leaves my hand, and bounces twice on the roof. I have him, thank God, he’s safe with me for now—but I need backup before he escapes. I can’t risk the walkie talkie, so I scream more desperately than I ever have before.