The Mystery Guest

“Thank you for coming,” Ms. Cripps said. I can picture her face in my mind, that tight smile that I could not read at the time. I thought her the very picture of politeness. I know better now.

“My granddaughter’s education is a matter of utmost importance to me,” Gran said, but as I replay the memory, I note Gran’s folded hands, how she placed them with purpose on the desk in front of her—a small gesture, both a plea and an assertion.

“May I ask where Molly’s mother is?” Ms. Cripps inquired. “Not that I mind dealing with you, but you are one generation removed.”

“Molly resides with me. I am her guardian. And she is my legal ward.”

I was about to tell Gran she hadn’t answered the teacher’s question, something Ms. Cripps frowned upon, but as I opened my mouth to speak, Gran’s hand came down on my knee, which caused my speech to stop in my throat, though I didn’t know why at the time. I tried to work out the connection by humming the Skeleton Song about how the foot bone is connected to the leg bone and so on, but I made it through the entire song without encountering a single lyric connecting my tongue to my knee.

Meanwhile, Ms. Cripps and Gran continued their polite conversation.

“I know you’re busy, Mrs. Gray. You are a married woman, correct? A missus?”

“You can call me Ms. Gray,” Gran corrected.

“I understand from Molly that you still work. I must say it’s impressive at your advanced age.”

Gran cleared her throat.

“The issue is this,” Ms. Cripps continued. “We’re weeks away from the close of the school year, and it’s that time when we think about student placement in the year to come.”

“I commend your advance planning,” Gran replied. “Molly is looking forward to having a new teacher next year, isn’t that right, Molly?”

“I can’t wait,” I said. “I would also like new classmates.”

“That’s just it, Ms. Gray,” Ms. Cripps said as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ve come to the difficult decision that the best thing for Molly is to hold her back a year. I’m afraid her progress does not meet our educational benchmarks.”

Gran shifted in her chair, looking from me to Ms. Cripps. “I don’t understand. Her progress reports indicate good grades.”

“Yes, her grades are satisfactory. Her language skills and reading ability far surpass those of her peers. She’s often a little too precocious. She corrects her classmates’ grammar and schools them on vocabulary.”

Gran suppressed a laugh. “That’s my Molly.”

“But you see, she’s…different.”

“I agree entirely,” Gran said. “She’s a unique girl. But have you ever noticed, Ms. Cripps, how despite our differences, fundamentally, we are all the same?”

It was Ms. Cripps’s turn to avoid the question. Instead of answering, she said, “Molly’s social development is subpar. She hasn’t made any friends at school. In that way, she’s a failure. Ms. Gray, I’d describe Molly’s social skills as…primitive.”

“Primitive,” I said. “P-R-I-M-I-T-I-V-E. Primitive.” I waited for Gran to approve my spelling, but she didn’t say a word. Even though I knew I’d spelled the word correctly, she appeared on the verge of tears.

I wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay and that I knew the word because of the David Attenborough documentary we’d watched together a few weeks earlier. It was about apes, such incredible animals, so often underestimated. They can use primitive tools to problem-solve, not only in laboratory and zoo settings but also in the wild. Remarkable!

“Ms. Gray,” Ms. Cripps said, “the other day Molly berated a classmate for chewing with his mouth open. She stands so close to the younger children, it frightens them. She insists on calling the janitor Sir Walter of Brooms. Some days, she hides in a washroom stall and refuses to come out. So you see, she’s not at the level of children her age.”

Gran straightens in her chair. “I agree entirely. She is not at the level of the other children. Molly,” Gran said, turning to me. “Why do you hide in the washroom?”

“Dirt,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“Dirt?” Gran echoed, and I was so proud that I’d heard it, the delicate curl at the end of her sentence that meant she wanted to hear more.

“At recess, I was invited to play soccer with the other children. I agreed to be goaltender before I noticed the mud puddle stretching from post to post. When I refused to stand in the goal, my teammates held me in place and my shoes filled with mud. When I screamed, they threw mud at me and told me to get used to it. ‘Dirt is nothing to be afraid of.’ That’s what they said.”

Gran’s mouth opened wide, and she turned to Ms. Cripps wordlessly.

“Kids will be kids. They meant no harm,” Ms. Cripps said. “Plus, Molly has to learn somehow.”

“On that last point we agree,” Gran said. “But certainly Molly does not need to learn this way, nor should her peers be in charge of her education.”