A Girl Named Squib

By Jason A. Wendleton

Dominating the tiny pink bedroom, the bed-sheet tent glowed in the early morning darkness. All was quiet, except for the periodic rustle of pages. Inside the yellow tent were two dinning room chairs (the tent’s frame), a small flashlight, an Illustrated Children’s Classic (Moby Dick), and one little girl. Her name was Squib. Well, not really. Her “real” name was Susan Rochera. People used to call her Susie, but now they mostly referred to her as “Squib."

Squib lay inside the tent, resting on her stomach, reading the condensed version of Melville’s greatest novel. The chairs and bed-sheet were her mothers. The thick, steel and rubber flashlight belonged to her father. But the book, that was hers. She was a sad eyed child of thirteen years, with a carrot stick neck topped off with a cabbage head. Squib wore her long, chestnut colored hair in two thick, ropy braids. The girl’s wide, dull eyes glistened in the flashlight’s harsh illumination.

Ishmael. Captain Ahab. The White Whale.

The sea spread out before her, replacing the boring beige carpet beneath her. She turned the page with thick, stubby fingers. Squib read in her tent every morning after she finished getting ready for school. The sun wasn’t up yet, and neither were any of her classmates. But Squib had to be up, on account of her ride to school.

“Squib!” A loud male voice sounded down the hall. “You ready darlin’?”

Gingerly, she placed a pink and yellow unicorn bookmark into the spine of her book.

“Yeah dad, just a sec,” she hollered, exiting the little tent. She laced up her shoes, and then grabbed her back pack sitting near her bedroom door. Before leaving the room, however, she turned and looked for Blunks.

“Blunks” she whispered frantically. “Hey Blunks!”

A swishing tail appeared over in one corner of the room. “Be a good boy today Blunks,” she told her dog. “I love you.” She tried to steal one last look at him, but he was gone—vanishing into the ether as mysteriously as his the tip of his tail had appeared.

“Alright, you got everything you need Squib?” her father, Timothy Rochera asked. He was waiting by the front door of their little apartment, standing their patiently in his brown overalls.

“Yeppers.”

He smiled down through his fatigue at his little girl. Opening the door, the harsh cold morning air bit and clawed at their flesh. Squib’s soft cheeks instantly became rose colored.

“I want my mittens dad.”

“Too late for that now kiddo,” Tim said. He eyed his cheap plastic wrist watch, “Already running a little behind. Don’t worry, it’ll be warm in the Green Monster.”

Parked at the edge of the parking lot sat the Green Monster. Its thick tires gripped the slick and shiny pavement like talons. The wide metal grill grimaced at her as they neared, the truck’s smashed headlight winking at her.

“Hop in, the passenger side’s unlocked.”

Squib climbed into her father’s trash truck. Tim got in on the other side after wiping a thin glaze of frost off the windshield. He slid the key into the ignition, waking the Green Monster to from its slumber. The truck hiccupped to life.

“Now,” Tim said to her, letting the engine warm up. “Since we got out a little late today, we’re going to have to make a longer run ‘fore I drop you off.”

Squib nodded.

Not that she really cared one way or the other. Once outside of her little yellow tent she was transformed. Inside its yellow glow, she was Susan. Outside it she was Squib. Susan and Squib were very different people. Whereas Susan didn’t mind talking out, Squib did. The same could be said about school, Squib didn’t care much for school.

Once the big Green Monster had run for a while, Tim pounded the clutch and shifted into drive. Everything in the world seemed to quake as they rode out of the parking lot. After a quick drive, they reached the area where Squib’s father made his pick-ups.

“Alright, time to feed the beast!”

Countless oil slick colored bags rustled in the morning breeze—all were waiting to be plucked up off the concrete. Plastic barrels of various shapes and sizes lined the dim city streets, waiting to be sacrificed to the metallic monster’s ravenous appetite. Tim Rochera drove about half-way down the first street before he put the truck into park. Hopping out of the cab, he started his days work. He didn’t wear gloves, his raw hands no longer cracked in the cold—they only reddened, becoming the shade of raw hamburger.

After clearing one side he started in on the other side of the street. His movements were just as mechanical as the truck he drove. As he worked, he emptied his mind as well as trash cans. There was no reason to think, there was only mindless repetition. The first street now completed, they moved on to the second, then a third. Pretty soon it was light enough outside for the streetlights to automatically shut off.

“Guess it’s time for you to go to class little miss,” Tim told her as he climbed back into the truck cabin. Squib said nothing.

There were already a number of yellow school buses idling near the curb outside Carter Elementary when they pulled up. Students were spilling out of them, meandering their way into the cold gray building.

“Here ya go! Hop out kiddo.” Squibb gripped the chrome door handle.

“Come on, scoot! Scoot!” Her father looked down at his watch.

Squibb popped the door open and climbed down from the Green Monster.

“Have a good day!” And then, with a glorious belch, the big green trash truck lumbered away.

Squib stood there by the curb, choking in the brown haze left by the truck. There were a few people staring at her. This was one of the worst parts of her day. Why did the truck have to be so loud?

“Hey!” it was Jerry Shaw, a boy who liked to pick on her. “I thought the trash man was ‘posed to pick up trash…not drop it off!”

A group of oily looking boys laughed, even though they’d heard this joke nearly everyday since school had started in August. Squib ignored their leering eyes and dry cackling voices. She walked quickly into the school.

****************************************************************************

What started the moment she was dropped off continued throughout the day.

There were hurtful stares. Exclusion from games at recess. Cruel jokes and mean spirited pranks. All of them were laughing at her, never with her. This, of course, was an exaggeration. The young girls mind amplified all of her suffering. In reality, she was practically invisible at Carter Elementary.

A specter that drifted soundlessly through the halls. She was an empty desk near the back of the room. A solitary figure sitting at a far away lunch table. Had everyone in the school ganged up and attacked her, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Instead most of her classmates chose to simply ignore her; those who did recognize her only tormented her for her awkwardness. For her part, Squib did what she was best at—she kept her mouth shut and her head down. She tired her hardest to go unnoticed. Part of that meant never raising her hand and speaking in class. But beyond not volunteering, she also withdrew when called upon—even when she was forced into speaking by her teacher.

Mrs. Winters, her teacher, was not an unkind woman. Her profession was brimming with people who lacked basic warmth and human compassion. She tried to not be one of them. With that in mind, she made it her goal every year to reach out to the boys and girls like Squib. But Mrs. Winters was old, and her classroom was shrinking. Every year she found that her desk was pushed back further and further. Soon it would be pushed all the way—she was nearing the wall. Like all cornered animals, Mrs. Winters fought back savagely.

Unfortunately for Squib, she was often the one Mrs. Winters lashed out at.

“Will someone please read the second paragraph on page ten of our daily reader?” All heads instantly looked down. The silence that poured into a classroom never ceased to amaze her.
“Well? Anyone?”

That was when Squib’s greatest fear was usually realized.

“Miss Rochera, why don’t you read for us?”

A wave of snickers and giggling accompanied this.
Mrs. Winters knew the poor creature was frightened of speaking in class. She knew the child could barely stammer out “here!” during the morning roll call. And yet, something vicious in her always chose Squib whenever no one else would volunteer. Mrs. Winters told herself it was different, or course. She was helping the child. The girl had to overcome her timidity, after all—shyness was not a virtue in the modern world. Perhaps if she could be forced from her shell, then the other students wouldn’t be so judgmental. Like many adults who encountered her, Mrs. Winters was more than aware of the abuse Squib suffered at the hands of her peers. And like all the others, did little about it.

“T-t-t-h-e E-m-p-i-r-e in C-h-i-i-n-a…”

“Not that paragraph, the second one please.”

Squib winced.

She’d tried to use one of her tricks to get out of reading. Often, if she started reading the wrong part the teacher would get frustrated and choose someone else. It worked about as often as it failed. Today, though, it failed.

“T-t-h-e G-r-e-a-t W-a-a-l-l…”

Squib felt her hands sweet and her throat turn to chalk. The words began to blur on the page as her eyes began to well up with tears. She sniffled, it was loud and soppy. Laughter rippled across the classroom.

“Is t-t-he only m-m-man m-a-a-de…”

The hour glass containing her patience ran out, and Mrs. Winters called on another to read. This time she chose a boy sitting near the front, Jerry. He had seemed to enjoy hearing Squib squirm a little too much. Mrs. Winters told herself that this was justice, punishing the one who had taken so much joy out of hearing the girl suffer. The class listened and everyone learned about the Great Wall of China.

Everyone but Squib. She was too relieved and embarrassed to pay attention.

This same event was repeated about once every other day. Then a bell would ring and the students would all scramble for their things. Jackets were buttoned, hats and gloves would appear from deep pockets. They’d all fill their back packs, then make a queue near the front door. Soon they’d be dismissed as their buses arrived.

“Not so fast Miss Rochera, I’d like to speak to you before you leave,” Mrs. Winters said one day. Once everyone had left, the older woman leaned down to the little girl’s level. “I’m sending this note home with you, please give it to your mother or father.”

She handed an envelope to Squib.

“I’ll know if you don’t give it to them, so be sure you don’t forget.”

Squib took the envelope and nodded. She didn’t look her teacher in the eye.

“I need you to try,” Mrs. Winters said. “I need you to try harder…”

She wrung her hands, part of her wanted to reach out and hug the girl. But before she could do or say anything else, her cell phone began ringing inside her purse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Susan.”

Squib only nodded then, clutching the envelope, ran out the door to catch her bus.