Sustainable Sunday: The Night Rumours and The Boy.

I was working on this story yesterday. At Disneyland babysitting a sick child in the hotel room.

Yes.

So - Disneyland did not go as planned but was still tons of fun. And while watching kids in the pool or in bed - I worked on this story for you.

The Story:

The Night Rumours and The Boy.

The basketball hit the fluorescent light bulb with a dramatic shatter at exactly the moment I stepped through the classroom door. I the new drama teacher. Glass confetti tinkled to the floor. Slightly alarmed, but not too alarmed - I had teenagers of my own, I stood my ground as two tall teenage rugby players rushed me, dodging at the very last minute to either side and blew straight past. They ran high, arms high, heads high, tall, athletic, steps exaggeratedly huge, past and gone, out the door. I turned and watched them disappear then shut the door and turned back to the rest of the class.

As well as teaching, I worked as a director in a little theatre, wrote scripts in my spare time, was raising too many kids alone, waitressed in the evenings and ran my own  private drama classes in an abandoned warehouse on the weekends. Teaching a few classes of drama at a local high school was a natural step. The hours matched the hours my own children went to school so it was a good offer. As a young, thin, tired, solo mum I had my head held just above the cold waters. Financially I was struggling and we always got through; but you don’t turn down work. I always wore black because it was easy to match black to black when you got dressed in the early morning dark , (I told everyone I was in mourning did my mother) and the thrift shops have lots of black.

The boys replaced the broken light with one they stole from the maths room (I discovered later, and kept to myself, when I heard the maths teacher complain loudly in the staff room later), short term turned into part time turned into full time and I became known as Miss C. Pronounced Missy.

This school would be known nowadays as a troubled school. These students were a trifle undisciplined. Well more than a trifle. Some kids slept in garages or cars or couch surfed sleeping where-ever they ended up. Some sold drugs for their Dads on the way to school because their Dads were in jail.  On school nights they got drunk, stoned, watched dubious videos and TV or partied and  roamed half the night, catching up on their sleep in class.  Some kids had kind, desperately poor Mums. Or Dads without jobs who met them at the gate every day and walked them home in the rain. Some kids had no parent evident at all, sometimes they had aunties or grannies struggling to keep up.  Some, sleeping here and sleeping there, mainly on couches or mattresses on the floor. Some seldom ate a cooked dinner. Some always did. Some bought lunch to school but ate it fast and privately before someone stole it off them. Some kids got beaten by their parents and some passed the beatings on.  I encouraged girls to bring their babies to class, rather than drop out, some did a few years then left school entirely, unable to come to school because of the bruises they could never speak of. Some of the stories from this school would break your heart. But I shall not tell those stories.

Apparently the other teachers had taken bets on how long I would last. This was told to me years later when I became a Dean.  When I was offered the position of  Head of the Faculty of the Arts a few years after that,  they told me no-one bet on me lasting past 14 days. They were convinced that the kids would slay me. Or I would run screaming clutching my pearls in horror. But I put on my highest heels every morning so I could look these kids and the teachers straight in the eye, and we worked hard. As my confidence grew, I threw out all the desks in a classroom that arrived after three years of lobbying for a space other than the hall and  lined the room with couches and comfy old chairs. And photographs of what they were doing. We painted the walls together and I unashamedly bribed them with food and movies at lunchtime.  We did not sit down for long in drama. We needed space. We howled with energy.

I got a reputation for being fearless, strict but fair, but that first year I was making it up as I went along. My classes were loud and mostly organised. No-one got to fight when I was on duty during lunchtimes if I was on duty.  I would march straight up to the boys or girls and shout as loudly as I could- NOT NOW. It was all about timing.  I remember once walking straight into a fight that hadn’t really got underway, they were at the stage of feathering up and rising on their toes, eyeballing each other, chins pointing up, roosters, still fooling around.  One of the boys stepped back and his elbow hit me in the face right below the eye.  Now, remember every fight has a ring of kids around it, and here I am in the middle of a circle of heaving, expectant students, in my heels, dressed in black, with wild hair, and this kid wacks me in the eye.  I stumble and he turns ready to smack me again. Saw that it was me and was appalled. The look on his face. I will never forget it. He almost cried. The whole scene froze, both boys put their fists down and rushed to me. The fight instantly forgotton. One boy caught me as I reeled and everyone was like: Oh Miss, oh Miss, we are sorry Miss, come here Miss, sit down.  The girls taking over. Are you alright?  Don’t tell, will you miss?! Don’t tell, he didn’t mean it!

Who was I going to tell? Myself? See, they weren’t so bad.

In my second winter I decided to stage Antigone with the Seniors. It is a Greek Tragedy. I was never one for Greek Tragedies really, too many words, so I cut half the words out, (no respect) and wrote concise poetic bridging sections.  The costuming would be cheap.  Greeks just wore sheets didn’t they (did I mention that I had no budget during those first years either) and I love the swirl of cloaks under lights on a stage. The rap that the kids listened to all day lent itself to the ancient rhythms and my students empathised with the glorious Greek madness. They completely understood people tipping off the edge, the swirl of fear and blood.  The mess. The unhappy endings. Family, suicide, incest, death, bodies and burials. Lost mothers and murdered sisters.  Everyone wanted a part. I loved that. I think everyone should take at least one turn across the stage. So everyone got a part. Applause is good for the soul. And applause was mandatory in my class. I would clap loudly - Woo hoo. Great fall. Clap, clap, clap!  Are you alright?

I wrote a ton of extra parts, gave the speaking parts to the kids who wanted them, the thugs could spear carriers, some were very good spear carriers. Frightening actually. I roped in some younger students from other classes, we erected two massive scaffolds on either side of the hall to delineate a stage space. And these kids were honestly fully magnificent.  They poured through the doors for rehearsals. A rabble. A delicious hungry rabble.

There were rules. You cannot miss a rehearsal unless you are DEAD. If you have to babysit your sisters or brothers bring them AND their homework. If you are sick bring your blanket and tissues and stop your moaning. If you are in hospital we will come and rehearse up there (and we did). If you have a problem with someone in this room you leave it outside the door. In fact any agro and the student was instructed by me to pick the aggression up off the floor, lug it to the door and throw it out. In mime. All bad feeling – straight out the door and SLAM.  Leave your baggage at the door. But if you miss rehearsals with no reason or no notice you lose your part.  Though you can only miss a rehearsal if you are DEAD. Period.

Some of my old students will be reading this and having a chuckle about that!  

Here is my number; call me, I said,  if you do not have a ride I will pick you up. My own children had to come to the rehearsals as well, with their homework and sleeping bags, so I also bought the food. Food was very important.  We were always hungry. They were always hungry. And they worked. They worked very hard.

It was a greek tragedy - it had to work in a school like this.

But there were two boys who just could not get into the rhythm, they became a problem. They incited trouble and things went missing.  One boy - we will call him Tane - he was muscly, tall, he had a real presence and not in a good way. A born leader but still on his toes. The other boy was his off sider and he was  afraid, afraid to stand up, his fear made him dangerous.  Doberman dangerous. I went through each stage with them, trying to motivate them. But in the end I had to tell them that they had lost their place. They had misery too much school. Tane flashed furious eyes. But hurt - there was hurt there - but he had been skipping school for weeks - I had no choice. I could not depend on him. They did not come back.

Occasionally on the weekend they and a few members of their gang would sneak into the back of the hall if I forgot to lock the door, reeking of dope and beer, and watch.  I let them sit.  This was my mistake. I got so busy and being new to teaching I made an error and took my hand off them. My metaphorical hand. I knew kids like Tane. So full of promise and struggle. I should have kept them close and busy.  But I had a huge cast who were working so hard and my own kids with their little white faces in that dark brown crowd. And I just took my hand off these two big boys. They stopped coming to class, then dropped out of school. They became night rumours.

Opening night came. I cannot tell you the energy in the drama room. We were all in the classroom getting ready. It was night. They leaned their arms into my body one after the other, lining up, jostling for me to draw on them, to pat their arms flat before I drew. To reassure them. The noise was at fever pitch.  I tatooed the spear carriers arms with a black vivid creating great swirling celtic sweeps.  They had made their own spears in woodwork, some were beautifully carved.  They wrapped themselves in the Pacific version of a toga that I had designed and the art students had painted. The cloaks, the sewing class had made, were twirled in the air.  I had found a job-lot of black cotton and used it for most everything, we had painted the designs on the hems in gold and silver. Their waists were wrapped with borrowed golden ropes from the staff room curtains. Antigone and her sister in their white were startling. Antigones chains of familial  loyalty on her wrists. Everyone had  been draped with shiny new dog chain as bulky solid necklaces.  I bought it at the garden store down the road. I gave them all lengths of dog chain and said design your characters jewelry. I had a large collection of old keys and they hung them on their chains with such pride. The masks for the chorus, the art students had made, were a triumph.  I dumped out my make up bag and the girls drew big Cleopatra eyes. They were gorgeous.

New Zealand schools have classrooms dotted around gardens connected with outside corridors and verandahs. Even this poor school.  So when we were ready and we had breathed and centred and hummed, and the word came that our audience was seated and overflowing, we silently streamed, giddy with excitement, down the darkened paths and dim outside corridors of the nighttime schoolgrounds. Without being seen our silent  silhouettes paraded to the back of the hall, and funneled into a backstage created using black cotton curtains that  lined the scaffold. I had taught them a kind of backstage sign language because we had no green room. They were completely silent. Everyone would be within feet of the stage the whole performance. No room to move and no-one wanted to.  Their eyes had the white of terrified horses, their faces glowing in the dark. Their teeth grinning. Remember, I had said:  Have Fun. If you love what you do your audience will love you too.  Be the best that you can be. Opening positions please, I signed. Counting them in with my fingers raised.

The music teacher began to draw song up from her students, quietening the audience. The lights came up,  turning our little hall into a golden palace, lighting our opening players frozen in place, their costumes no longer black cotton but gleaming cloaks of quality.  And the play began. A sound came from behind me where there should have been no sound. The  back stage door opened and two large dark shapes shoved in. They pushed straight through to the stage entrance and sat down on two of the back stage chairs. It was pitch black but I knew who they were and I felt the shuffle and fear of my other students as the Tane and his thug sprawled out into the carefully choreographed darkness. Big cats. Reeking of menace. And something else. Need maybe. Trust. The need for trust. Tane’s eyes were caught in spilled light. Ah. Challenge. That was it.

I waved my next players to me and we breathed together, they were thrown by this intrusion, focus I signed and with a touch – onto the stage they went. I had to put my face really close to the ears of the Tane. Close enough to smell the sweat of his day. You cannot sit here, you are blocking my exits and entrances. He glared at me. Not speaking. Another student (she was managing my stage door - my runner) came up and whispered that they had all  been ejected from the audience by another teacher. All?  Who are the others. I whispered- His boys. She glanced at Tane. I had heard about them.  I swallowed. I looked back at Tane and this other boy. Tane motioned with his head, deadpan,  lightening flashed on the stage.  Low drums began.

The rest of them were outside the door.

Fuck. He knew he could derail our performance if he did not get his way but I knew that I could not back down. Ever.

I stood back up from my crouched conversation with my runners, watching him, listening to the performance, seeing the lights dim and rise, and he sat and watched me back. Menace rolled off him.  Out. I signed. We’ll talk later my eyes said. He tipped his head at his mate and the boy got up, pushing through the cast of kids, leaving the back door to be caught so it did not slam. The black curtains billowed. I watched this big strong boy who sat like a shadow. He was not moving. He set his feet. I went to him and gave him my ear. I want to stay Miss, he said.  He opened his hands on his knees. His head pulled back so his black eyes were on mine. It was dark. He was out on a limb. He was vulnerable.  We paused just the two of us. I moved players onto and off the stage, adjusting costumes and retying hair, making sure my daughter was still safe watching from her backstage keyhole. I tried to untangle the knot of this boy/man.   He waited. The space was so small. He was in the way. I nodded and bent close again. I want you to keep them out of here.  I said.  I nodded to the door. I could almost hear the gang out there - waiting. Can you do that?  You can stay. But if you stay you are with me now. Will you do that for me? Will you tell the others to wait quietly outside?   I pointed to the door, not a sound I signed. We watched each other a moment longer. He stood and went to the door. I raised my eyes at the light he was carelessly letting in.  He slipped out into the shadows. A long black wild cat. The door shut.  Softly.  

Back he came. Sit there. I pointed.  My voice low as the chorus chanted on stage. We have made a hole in the curtain.  You can watch. I offered my hand, waiting. He took it, my small white hand, broken marriage rings flashing, enfolded completely into the shadow of his dark palm. Hot. A pact. Challenge accepted and completed. He nodded.  Squeezed my hand, never having learned a handshake. He sat at his peephole, quite still, and watched the entire show, with my daughter laid under the scaffold beside him watching from her own peephole. He only watched one night. But afterwards I squeezed this shoulder thank you as he left.

The play was a triumph.  We played four nights. They bought the house down. The audience  loved it.  The heads of my students rose up to magnificent healing applause. They were stars! My kids  laughed and gave me flowers out on the stage on the last night. They threw a cloak over my black second hand wool dress  and a special necklace of dog chains around my neck. Now we all matched. They were gleeful.

We were walking back to the drama room after that last performance, change back into ordinary people, the cast were flying about in their cloaks, birds, sucking in the night and success. Just about to turn a corner I heard a scuffle in the car park.  Shouts and bangs, glass smashing. Grunts. Through the trees I saw the police were restraining a boy. He was fighting and cursing them.  I knew this boy. They were being rough with him. He was trying to smash another car window as he screamed at them. They would hurt him.  I  called out.  Hey, he is one of mine! What are you doing?  Storming out of the dark I went running straight at the cops, into the fight.  To rescue the boy. I knew I could stop the kid my way. No one needed to be hurt. The cops were turning  fast to meet me. Crouched. Not sure where I was. Our black cloaks becoming a camouflage.

Out of the dark Tane reached out and  caught me as I ran towards the car park. Towards battle.  His long arm caught me around my waist, lifting my feet off the ground and pulling me back into his side. I was angry. Put me down. He would not release me. Then they had all surrounded me.  Leading me back into the dark. Don’t mess with the police Miss, he said. Face close. Sober. Quiet. His nostrils flared. Watching me, his fear becoming a softer worry.  Waiting until I was still.   They will hurt you too, Miss.  Always run away when you see the police, Miss C. He said. Always. I glared back at him. We all stood. In tableaux.  Waiting. The hands of multiple students on me. We were in the dark now- invisible in our black. We heard  the doors slam on the police car and they pulled through the school parking lot.   I turned to Tane. That was the boy who came in with you the other night?  He took a step back. Head turned away. Watching.  Ae Miss.  He stood in the dark, slightly apart from the others now, watching the police car hit the tarmac and race off.

They all stood with me. This clan. This tribe. Waiting to see what would happen next.

I want to see you at eight in my classroom, Monday morning. In uniform. He turned back. He thought about it. Ae Miss. A small smile. The whole group breathed a silent sigh.

Now everyone there is cake in the drama room. Come. Change, and tidy everything away. I want twenty six dog chain necklaces in my hands before we eat!

I will collect them for you, Tane said. Establishing himself immediately as my enforcer. We would need to talk about that later. I tipped my head then nodded.  They turned. Oh, wait I called.  They all froze, and turned back.

You, I said. Pointing my pen at him. Tane drew in his breath. No more picking up the teacher and carrying her around! They all shrieked. He raised an eyebrow. The cast became ravens  and raced together through the darkness towards the pools of light at the door of the classroom.

I was engaged to work for three weeks and ended up staying 11 years. I  founded and ran a hugely successful  drama unit in that school.  We continued to butcher and rewrite the Great Works then wrote, butchered and rewrote our own. We toured, won awards, became nationally recognised.  My students were so good and so naughty.  All grown now. In London, Sydney, Perth, Germany. All over. Some are reading bedtime Shakespeare to their babies and some working two jobs to make ends meet. Some are still living there in that dangerous suburb and studying when they can. Some are beauticians, some are designers, some write and  some are in jail.  You may have even seen a few of them in the movies and TV. I am very very proud of them.

Tane was in my class on and off for another year. Then he was gone.

Many years later I was in the emergency room with one of my students who had injured herself in an improv game and needed stitches. Another story. Out of nowhere Tane came strolling up to us. Alive and healthy. He carried. Hard hat. A man now. We talked - delighted to see each other. He had a job with a demolition company. I smiled - perfect.

c

See you Monday!

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