Writing Notes

I sit in a chair opposite a little girl who has had more pain than most can't imagine. I watch her tough chola facade break down as one tear, then two, then a flood pours down her face.

She's been in trouble so many times and we're only six weeks in. Mostly notes, and one unforgettable one directed towards a team teacher. We've lost count of the times she's written or said Fuck you.

Today she's back from being suspended and scribbling away during class. Writing notes again already? I think. Sauntering over I open my hand in anticipation of them being handed over. She looks down at the index card and then slowly up to me.

"It's for you." She says.

I want to do right. I want to go to college. I'm sick of being a stupid ugly girl. I'm sorry for disrespecting you. I'm sorry. I want to learn. Thank you for being my teacher.

As tears fill my eyes, I have to take a minute before I go back to writing conferences.

Class ends, and I invite her to have lunch with me, and just like it's been as long as I can remember, one more person opens up to me without me ever uttering a question.

I sit opposite her and she tells me of her dad and the bad things he did to her. Of her abusive, alcoholic mother. That's where I got this scar. Of her drug-dealing brother who has beaten her up countless times. Of her youngest brother who almost died last year in a car accident. Of how she had the matching blood-type.

She's such a hero and she doesn't even realize. She's survived.

She survived when her brother was shot and died in her 8 year old arms.

When I ask her what she wants more than anything, she answers, "Just one good thing for my family. Just one good thing."

I'm crying with her now.

Later I will write a note. One just for her. . I will tell her she is a hero and a beautiful, smart young woman. I will tell her she has the strength to do whatever she wants.

I will tell her she already is the one good thing for her family.