This story starts right when the story Cherry Picker by Carnal Quill is happening. This story does stand alone. Everything you need to know is covered in retrospect in this story.
Mike O’Hara was a pretty typical Junior High teacher. He had been at it for ten years now and had seen the changes happening; some good, many bad. When he started teaching, most of the kids were interested in sex but way too naïve to do anything more than play Spin the Bottle or some quick necking behind the buildings after school.
Man, had that changed. The kids were between the ages of twelve and fifteen, grades seven through nine. The changes between those ages were dramatic. But even more dramatic was how the girls seemed to be maturing, no, he told himself, it wasn’t seemed, they were maturing earlier than before. There were a million conjectures, from hormones in food, to sex in the media, to improved diet to global warming. None were very satisfactory or held up to real scientific scrutiny, which is why they were so popular on TV talk shows. Any crackpot, like Al Gore, was as believable as any other.
Mike had seen the girls in his classes get more mature and sexier right before his eyes. He read the studies; statistically it was likely that half the girls in school were already having sex. According to one study, one fifth of the ten year old girls are having sex. It was hard, he laughed to himself about the pun, for any normal man to keep his eyes to himself. He had actually gone to the local Catholic Church and asked the priests how they kept from getting in trouble. The older priest was quite blunt. It wasn’t easy; it wasn’t always possible. He had been told it was okay to look once, but that second look always got you in trouble. Mike tried to avoid that second look. The priest had been right, it wasn’t always easy.
A dedicated teacher, he cared about his students, more than he should sometimes. This was one of those times. Several weeks before, a bright, promising student had simply quit coming to class. Mike knew she had some trouble with her mother. He knew her address was a druggie and hooker hangout. But he knew this girl could make it out. She intuitively understood math. He had talked with her several times and asked her discerning questions that most students wouldn’t have the slightest clue about. Cherry, the girl, struggled, but could think through things and reach an understanding. This was one to save.
That’s why Mike was sitting in his car watching the seedy motel. He had been watching after school for several days. He had seen Cherry several times and with her had been younger boys. This afternoon, he had seen several boys from school meet with Cherry, then one of the boys would go into the motel with the girl. They were all seventh graders and he didn’t know any names. He figured they were meeting for some kissing, from the way the boys outside were laughing and scratching.
Mike got out of his car and leisurely came up behind the boys until he was close enough to overhear. He stopped and slid next to a wall, behind a downspout.
“Tad’s probably getting laid right now,” one boy said. Mike’s ears perked up at that.
“Best twenty bucks I ever spent,” one said. The others agreed.
“I just wish Cherry would fuck me again. I mean, why only once per guy? Why only virgins? Shit, I need sex just as much as Tad,” he complained.
Mike came up behind the boys, “Hello.”
They spun around, recognized a teacher from school and got ready to run.
“I heard you guys. No use running away. You have to come to school tomorrow,” Mike said. Their shoulders slumped in unison. “Okay, tell me the whole story.”
They looked at each other. Knowing they were caught, one boy started in. Pretty soon, they were all contributing with their versions. Mike was appalled, but not overly surprised, knowing Cherry’s mom. But it still didn’t make sense. She had so much potential.
Tad emerged from the building and stopped, alarm on his face. Mike waived him over. He came slowly. “What room?" Mike asked.
“Uh, 139.”
“Okay, get out of here,” Mike said. They took off down the street, not quite running, but moving fast.
Mike knocked on the door. Cherry opened it, wearing nothing but a robe and a smile. The smile turned to alarm when she saw him. “Mr. O’Hara. What are you doing here?”
“I talked to the boys, Cherry. Get cleaned up and dressed and meet me down at the park. I’ll be by the swings.” A whole series of emotions crossed her face, ending with a defiant look. “And Cherry, you really need to come talk to me or it will be the police.” The look of defiance faded. She finally nodded. He smiled, “Good. See you in a few minutes.”
Mike walked down to the park. It actually was a nice place in the daytime despite the neighborhood. He sat in one of the swings and tried to understand what he had learned. There was something not right. It kept drumming in his head…
Cherry showed up fifteen minutes later. “Hi, Mr. O’Hara,” she said.
Mike looked over the girl, blonde, blue eyed; she looked like a typical eighth grader. She was wearing a tight top and a micro mini skirt to show off her nice legs. Mike was impressed and tried not to take that second look. She did have a nice pair on her chest, but then many of the girls did these days. “Have a seat,” he said pointing to a swing. She sat down two swings away, but not the last one. Mike considered that a victory. “Okay, tell me why you’re not in school? And don’t try to kid me, Cherry. I talked to the boys and I know what’s going on.”
“I just didn’t feel like coming anymore,” she said defensively.
“Bullshit,” he said smiling.
“God, Mr. O’Hara, swearing…”
He looked around, “Fits the neighborhood.”
She nodded, forlornly. “I guess so.”
“Cherry, you were making it in school. You had the potential, then something happened…” Mike saw the emotions flit across her face, anger, blind madness. “That, right there. What were you thinking of?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, her face turning pale. She had remembered the rape.
“Cherry, your face went from blind anger to deathly afraid. That’s not nothing.”
“I ain’t afraid of that bastard,” she spit out.
Gently, Mike asked, “What bastard?”
The softness of the question drained her anger and left just the hurt and pain. She began to sob. Mike saw her distress and kneling in the sand wrapped her in his arms. The crying and sobbing continued. He consoled her, cooing gentle things until she was all cried out. When the sobbing slowed and she began to wipe the tears, Mike let her go. “Who?” he asked again.
“Hector Gutierrez,” she said.
“I don’t know the name,” Mike said.
“He goes to Johnson High,” she said.
“And he?” Mike asked though he dreaded the answer.
Tears again cascaded, “He raped me on my first date.”
Mike held her again as she cried. After she had calmed down again, “Why the stuff with the boys? I would have thought that would be the last thing you’d want to do?”
She laughed, “Yeah, I guess I should have swore off sex or something. But I figured if I got virgins who were younger, then I could be the one in charge. I felt so helpless when Hector held me down and pulled my panties off. I couldn’t fight him off. He was so big and strong. I couldn’t do nothing.”
“So with the boys you were in charge,” Mike said. She nodded. “You should call the police.”
She laughed. “What? It’s been a month. And what are they going to do for a whore’s daughter? Hector’s dad is a fucking doctor. Who they gonna believe?”
Mike ignored the swearing, being more concerned with helping the girl. “Doctors have been guilty of rape,” Mike argued.
“With ‘nice’ women maybe. Look, Mr. O’Hara. I know the police. They don’t do nothing to help whores. It’s like they aren’t people anymore. My mom’s been beat up and the cops don’t do shit, like she deserves being beat up. The cops help nice women, not whores or their daughters,” Cherry said bitterly.
Mike ruminated, no police. The girl needed counseling and for that he needed to get her back in school. “I guess I understand.”
Cherry pulled away angrily. “You don’t understand anything.”
He sat back. “Cherry, maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be raped. I’m a man, okay, but that doesn’t make me unfeeling. I do know and understand some things. I know it hurts. And I feel your hurt even if it would be different for me. And I know you shouldn’t be doing this. Dammit girl, I had such hopes for you. You know, you could get out of here. Make a great life for yourself. Have something really nice. Don’t let Hector ruin your life. Get your butt back in school.”
“What good would school do a whore?” she asked.
“Cherry. Your mom is a whore. You aren’t.”
“Am now,” she said cynically.
Mike exploded, “God Damn It! If I ever hear you say that again even if we are in school I swear to God, I am going to drag your butt to the nearest restroom and wash your mouth out with soap.”
Cherry’s mouth hung open at the vehemence in Mike’s voice. It quivered with anger. Something else more profound happened as well. Deep inside, she knew that he wasn’t saying that to punish her or control her, like virtually every other adult she knew. He said it because he cared for her. Never before had she felt that, not from the father she had never met, not from her drug addled mother. It unlocked a heart that she had sealed away. Emotions tumbled out that Cherry had long ignored.
“Mr. O’Hara…” Cherry mumbled unable to sort through all of the conflicting emotions.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he said. “It’s just that you have so much you could accomplish.”
“I don’t understand,” she admitted from deep inside.
“You ever wonder why I kept you after class some days and asked you those tricky questions?” She shook her head. “I was testing you. You have a math mind. You have the kind of mind that could be great in math.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. But you have to go to school,” he was practically begging.
“I could never be like you,” she said with certainty.
Mike laughed, “Yeah, I know that. I’m just a middle school math teacher. You could be something special. You could be a name that people remember. You could be so much more than what I am.”
Cherry shook her head, Mike simply nodded. It was the smile, the gentle certain smile that did Cherry in. With her emotions all open and raw, his certainty connected with her inner self. She believed he could be right. Maybe she didn’t have to be a whore’s daughter. He really did think she could be something special. Cherry was bright. The things Mike had said clicked with finality in her mind and she knew he was just possibly, although she wouldn’t quite admit it even to herself, maybe right.
Mike knew a story, a story of a man who owned a large business. Patrick Taylor was asked to speak to 7th and 8th graders who were planning to drop out. Instead of the usual speech he promised then that his company would pay for them to go to college if they maintained a B average and stayed out of trouble. Suddenly, It was possible. A funny thing happened. Most of those kids, the underachieving lost kids, qualified for college. 5 of them, those 'dropouts' became outstandng scholars and were nationally recognized. He kept his promise to them. Mike knew it was possible if he could convince Cherry it was possible. And inside Cherry she had that moment of revelation, maybe she could be something more than a whore.
“Cherry, I’m going to stop here on my way to school in the morning. I would take it as a personal favor if you would ride with me tomorrow morning,” he said.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
“Eight o’clock?” he asked.
Again, she nodded.
He hugged her one last time before standing. “I hope some day to be able to tell people, ‘I taught Cherry all she knows about math,’ even if it won’t be true.”
She giggled as only a middle school girl can do. “Okay, Mr. O. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” He turned and walked back to his car, waving before he turned the corner. Cherry was still sitting in the swing.
Mike tried not to think about Cherry that night, but he couldn’t stop himself. Now he was filled with those troubling second thoughts. Had he done the right thing? Was it correct for a teacher to interfere to that degree? How would he get Cherry the help she so desperately needed?
By the next morning, he was thought out. He drove by the apartment, and sure enough, Cherry was standing outside, slumped against a wall, but there. He smiled. He pulled up to the curb and he saw a smile, quickly suppressed, cross her face. It was all he needed to know he had done right. He was going to save this girl.
“Good morning,” he said as she slid in next to him.
“Morning,” she said with practiced nonchalance. “This is cool having a chauffeur to take me to school.”
“Of course, Madam,” Mike said laughing.
Cherry giggled, finally being herself.
The ride was too quick for Mike, happy to see the girl smiling and happy. At the morning break, he called the district office and inquired about counselors, not guidance, but real true counselors. It turned out that the district had been chosen for a special program that funded counselors in the high schools.
When Mike called them and explained why he was calling, the counselor told him they were there for exactly this sort of problem, to help kids in extreme cases, and Cherry had it about as extreme as you could get. The counselor took the information and set about getting the appointment set up.
Mike had told Cherry to meet him the same time in the morning the next morning. Once again, she was casual getting in his car, but as soon as they were out of her neighborhood, the mask dropped and the girl emerged. Mike pulled over and stopped in a park next to the school. Cherry looked confused.
“Cherry, I want you to talk with a lady at school,” he said.
“About what?” she asked.
“About whatever you want,” Mike told her.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“Cherry, you’ve been through some things that no one should go through. You need to talk to a person who can help you sort them out,” he explained.
“I don’t need no help,” she said crossing her arms across her chest.
He smiled, “Now I know you’re mistaken. We all need help, all the help we can get. I wish I had more help, sometimes.” He saw her think on that. “Promise me you’ll at least talk to this lady.”
Cherry bobbed her head, “Okay,” she conceded.
Vivian Reinfeld was one of those rare counselors who wasn’t as messed up, or more messed up in some cases, as her patients. She wasn’t a counselor who projected her own failings onto her patients. She also didn’t believe in victimization as a solution, but in responsibility and achievement. Not that people weren’t sometimes victims of bad acts, but letting a person wallow in their victimhood never made the person better. Putting them back in control and back on the path to their goals is what helped a person start feeling good about themselves again.
Even after her first session, Cherry was feeling better. Ms. Reinfeld had carefully put the idea into Cherry’s mind that progress towards goals was the means to happiness. Cherry left, determined to show Mr. O’Hara. Vivian smiled after the door closed behind the girl. She knew that this one would make it if she was handled correctly. She called Mike O’Hara, the teacher who had referred the girl.
“This is Vivian Reinfeld, I’m counseling Cherry.”
“Oh Hello. What can I do for you?” he asked.
“First, can I ask why you referred her?”
Mike told her. Vivian carefully clarified why he was concerned, without revealing anything confidential the girl had told her. She noticed that the teacher’s answers had just a bit of personal attachment. She nibbled at that until Mike exploded with how he felt the potential of Cherry was unlimited if he could get her out of her surroundings. It gave Vivian just the ammunition she needed in directing Cherry away from her past and towards a future worth striving for. If she could get Cherry thinking about a future, the past would fade away, no longer holding her and causing self-destructive behavior. She ended the call by thanking Mike.
Vivian saw Cherry every day that week. On Friday, she was concerned that a weekend in her environment might undo her efforts, but Cherry had spent the weekend working on special math problems Mike had given her. She was frustrated that she hadn’t been able to solve several of them, but the attention was exactly what the girl needed to feel special.
By Wednesday, Vivian could ask Cherry if she felt like she needed more sessions. The girl was surprised, but said no, she didn’t. Vivian pronounced her cured, which lifted Cherry’s spirits to new heights. She had overcome!
Vivian knew that this wasn’t a complete cure and phoned Mike again, telling him to continue his work with the girl. She needed something outside of the home to keep her focused on success. This was always the difficult part, moving on, but the caseload required it. There were more kids than there were hours in the day.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2009