Ms. Molloy is in Paradise

Anti-Semitism

"It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark."

Everyone covered their ears. Mr. Hickey was yelling. We had no idea what about, though Phillip said his grandfather was in the war, and this was story time.

"It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark,” he repeated.

I tugged at his pants and asked him which war, and he yelled, “The good one!” and shook me from his leg. He smelled like my stepdaddy, and for the second time today, and the third time this month, Mrs. Molloy pulled me aside and said, “Judy Anne Finch, you listen to me.”

I said, “Ok,” but that seemed to make her mad.

“Mr. Hickey has done a lot and seen a lot. You listen to him and leave his pants alone.”

“I do, and we can hear him, believe me, Ms. Molloy, too much. I don’t think anyone but Phillip knows what he’s saying. Phillip says he was in a war, and Mr. Hickey said it was a good one.”

“It was one of them! We’ve had a few good ones, Judith! Now hush up and go back before you miss his story.”

“I hear it here.”

“I want you front and center, missy.”

“But I’d go deaf.”

Mrs. Molloy, I mean, Ms. Molloy, grabbed my arm and said, “Go down to Dr. Goier’s office at once.” This got everyone’s attention: 20 classmates and Mr. Hickey, who shouted, “Where we going?” Ms. Molloy smiled. I was going to the principal’s office.

“She’s coming back to hear the rest of your story.”

“I’m done,” he yelled.

“I thought I was going to Dr. Goier’s?” I asked.

“Did you say, Hermann Goering or Dr. Goier, little man?” asked Mr. Hickey.

Ms. Molloy smiled again, but this one was real.

“This is, Judy, Mr. Hickey. She will take you to Dr. Goier.”

“What?”

“I said,” said Ms. Molloy. “That…”

“You already said that part,” yelled Mr. Hickey. “What about the Nazi?”

“Follow, Judy, sir.”

“Who?”

“Judy.”

“You?”

“The girl.”

“Girl?”

She held up my arm. I never noticed how pale I had become. Her grip turned some of my skin red.

“This one!”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place!”

He waited for an answer. He sat in a wooden chair in front of 20 kids. Phillip hugged him and helped him over to us. I thought Ms. Molloy’s hands were cold, but Mr. Hickey’s were like a bag of milk that had been in the freezer for 20 minutes. I know. I put my stepdad's delivery in the wrong place. He thought it was funny until I saw him typing into a calculator and told me I was fired. I asked what for, and he said, “Costing him a fortune.” I asked Mr. Hickey if he was worth a fortune. He laughed and asked if I was a spider, a black widow?

“Nah.”

“Good!”

We stood there, next to Phillip, Ms. Molloy, and 39 eyes. Eric Messina had one eye and wore an eye patch. He used to have two, then, at his dad’s auto repair shop, a wrench fell on him.

“Well?” said Mr. Hickey. “Let’s go!”

I forgot that old people don’t say, “Yaw!” when you pull them like a horse or oxen. So I pulled and said, “Dr. Goier’s is this way.”

“What?” was the last thing he said in the classroom.

We passed the janitor who was putting up Ms. Molloy and taking down Mrs. Ryan. No one called her that anymore, but she sure did get angry if you called her Mrs. Molloy. She just came back from Mexico and was a tan Irish woman, except for the pale circle around her ring finger. She must have taken it off on the plane ride home.

The hallway was very long and blue—blue carpeting, blue lockers, and blue doors. Dr. Goier was at the end of the hallway, but you had to get through two other women, one of whom was Mrs. Diane, and the other was Mrs. Kowlkowski. Mrs. Diane is who my stepdad called if I was sick, and Mrs. Kowlkowski would call him if I missed the bus. I think that’s all they did.

“Little lady, what is your name?” asked Mr. Hickey.

“Judy.”

“What?”

“Judy!”

“Slow down, Junebug. This ain’t no turkey-trot.”

“Turkey-trot?”

“What?”

“Turkey-trot!”

“Yeah!”

Mr. Hickey had a long white beard, and the bags around his eyes looked like pebbles and seashells of a peculiar shade of seasoned white, light blue, and purple that I think I’ve seen in marbles.

“Judy Finch?”

“Yes.”

“I knew your momma. She was a sweet lady.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“What was that?”

“That’s what I hear!”

“Yeah.”

He looked forward and did not deviate. He wore a vest and a baggy white T-shirt with three buttons under his long, white Santa hair.

“Your mother had a sonsie figure. You know that?”

Before I could ask what sonsy was, Mrs. Koeller poked her head from the 4th-grade door and, when she saw Mr. Hickey, she slowly went back into her room.

“What the hell was that? Oh, sorry, Junebug, I did not mean to bring up Hell! Haha!”

Mrs. Breckenfelder and Ms. Nancy Perez stuck their heads out. Mr. Hickey smelled the air and said, “What’s that diaper smell?”

Like Mrs. Koeller, their heads receded. He did not hear their doors close, so I became some sort of answer. He looked at me.

“Still poopin’? I got it, too.”

“Poopin’?”

“In the pants.”

“No!”

“Your momma took no sass either. What a caboose on that train.”

“Caboose?”

“What!”

“Caboose!” I yelled.

“Take me to Herman Goering’s office, before I call the police! This is kidnapping!”

“I’m younger than you, and you’re a man!”

“And I’m older than you, and you’re a girl!”

“What does that mean!”

His darted from side to side. Then he pointed at me.

“You’re a girl!”

I pulled him into the administrative office. He looked at them and shouted at Mrs. Diane and Mrs. Kowlkowski.

“Where’s the Doctor?”

Mrs. Diane dropped the phone. Mrs. Kowlkowski pretended to be on hers. Mrs. Diane may or may not have been, but she did cover the handset. “Take him to the front door,” she whispered. Mr. Hickey pointed at her.

“What does she do?”

“Says Dr. Goier is over here!”

“Stop repeating what everyone says! And stop shouting! You’re like a bomb!”

I pulled him out and felt the sighs on the back of my neck, pushing him to the school entrance—two large glass doors with a little foyer for us to stomp the snow off our boots. Dr. Goier hated wet carpet.

Mr. Hickey sat on a bench, and I stood beside him and held out my hand like my stepdaddy. He looked at my palm and yelled, “You got my luggage?”

“Your coat?”

“Where is it?” He asked.

“It’s 10 degrees outside!”

“Fahrenheit or Celsius?”

“I got to get your coat.”

“You better! That’s murder!”

“I’ll be right back, Mr. Hickey.”

“That’s better. Old men hear when they’re addressed as sir or mister, and such. Stops the selective hearing. Fetch my jacket! Phillip has it; he’s a good boy.”

I ran, and as I turned the corner, out of his sight, I bumped into Dr. Goier. She held three coffees, and they went all over her yellow blouse.

“Judith Finch!”

The woman was an owl, or at least I had no evidence to the contrary.

“Who’s there?” shouted Mr. Hickey.

She hooted, and her eyes darted around. She leaned toward me like I had done nothing wrong, whispering, “Is that Mr. Hickey?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “He told me to run and get his jacket.”

Dr. Goier was very tan, and her hair was combed the wrong way. I noticed, like Ms. Molloy, she also had pale skin where there might have been a ring.

“Ok, I’m going to talk to him. Fetch his jacket.”

This was the first and only time Dr. Goier didn’t make me cry in her office. I ran and almost bumped into a janitor. Dr. Goier yelled, “No running!”

“What?” shouted Mr. Hickey.

I entered Ms. Molloy’s classroom, and everyone was pretty much doing what they wanted. It must have been creative writing time, but I did not see Ms. Molloy, who seemed to enjoy creative writing. I walked up to Phillip and asked for his grandfather’s jacket.

“Ms. Molloy has it.”

“Where is she?”

“Crying.”

“With Mrs. Koeller?”

“No, Jessica says in the bathroom.”

“Which Jessica?”

“Garza.”

Jessica Garza, not Jessica Cruz, who she sat next to, said, “You hurt Ms. Molloy’s feelings.”

“How?”

Jessica started writing.

“I dunno, ask her.”

“She’s in the bathroom?”

“No, she went to give you Mr. Hickey’s jacket. She started crying as soon as she picked it up.”

I poked my head out the door. At the far end, I could hear Mr. Hickey’s gibberish and a few stern words from Dr. Goier. Across the hall, Mrs. Frontier opened her door. Her room was empty. They were at gym.

“Judy, what is all this racket?”

“I don’t know. Did Ms. Molloy go down that way?”

Mrs. Frontier had the curliest hair in the world and the bluest eyes. She also worked at the grocery store cause her husband was a “deadbeat.” I never understood why she put all that makeup around her eyes. It looked like blue spray paint, and her eyelashes were like spikes, but she was nice. She pointed the other way, at the side door, where you could see snow falling.

“She just walked past my window. Nose as red as Rudolph’s. Remember when you read that story in my class?”

I had no time for such childish memories. I headed to the side door, but Mrs. Frontier stopped me. “Where do you think you’re going without a jacket?”

I walked to my locker, but she already had her leopard print overcoat. It was folded, as if she were going to give it to someone. Guess that’s me.

“Careful,” she said. “I bat a 1000 with that.”

It was like everyone said things I did not know, and I nodded as I did. I ran out the door.

Our school was shaped like an L, and snow was falling like little squares of melting white butter. Ms. Molloy was easy to find because she was the only one dancing with Mr. Hickey’s jacket. Though she had tears, they seemed to be happy tears. I had only seen that once before with my stepdaddy. She saw the leopard coat and myself, stopped, and smiled.

“Why you dancing with Mr. Hickey’s jacket?”

It was an old red-and-black flannel with a lamb 's-wool-looking texture inside. Ms. Molloy took a deep breath and exhaled. The street was empty, and she looked at me, she looked at us, and the snow that melted in our hair. “Memories, Judith.”

“He told me to get his jacket.”

She looked at it and brought it to her face. Another deep inhale and exhale. It was unusual. She looked up and said she loved the snow. “Do you?”

I’ve never been asked that. I thought about it and said, “Yeah, why not?”

She looked at me, briefly. She shook the snow off her shoulders and smelled his jacket before giving it to me.

“Mr. Hickey comes a lot,” I said.

“He does.”

Ms. Molloy had the nicest smile I had ever seen on her. We didn’t move for a while. I don’t know why she eventually did or didn't, but she instructed me to go through the front doors, but like she said it too soon. Said she’d see me in class, but I almost missed that because I smelled Mr. Hickey’s coat. I thought you couldn’t smell in the cold, but you could smell this coat, anywhere. Ms. Molloy was walking to the side door.

“What’s this smell, Ms. Molloy?”

She looked over her shoulder and said, “Memories!”

“Memories?”

She was gone. I never saw that Ms. Molloy again, but I did what she did and put my face into the jacket. I did not stop there. I also danced with it. It smelled like my stepdaddy’s deodorant. He said it cost soldiers only a dollar, and the box it came in said it made you effortlessly masculine. I thought about him while I danced until I got distracted by how big the snow got.

Mrs. Koeller and Mrs. Frontier watched from their rooms, each with a different expression. Mrs. Koeller looked at me like, “What are you doing?” and Mrs. Frontier crossed her arms and smirked, but not in a disapproving manner, which was the case when she crossed her arms. It felt like the opposite. Like she was looking for someone to sail around the world with, and maybe I was that girl. I heard she and her husband, who has a different last name, have a boat called Britney.

I ran to the front door and almost slipped on some ice right in front of Dr. Goier. I thought for sure I was going to her office. She rolled her eyes and opened the door.

“Get in here, Ms. Finch. Mr. Hickey’s ride is waiting.”

She grabbed my arm too, which already felt purple.

“Why are you wearing Mrs. Frontier’s coat?”

There are so many words, and so many that needed to be said all at once. I sighed, and my shoulders dropped. I was going to cry. I don’t know, but Dr. Goier smiled a little bit. I don’t know what was tingling my tummy, but Dr. Goier touched my shoulder and said, “Let’s get Mr. Hickey out of here. Give him his jacket, then go return Mrs. Frontier’s coat, and get your little hiny into class.”

I almost clapped my shoes, but then I certainly would have slipped. She pulled me in.

“Yes, mam.”

He followed me with what appeared to be new dead eyes.

“There’s the thief.” He snatched his coat from my hands. “Don’t be a stranger, Junebug. Keep that snow in your hair. Where are your boots!”

“I didn’t have…”

But Dr. Goier pushed me away, sparing me all the explaining that could swallow my education whole, she later said.

Around the corner and out of sight, I did a strut in the leopard overcoat. My stepdaddy said my mom had this walk. Showed it to me whenever I was sad, and it always made me laugh to see him in something she wore.

“She was like a cat dogs wanted to lick.”

I didn’t get that at the time.

I took off Mrs. Frontier's coat, folded it over my forearm, before any dogs started licking me. I knocked. She said, “Come in,” and it sounded good, but not in any special way. She sounded like a teacher in the teachers' lounge, and it put me at ease. The room was empty. Her students were still at the gym, and I did not feel embarrassed by what she and Mrs. Koeller had seen. Ms. Molloy did the same thing, and they loved her, but Mrs. Koeller drank, and I don’t think Ms. Molloy did that.

Mrs. Frontier was slashing up poor Bobby Romero’s quiz with a giant red marker. She said, “You can leave that right here,” pointing to a chair beside her without ever taking her eyes off the quiz. I put the coat down.

Josh Hill once described her as a mouse who needs money. One of the janitors said she was Jewish. She put down the marker and looked at me when I did not leave.

“Do you like Ms. Molloy?”

“I do.”

“Hand me my coat.”

“I just put it down.”

“Hand me my coat.”

I did. Like Mr. Hickey’s, she gave it a quick whiff and handed it back to me.

“Give that to your teacher.”

I was confused. Mrs. Frontier seemed to know that. Seemed like she knew everything. “Do you know why she keeps inviting Mr. Hickey for story time?”

“So we’ll all go deaf?”

That was it, I thought. I was going to catch hell, but she laughed like a lion roars. Still, I tried to explain myself.

“I was just kidding, Mrs. Frontier.”

She laughed some more and said, “I know,” wiping away some tears. She sat still for a moment. Regained composure. Crossed her arms and turned in her chair. She thought about something else, words. I could see her composing her sentences. Then she talked.

“I hear everything Mr. Hickey says. Everyone does, except you children, who have to sit next to that megaphone, but I heard you today. You asked him which war he fought in. What did he tell you?”

“That he was in the good war.”

“Smell the coat in your hands.”

“It’s Ms. Molloy’s now?”

“Yes, smell it.”

I did.

“Smells like my stepdad’s.”

“Yes, it does,” says Mrs. Frontier. “It also smells like Mr. Ryan’s. Do you know why?”

I had to think about this one.

“Hm.”

“When Mr. Ryan passed, she talked to your class…”

“She did,” I said.

“In a ‘good’ war. Your stepdad was in that war.”

“He doesn’t say it was good, though.”

Mrs. Frontier nodded.

“Your stepdad has a good memory, and he’s a good man. Now, give that coat to your teacher. She’ll know it’s mine, and hopefully we won’t have to hear Mr. Hickey anymore.”

“He’s fired?”

She smiled.

“He was never hired. He comes here again, Ms. Molloy is going to get fired.”

I figured it out. I remained.

“Why doesn’t she just buy the deodorant, Mrs. Frontier?”

“You can’t buy what you remember. You can’t buy what you love.”

“My stepdaddy wears this. I’ll hide one of his shirts in…”

Mrs. Frontier told me to shut up.

“She might think it’s Mr. Ryans. Go now. Give her the coat and learn something.”

I did what I was told.