Treading Noise
Treading Noise
by Tara Hebert
Joseph rocks side to side in the hall outside the classroom, counting again the soft yellow-colored rectangular blocks sixteen high. He rocks in the quiet of the hall bracing himself to enter the classroom like a child braces before jumping into a cold pool. Mrs. Miller notices him, reaches for his hands, gently pulls him through the doorway, and the sounds crash over him. For a few seconds, Joseph forgets to breathe.
Mrs. Miller smiles and says, “Good morning, Joseph.”
Joseph knows he is supposed to say, “Good morning, Mrs. Miller,” but his brain is trying to find space in the noise and latches on to the quiet blocks in the hall. Instead, he says, “There are sixteen blocks from the floor to the ceiling.”
Mrs. Miller smiles and says, “You are correct again, Joseph,” as she walks him to his desk - his space. And again, Joseph struggles to keep the noise at bay.
Wesley’s chair clatters, Molly’s book makes crinkles, the projector above whirs, harsh light focused on the board, illuminating morning assignments, Owen is using an outside voice to convince Jack that his baseball team is better, and Lauren whispers to Jessica that Kelly is a big baby because he cried on the playground yesterday.
And Joseph in the middle of this sea of noise wants to cover his ears but instead fists his hands at his sides to stop them. Because he has learned not to. Releasing the breath held in his chest, Joseph hangs his bookbag on the back of his chair and takes out his blue homework folder. The folder that has to be placed on the desktop that exact distance from the edge. Uneven check marks next to his homework activities show that Joseph completed each. He notices the empty space next to his daily conduct mark where Momma’s initials are supposed to be and the noise rushes in flooding Joseph’s eyes with tears and squeezing his chest. His hands rise from the folder moving to his ears and Mrs. Miller is back, gently holding his hands, smiling and telling him it’s okay.
The noise recedes and Joseph sits in his chair, rocking back and forth, but only slightly. Because he has learned not to. As he sits through morning routine, he feels the tag that Momma hasn’t cut out yet scratching the back of his neck and the seam of his sock on his right foot, sensations that refuse to fade, always pressing like the noise, and so he rocks a little faster to shake off both.
Mrs. Miller begins the math lesson. Joseph likes math. The numbers stay where they are supposed to and combine and come apart cleanly. Joseph waits to be called on instead of blurting out the answers. Because he has learned not to. When it’s his turn he cannot answer because Mrs. Miller has forgotten to move the plus sign between the two numbers he knows will equal fourteen when added or two when subtracted.
What comes out instead is, “You forgot!” As soon as her hand touches the plus sign, Joseph’s answer bursts through the locks in his mind, “Fourteen!”
Mrs. Miller smiles and says, “Thank you, Joseph. Good job paying attention.”
And Wesley scrapes his chair legs against the floor and Molly taps her pencil on the table and the air conditioner rattles as it kicks on and Owen yells his answer and Jack copies him and Jessica whispers to Lauren that she needs to remember to sit next to her at the lunch table and Kelly cries when he gives the wrong answer to the math problem and Joseph knows that it’s seventeen. Seventeen.
The noise rises with each hour until it crests at lunch time. Flowing with the force of a river, increasing as class after class enters the cafeteria. Plates and utensils clatter. Voices surge. Mrs. Pierre uses her angry teacher voice to quiet her class. Again. Joseph can no longer shut it off with the number of blocks from floor to ceiling or the clenching of his fists or his lunch plate that exact distance from the edge of the table.
Mrs. Miller places the noise canceling headphones in Joseph’s hands and says, “It’s okay, Joseph. Remember when we had to use these for our morning routine?”
Joseph places the headphones around his neck, a comforting weight on his shoulders. Battered by waves of sound, he pauses for a moment before placing them over his ears. Because he wants to learn not to.
After lunch Mrs. Miller begins the reading lesson. Joseph likes the words that stay on the page. Words that plug into sentences with a beginning and an end. Kelly is his partner for reading. Joseph waits for his turn to read and doesn’t read for Kelly when he can’t figure out the words. Because he has learned not to.
Mrs. Miller walks over and listens as Joseph reads, “I like to play in the waves at the beach,” then blurts out, “But I don’t like to.”
Mrs. Miller smiles and says, “That’s okay, Joseph. Good job reading the sentence.”
And Wesley knocks his chair over and Molly shakes her pencil box and the timer rings to begin quiet time for reading and Owen fusses at Jack to stop copying him and Lauren whispers to Jessica that she has another loose tooth and Kelly cries because it’s quiet time and he doesn’t want to read and the beach is not a fun place.
The noise recedes. Joseph packs his bookbag, the blue homework folder goes in first followed by books in front of the folder. He waits in the parent pick up line rocking side to side, wincing when Mrs. Pierre shouts his name. He climbs into the back seat of his mother’s car and breathes lungs full of air when the door closes, shutting out the noise. His mother reaches into the backseat and squeezes his hand.
Her smiling face framed by the seats, eyes looking directly into his, she asks, “How was your day, Joseph?” Because she has learned how to.
In the quiet of the car, Joseph remembers that she forgot to initial the conduct chart, but that Mrs. Miller said it was okay, and that Wesley pushed Joseph’s chair in when he forgot, that Molly put her homework folder that exact distance from the edge of the table, that Owen said he could be on his baseball team, that Jessica whispered to Lauren that he was really good at math, and that Kelly stopped crying when Joseph helped him with reading during quiet time.
Joseph takes a breath and realizes, “It was a good day.” Because someone taught him how to.
