Read Out of My Mind for Free Online Page B

other end of theline trying to figure out what was going on. Luckily, it was her day off. I knew she’d be there in a few minutes. So I gradually calmed down and finally shut up. The other kids quieted down as well, like somebody had clicked the off switch.
    “Old MacDonald” continued to play.
    My mother arrived faster than I thought possible. When I saw her jeans and dirty sweatshirt, I realized she’d dropped everything and jumped in the car. She ran over to me and asked what was wrong.
    I took a few deep, shuddering breaths, then I pointed to the alphabet on my talking board and screeched some sounds of frustration.
    “This is about the alphabet?” my mother asked.
    Yes. I pointed, then pounded on the answer.
    She turned to Mrs. Billups. “What were you working on before all the screaming started?”
    Mrs. Billups replied, in that superior tone that teachers dressed in nice red business suits use when they’re talking to mothers with dirty shirts on, “We were reviewing the alphabet, of course. The sound of the letter ‘B,’ if I recall. I always start with the basics. These children need constant review because they don’t retain information like the rest of us.”
    My mother was getting the picture. “So you were going over the ABCs?”
    “Correct.”
    “It’s February.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “School started in August. You haven’t gotten past the letter ‘B’ in six months?” Mom was balling and unballing her fists. I’ve never seen my mother hit anything, but when I see her doing that, I always wonder if she might.
    “Who are you to tell me how to run my class?” the teacher asked angrily.
    “And who are you to bore these children with mindless activities?” my mother snapped back.
    “How dare you!” the teacher gasped.
    “I dare anything for my daughter,” Mom replied, her voice dangerous, “and for the rest of these children!”
    “You don’t understand—,” the teacher began.
    Mom interrupted her. “No, Mrs. Billups, it is you who does not understand!” Mom looked like she was trying to calm herself down, because she then said, “Look. Have you ever said to yourself, ‘If they show that stupid commercial on TV one more time, I think I’ll just scream’?”
    Mrs. Billups nodded slowly.
    “Or, ‘If I have to sit five more minutes in this traffic jam, I’ll simply explode’?”
    “Yes, I suppose,” she admitted.
    “Well, I think that’s what happened to Melody. She said to herself, ‘If I have to go over those letters one more time, I’ll just scream.’ So she did. I really don’t blame her, do you?”
    Mrs. Billups looked from my mother to me. “I guess not, now that you explain it that way,” Mrs. Billups finally said, her voice now as calm as my mother’s.
    “Melody knows her alphabet, all the sounds of all the letters, and hundreds of words on sight. She can add and subtract numbers in her head. We discussed all this at our last parent conference, didn’t we?” I could tell my mother was trying to control her temper.
    “I thought you were exaggerating,” the teacher said. “Parents are not always realistic when it comes to these children.”
    “If you call them ‘these children’ one more time, I might scream,” my mother warned.
    “But Melody does have mental and physical limitations,” Mrs. Billups argued, trying to put Mom in her place, I guess. “You have to learn to accept that.”
    And the fire was back. “Melody can’t walk. Melody can’t talk. But she is extremely intelligent! And you better learn to accept that !” Mom spat out.
    The teacher backed up an inch or two.
    “Didn’t you read her records from last year?” Mom demanded. “Melody loves listening to the books on tape.”
    “I try to approach each child with an open mind and not be influenced by other teachers. All the records are in a box someplace.”
    “Maybe you should find that box,” my mother said, her lips tight.
    “Well, I never!” Mrs. Billups