Real Men Knit(17)

The little girl looked up at her with wide, dark eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss Kerry. But I really gotta go. I was holding it for so long before Mr. Watkins saw my hand.”

Kerry nodded and stepped out of the girl’s way. “Okay, well then, be off with you. But take it slow and be careful.”

“Yes, miss,” the girl said as she made her way down the hall, this time not running but shuffling at a fast run/walk pace.

Kerry shook her head. Poor Imara. She probably really did have to go. Mr. Watkins was getting up there in age and was usually so focused on his set lesson plan that, honestly, he barely noticed when the kids were trying to grab his attention. He, along with many of the other teachers, desperately needed an assistant in the classroom for just that reason. But the center was happy to have teachers like Mr. Watkins, who, though they could have retired a few years back, stayed on to teach in the communities they knew and loved for the children who needed them the most.

With the upcropping of charter schools that went year-round, the parents of the kids who went to public schools had been desperate to find ways to supplement, as best they could, their children’s learning. Hence this year-round after-school and summer learning center where Kerry worked part-time. It was one of the places she had considered moving on to since completing her degree—though she hated to admit that the lack of adequate compensation as compared to the private sector made it difficult to keep working there high on her list. She couldn’t stay on part-time forever, and as of now, there were no full-time positions open with the salary and benefits she needed to cover her rent. No matter how much she wanted to stick around, she still had to be somewhat practical. Yeah, rich from the woman who just volunteered to continue working at a knitting shop that will most likely close within three months. She shook her head at her own folly.

Just then one of her coworkers, Alison, peeped her head out of her office. Alison was an ESL specialist and the assistant department program director. Everyone tried not to be too salty about the fact that she had achieved this title at twenty-four, but Alison on her best days made that challenging. Throwing off clearly non– New Yorker airs while using extravagant hand gestures that mimicked early-nineties B-boys and bordered on gang signs, she whined constantly about the problems in her whole-assed two-bedroom condo in a new building on 138th Street that used to be affordable housing but was no longer.

“Hey, gurl!” Alison drawled, or said in what she believed passed for a drawl.

Gurl?

“Hello, Alison,” Kerry said, quickly screwing her face to look like she was both interested but also in a rush to get to her class.

“How are you?” The drawl switched to a pout as she jutted out her arms as if she wanted Kerry to come in for a hug.

Kerry looked at her and blinked. Today, Alison wore a linen one-piece jumper that was about three sizes too big for her slim frame with a tiny yellow tee underneath emblazoned with an owl wearing huge glasses. Her brown hair was center parted and plaited into two French braids. Kerry and her friend Val had previously had to politely explain that No, ma’am, they should not be called boxer braids. She looked more like a summer camp CIT than anybody’s director of anything, but whatever. Alison waved her hands and Kerry realized they were still outstretched. Kerry nodded and, instead of a hug, coughed, and watched Alison’s hands go down.

“Are you okay? I didn’t expect you today with the funeral and all. I thought you’d take the week. I was prepared to cover for you.”

I’m sure Val would have loved that, Kerry thought, thinking of her friend who she often co-taught with.

“Thanks so much. But I’m good. Or I will be. I appreciate the concern and the offer of help. Now I’d better get to class to set up.”

Alison nodded as she poked her bottom lip out farther. “All right then, but let’s do drinks soon. We are neighbors and all.”

Kerry screwed her good face on tight. “Yeah, that we are.”

Alison grinned. “Harlem world!” she whooped as Kerry caught sight of Emily, Alison’s assistant and another ESL specialist—well, the real ESL specialist, who grimaced and gave Kerry an apologetic look.

Poor Emily, Kerry thought. First, there was the fact that despite funding and the need for specialists in the classrooms, she’d been saddled with the job as assistant to Alison, which essentially meant she did all the real work that Alison failed to cover in the classroom. And on top of that, Emily being the nice—maybe too nice—white person with a diversity-challenged boss, she felt the need to constantly apologize for said diversity train wreck. It was as if the woman walked around with a constant but silent “I’m with Stupid” tee on.

Kerry gave her a “Stay strong” look to counter her “I’m so sorry for this disaster” lip bite before continuing down the hall.

“Harlem world! So we’re doing that today?” Kerry’s best friend, partner in crime, homegirl and all that came with it, Valencia Gibson, said as Kerry walked into the arts and crafts room.

“Oh stop, she tries,” Kerry said.

“You stop. It’s not as if you were not thinking the same thing,” Val responded. “That Lil Miss Sweet act can fool some of the girls, but not this one.”

Kerry smiled, but her eyes rolled to the ceiling, betraying her true thoughts. “You got me. Yeah, Harlem world by way of Stamford. I so cannot.”