Chapter Forty-Eight: Darius Drowning

Chapter 48: Darius Drowning

Not too far out in the water a child is floundering. On the beach people are watching: people who are good swimmers, people with boats and life preservers, people who know the child. But no one moves to save the child. The people watch as his cries for help weaken and his head slips under the surface. Over and over he manages, with splashing and struggling, to rise above the crashing waves only to be dragged under again. Finally he doesn’t resurface.

Later many of the people on the beach say they knew all along he was going to drown, it was just a matter of time.

Confession: I am one of the people on that beach. I watched the boy drown and did nothing. While the boy was drowning, I was preoccupied with building castles in the sand. Worse yet, I really liked the drowning boy, but like the rest of the people on the beach, I was unwilling do what was required to rescue him.

Darius remembers a time when he had a real family – a mother, a father and two younger brothers and they all lived together in Springfield, Massachusetts. He was four years old when the “social workers” took him from his parents, but his memories combined with his imagination paint an idyllic picture of those halcyon days. He grasps tightly to this story as life swirls about, choking and drowning him.

Nine years and fourteen foster homes later, Darius rarely sees one brother (therapeutic foster home - multiple physical handicaps), never sees the other brother (adopted) nor his parents (“My mother did something really, really bad to me”). At times Darius has been nourished by the rare and always temporary love of a teacher, counselor, social worker, therapist and long ago, a foster mother who died. These injections of love help keep Darius afloat with his chin quivering and dripping just above the water line.

The staff has been watching the sinking of Darius for weeks and we’ve made several phone calls to his foster mother. She tells us she thinks the psychotropic drugs Darius takes aren’t working properly or that the dosage is insufficient, but, she explains, his doctor is on vacation for a month and no one is covering his patients. This seems unbelievable to me and I call her more than once begging her to pressure someone: DCF, the clinic Darius attends, his therapist; to see Darius and alter his prescription. I tell her we are all worried about Darius. My words fail to persuade. Meanwhile Darius’s behavior becomes stranger and more volatile.

Neither Darius nor Ethan is a popular boy. They aren’t scapegoated, mostly they’re just avoided as one might steer clear of an unshaven homeless man talking loudly to himself. Misery in this case does not love company, at least not the company of another miserable outcast. In an effort to be accepted, Ethan seeks out opportunities to taunt Darius. His efforts are usually rewarded. Darius can pretty much be counted on to overreact to minor teasing and Prospect students thrive on such theatrics. Lately Darius hasn’t even required much of a catalyst, he is permanently armed for bear and he’ll lock and load with minimal provocation.

Of course it happened in the Mime’s class and it involved the Mime’s water bottle. It is surprising, or in retrospect maybe not so surprising, that the Mime still leaves her water bottle within reach of her class, especially in reach of Ethan, although for this prank Ethan doesn’t spit in it. Instead, after secreting the bottle off the Mime’s desk, Ethan walks up to Darius and quietly says his name causing Darius to look up from his worksheet at which point Ethan squirts Darius directly in the face with nearly the entire contents of the water bottle. Darius loses all control. He morphs into something approximating a cross between The Hulk and the Tasmanian Devil. Screeching, he throws chairs, desks, books and tears writing from the walls as he chases after Ethan. Saliva oozes down his chin as he lashes out – Darius is literally foaming at the mouth. Ethan’s initial laughter fades fast when faced with the reality of the Darius Demon. The other students flee the classroom, the Mime screams incomprehensibly into the walkie-talkie.

The Deputy and Counselor Rusty arrive in seconds with the Deputy determined to arrest Darius and Rusty just as determined he not be arrested. I take the Deputy aside to plead Darius’s case. He agrees, no arrest, but a long suspension. I call the foster mother and tell her Darius is suspended for fighting, that he was nearly arrested and that he can’t come back until he sees a doctor. She is not pleased. She tells me I should have let the Deputy arrest him, that would have taught him a lesson.

I have become really annoyed by that now all too familiar sentiment, it is like the refrain from some eerie chorus that keeps singing dirges to the future of my students.

My attempt to pressure the foster mother backfires – she knows her rights. The next morning Henry, my public school liaison, stops by my office to tell me I can’t suspend a child pending a doctor visit. I have to set a specific number of days in accordance with the severity of the misbehavior. Henry suggests five days. I try to explain my rationale, but to no avail. I may know Darius, but Henry knows the rules.

After five days, Darius returns and is so sleepy and disoriented in English class, the Mime decide he needs to “sober up” and she sends him to Shasta who is dispensing meds in the “clinic.” Shasta has Darius lie down and when she talks with him she learns he is now taking twice as many pills as prescribed. His doctor is still on vacation, so did Darius decide to increase his dosage on his own or did his foster mother? Shasta tells Rosie, Rosie tells me and I plan to phone his foster mother but I neglect to make it a priority and two days go by before I remember and by then it is too late.

Darius is wild. Absolutely wild. He starts his day by pounding the cafeteria table at breakfast chanting, “Give me my damn ice cream.” Later he dashes out of math class, removes his shoes and starts to run around the ball field in his socks. I walk out to the pitcher’s mound and call his name. At first he ignores me until I remind him I am a fast runner (Darius has seen my running trophy and believes the hype about my superhero speed) and that I can tackle him and restrain him (neither of us has forgotten his first days at Prospect – Darius eating dirt with me pinning his legs). He is still flailing but he follows me to my office. I see the Deputy watching us, shaking his head. In my office I tell Darius I’m going to call his foster mother.

“You know her number?” He asks, sitting shoeless on the edge of the chair, swinging his legs and fidgeting.

“Of course, if you recall I’ve called her a few times before.” Darius smiles at that but tells me: “Bet you don’t know her number today.” When I ask why, Darius explains:
“She’s on vacation. I’m staying at Cressler House.”

Cressler House – the shelter for homeless and abused children in Herald County.

I call Darius’s DCF caseworker. I’m told his case has been contracted out to a private faith-based agency. I call that agency and talk with Darius’s new caseworker. Yes, he is aware that Darius is living this week at Cressler. “Like leaving your dog in the kennel,” I sarcastically quip. He tells me this arrangement isn’t unusual – foster parents often don’t want the foster children around on vacation. The caseworker agrees to come pick up Darius. When the caseworker arrives, Rusty escorts Darius for a walk around campus to locate his missing shoes. In my office with Darius’s caseworker, I share my concerns about his behavior, his medication, his stay in the shelter. The caseworker listens, then says “Obviously you care for Darius, would you be interested in adopting him?” I stammer something by way of a reply as the caseworker continues, “Well I asked his foster mother, but she doesn’t want him. We got the youngest brother adopted but the middle brother has physical handicaps so no one wants him. Darius has an aunt, she’s 23 and in the military in Iraq. She says she might want Darius when she returns…. Oh and next time he behaves like this, my supervisor says you need to have him arrested. With my caseload, I don’t have time to pick up every kid who misbehaves.”

I meet with Rosie, Rusty and Darius’s teachers to talk about strategies to help Darius survive until his foster mother returns from vacation. Sam, his math teacher, says a friendship of sorts has started to form between Darius and Paxton.

Paxton, like Darius, is a very thin, twelve-year-old white boy. Unlike Darius, Paxton lives with his biological mother and his new step-father. Paxton is fairly unique in that his school did not recommend placement at Prospect; last year his mother and step-father decided Paxton lies too much and requested placement here. The public school agreed. Paxton wears glasses and elastic waist cotton twill pants and his shirt is always tucked in. He is very calm and polite. Unlike Darius, he is not teased by his peers, possibly because he doesn’t respond. However he is never picked for teams or groups and doesn’t have any friends at Prospect.

Both Darius and Paxton are very bright and play chess together in chess club. Sam has seen Paxton speak quietly to Darius in an effort to calm him when Darius starts to go haywire. Sometimes it even works. Armed with this valuable information, we agree to make an effort to keep Paxton near Darius. We plan to remain vigilant with Darius and try to remove him from class before a riot occurs, however we are not optimistic about our chances for success.

As she leaves the meeting, Rosie says she thinks about adopting Darius. “Don’t tell him.” I caution. “Oh he already knows. We’ve talked about it” She replies. Darius’s dreams deferred: “Hey kid, any minute now I’ll swim out and rescue you, hold on, I’ll be along directly.”

The following day I have an off-campus curriculum meeting to attend. I inadvertently depart for the meeting wearing both my sneakers (I usually change back into my shoes for meetings) and walkie-talkie (which I at least remember to leave in my car during the meeting). While driving back to Prospect the walkie-talkie starts to crackle even before I turn into Prospect’s long driveway. Theo’s voice sounds hysterical, Sam sounds calm but his tone is edged with urgency. I am too far from campus to hear clearly, but one word keeps coming through loud and clear: Darius. I race up the driveway and leap from my car sprinting across campus to Sam’s portable. I arrive in time to see Theo, Sam and Jordan trying to restrain a screaming, punching, kicking, writhing Darius. Students from three classes have spilled out onto the walkway between the portables and like spectators at the coliseum they cheer the action. Paxton is kneeling next to Darius trying desperately to calm him while simultaneously dodging his thrashing fists, but Darius is too far gone. The Deputy arrives seconds after I do and in an instant handcuffs Darius and stuffs him into the back seat of the squad car. The Deputy then takes a moment to talk with the three sweating, panting teachers. He’ll need an official report from each of them, and he wants them (and me) to know he will be arresting Darius for a felony assault on teachers. I ask Theo, Sam and Jordan if they are hurt and need medical attention. They all say no but admit Darius did hit them although, as Sam says “It was like he was punching at ghosts and we got in the way.” What set him off? Someone, maybe Ethan, made fun of his math poster…. After the milling students are herded back in their classrooms I start to walk back to my office when I hear a voice behind me: “Ms. Smee?” It is Paxton. “Ms. Smee I’m sorry. I tried to mentor Darius but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help him.” Then Paxton hands me something. “This fell out of Darius’s pocket when he was fighting. I think it is his prescription bottle. He told me this morning that he ran out and his foster mother is away. He was planning to ask Miss Shasta if she could get more since she gives out meds.” Thank you Paxton. It’s not your fault Paxton.

Well meaning adults peered into the crystal ball and saw this future – maybe not the particulars, but we knew Darius was spiraling downward and yet no one could or would help him. We busied ourselves with other things and waited for the inevitable. I avert my eyes as the patrol car pulls away. I let Darius drown and here is a secret: Darius was one of my favorites.