The children hunched over their scraps of paper. They scribbled crude hearts and balloon letters with pencil nubs. Those with colored pencils splashed their drawings with reds, pinks, and purples. Others made contrast with charcoal.
Valentine’s Day had come, and Ms. Dita celebrated it like any other holiday, a ceremony to shower her love on the youth. Every holiday brought them together, and she cherished her children, especially the one in most need of her compassion.
They were hers because they were unwanted. Although they recognized this—recognized their abandonment left them with nothing—they all knew how Ms. Dita adored them.
Danny, their self-proclaimed leader, instructed everyone to exchange Valentines. Each child had enough paper to make five, one for each of their favorite friends. Paul’s fingers trembled around his cards as he wondered if Sandra and Manny liked him, too. Anna and Danny sauntered as they delivered their Valentines, confident of their popularity. Veronica stared at the plastic bags lining the wall, hoping her cards would make others happy.
Very few of them enjoyed the holiday popularity contests. They seldom felt love from their cohort. They were, however, familiar with the fickle nature of relationships. Only Ms. Dita’s love was unconditional, but no one wanted the pain of being the social outcast and the target of her full compassion. Phillip trudged as he delivered his Valentines, knowing his social ineptness made him a candidate.
After everyone had finished, Danny instructed them to grab their bags. He winked at Phillip who sneered back.
Tense and jittery, the children dove into their bags. Anna squealed in a pile of paper. Paul exhaled in relief to see his pull. Standing by himself, Phillip gasped to see a single card for him. Tearful, he unsteadily opened it.
“We’ll miss you.” -Danny
Phillip’s smile disappeared as he looked at the others. They stared back. Everyone had at least two cards.
He roared, stomping his feet on the stone floor. He accused his cohort of ostracizing him. He screamed at their cruelty.
Danny stifled a laugh. Phillip, enraged, lunged at the boy.
Ms. Dita’s tentacled arm surged from the cave’s bowels, embracing Phillip’s neck. She reeled him towards her. He snarled profanities as five other arms slithered from the darkness and hugged his torso and legs. He ignored the spines on her chest as they caressed into his back. His fury at the apathy of his cohort overrode his pain and fear.
Under the tender gaze of Ms. Dita’s yellowed irises, the children turned away. They ignored Phillip’s gurgled insults and began redistributing the boy’s belongings amongst themselves. They had one more year of holidays with Ms. Dita, and the previous year had numbed them.
They stole glances at Ms. Dita, her carapace now enveloping Phillip. The boy’s eyes bled hatred. His broken hands tore at the tentacles around him.
As Ms. Dita’s mandibles kissed Phillip’s face, the other children silently agreed he had needed her love more than any of them.
I really liked this one. Perhaps because I am a teacher and sometimes my students seem this cruel. Or perhaps I’ve got a little Ms. Dita in me.
I like to think there is a bit of Ms. Dita in all of us.