The King and the Kindergarten Teacher

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“And the charming prince drew his sword and rushed to rescue the princess when—”

“But, Ms. Pickett?”

Esmeralda Pickett looked up from the picture book at the interruption. This wasn’t the first interruption of the story. She’d paused at nearly every page of the story to answer a question or offer an explanation to the bright-eyed kindergarteners in her class. She was proud of her inquisitive group. Their little minds were like sponges, hungry to soak up new knowledge.

“Ms. Pickett, why can’t the princess draw her own sword?” Aubrey Thomas scrunched her button nose up as she tried to work out her problem with the story. “You said this wasn’t the first prince to try to rescue the princesses. And they’re all in the dragon’s lair. So there are other swords lying around on the ground. Why doesn’t she just pick one of those up herself?”

That was very good logic, especially from a five-year-old who Esme often suspected was going on fifty. All around Esme, ten other little heads bobbed and tilted their heads as they considered this addendum to the story. They didn’t immediately look to Esme for the answer. No, they discussed the possibilities and parameters amongst themselves.

They’d been listening attentively for the first two pages. The interruptions had begun once the princess disobeyed her father and went into the woods. Esme’s class gaped with wide eyes as though they had never considered disobeying their parents.

They gasped with open mouths and hands clutching at imaginary pearls when the princess accepted food from a stranger. A discussion group broke off between Kurt Willis and Carla Barrow about the dangers of accepting candy from strangers or anything that was not in a pre-packaged wrapper that had the ingredients and allergens clearly labeled for their moms and dads to read.

But the kicker had been Tracey Chen. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in abject horror, pigtails swaying with the movement when Esme had described the villain of the story as an evil witch and showed her picture. Tracey was certain that Esme was discriminating against the elderly and those with psoriasis and eczema.

What five-year-old even knew any of those words, could pronounce them and knew what they meant? But, hey, at least they were all engaged. And that’s what learning was about. Wasn’t it?

“Okay,” said Esme, addressing the latest query posed to her by the youngsters. “What if the princess did pick up the sword? What do you think she’d do?”

“With the sword, the princess could slay the dragon herself,” said Aubrey, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Then she could get home before bedtime, apologize to her parents, and not get too big of a consequence for her actions.”

“But she slayed a dragon,” said Carla. “That’s animal cruelty.” She was a vegan and cried every time she saw one of her classmates eating chicken fingers or hot dogs.

“Dragons aren’t real,” said Aubrey.

“They are in my culture,” said Tracey. “In China, they symbolize strength and power and good luck. That’s why my people wear them in parades.”

Kurt Willis sniffled as though the thought of an imaginary dragon in pain or a costume dragon in a parade hurt him. “I think she should sit down and talk to the dragon and work out her problems with words.”

“These are all very good ideas,” said Esme. “But what do you think the prince should do?”

The class stared mutely.

“I’d forgotten about him,” said Aubrey.

“Why is he there again?” asked Tracey.

“To rescue her, I think?” said Carla.

“But she made the problem,” said Aubrey. “My mommy says if you get into a jam, you gotta clean it up yourself.”

Esme believed it. Aubrey’s mother was all standards and procedures. On the first day of school, Mrs. Thomas had shown up with a ten-page, hole-punched folder entitled Getting to Know Aubrey. In it was the bathroom cycle the child had been trained on since one-years-old, and Mrs. Thomas insisted Esme keep to it.

“In fairytales,” said Esme, filling the silence, “it’s the prince’s job to rescue the princess and the damsels in distress.”

“Damsels in distress?” both Tracey and Carla mouthed the new words as if hearing them for the first time.

“But this is the real world, Ms. Pickett,” said Aubrey. “There’s a queen in England and a whole bunch of princesses.”

“One’s coming to visit us today,” Carla bounced on her bottom.

“But she’s just a little girl.” Aubrey rolled her eyes. “My mother met a grown princess. She rescued children from war zones.”

“Ooh,” said Kurt. “Did you get to meet her?”

Aubrey nodded. “She brought me chocolates, but they had dairy so I couldn’t have them.”

All the kids turned and listened to Aubrey’s story. And story time was effectively over. Esme closed the picture book.

“All right everyone,” she said. “To your sleeping mats. It’s nap time.”

There was a chorus of groans, but they all did as they were told. Eventually. Kurt went to the cupboard to get his special blanket. Aubrey fished her earbuds and iPhone out of her cubby hole. A part of Aubrey’s welcome packet said that she had to nap listening to Brain FM.

Finally, all the kids were down for their midmorning nap. The resource teacher came in relieving Esme for her lunch break, and boy did Esme need it.

She’d only been on the job for a couple of months, but these weren’t your average kids. Back in undergrad, she’d dreamed of changing kids’ lives, giving them a hunger for learning, and widening their imaginations. The only hunger she was allowed to quench at Global Learning Preparatory Academy had to be from pre-packaged, dairy-free, nut-free, gluten-free products. Imaginations were stifled because these kids didn’t watch TV or play games that weren’t educational. Esme wasn’t changing anything.

She grabbed her purse from the teacher’s lounge and prepared to go out into the bright New York City day. Walking down the hall of the school, she passed awards, recognitions, and commendations. The kids of years past captured in the celluloid all looked serious. Not a single smile of joy or eyes sparkled with imagination.

Esme was still determined to bring fun and joy into her class’ childhoods. But first, she needed a break. And some sustenance.

“Miss. Pickett.”

Esme’s shoulders drooped at the sound of Principal Clarke’s voice. The way he said Miss was elongated with the buzzing sound of a Z in place of the double S. It was like he wanted to swat the extra S of her single hood away from her and put in a firmly rooted R to make her a Mrs.

Esme wanted that too. The problem was not many twenty-something men were ready to settle down. Thirty was the new time to get engaged. And don’t even think about kids before thirty-five after the career was settled, the house built and feng shuied, furnished, and child proofed.

Like most things, Esme was a fan of the old ways. She was a feminist, to be sure. But the kind that wanted equal rights and pay and still have a man open the door for her and sweep her off her feet. She could put up a good fight next to her prince if a dragon—in a tower or in a parade—came after them. But why should she when he should be well-equipped to do it for her?

“Ms. Pickett, I just received another complaint about inappropriate reading material in your class. Something about princesses and dragons and swords?”

Esme whirled around. How had he known that? She’d just left her classroom.

“Aubrey Thomas’s mother just called.”

Aubrey-stinking-Thomas. The kid had a cell phone. Had she texted her mom? Well, she could already read. Most of the five-year-olds in her class were on a second grade level already and were bored with her alphabet lessons.

“Parents entrust us to prepare their children for the real world, Miss. Pickett.”

Did no one believe romance still existed in the real world? That there were men who would slay a dragon for their true love? Apparently not. Most men her age vanquished trolls by swiping left and leaving it at that.

“I believe you have a bright future here with us,” said Principal Clarke. “But if I continue to receive calls …”

“I was trying to teach a moral lesson,” said Esme. “I just didn’t get to the end of the story.”

“Try a different story. Perhaps a biography next time?”

Esme breathed through her nose to keep her mouth shut. Facts, she felt, were for fourth graders.

“We have a very important visitor coming in today. The Prince and Princess of Cordoba. We want to make a good impression.”

That’s all anyone cared about at this school. Impressions. Not imagination.

“I’m going to grab a slice of pie,” said Esme. “Can I bring you back something?”

“Pie? Carbs in the afternoon? My, my, you do live dangerously, Miss. Pickett.”

With another deep breath through her nose, Esme kept her mouth shut and headed out of the building. She whipped her cell from her pocket, texting Jan to have a slice of her usual warmed up for her and on a plate by the time she rounded the block.

Esme hit SEND. When she looked up, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There was a dragon in the middle of the street. And it was flying straight for her.