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I try my best to calm Mohinder, the little boy who, earlier today, abruptly paused the creation of his Play-Doh horse to look me in the eye and say, “When you die, you go to God, and you don’t come back.”
That caused Zack, another boy in our class, to yell, “That’s not true because God isn’t real!”
Mohinder promptly burst into tears, and I’ve been consoling him for the better part of an hour. Luckily, school ended not long after the incident and Zack’s mom took him home, so at least Mohinder had stopped yelling about how God is real.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You can believe whatever you want.” I pat Mohinder lightly on the back.
“How can he say that?” He sniffles. “My mama says that people who don’t believe in God aren’t good people.”
Did she actually say that to him? Maybe he misinterpreted her. Either way, it’s a strange thing for a kid to say.
“People put their faith in different things,” I tread carefully, because the last thing I want to do is tell this kid one thing and then have his mom upset with me. “Some people put their faith in God, some people put their faith in family, or in science. The point is that you believe in God, and you believe that He always makes things right for you.” I twist my mouth, the words heavier on my tongue than I expected. “Even if you sometimes forget that.”
A hiccup erupts out of Mohinder’s throat. “I don’t know...”
Against my own personal rule, I check my watch. The school day ended fifteen minutes ago. Mrs. Singh is running late. I was hoping that all my kids would go home early today, especially because it’s the last day of school. My plan was to clean up the classroom as fast as I could. I still have to finish packing.
Mohinder stares up at me with wide red eyes. “But, Miss Mirza, what if he’s right? What if there is no God?”
I pause. Then I say, “That’s a conversation for your mommy and daddy.”
He sniffles, and I give him another tissue before patting his back again. Luckily, Mohinder is the last student to be picked up today. Anaïs Bordier, my support worker, has already gotten a head start on cleaning the classroom. She’s currently fetching the giant plastic bins that we put the toys in for the summer from storage.
The bell to our classroom rings. We have an official entrance for the front of the school, but the side classroom door is where parents drop off and pick up their kids. I stand too quickly, and my chair tips backward. “Oh, Mohinder, that must be your mommy!” I gesture to the door. “Come on! Time to go home.”
Mohinder pushes himself away from his desk. He shuffles behind me as we head for the cubby area. I open the door while he grabs his backpack. His mother steps inside, a gift bag in the crook of her arm. “Hi, Miss Mirza!” she greets.
“Mama!” Mohinder cries. He launches himself at his mom’s legs.
Mrs. Singh makes an oomph noise, but she grins down at her son. “Hi, baby!” She bends down to his level and drops a kiss to his cheek. She gives the bag to Mohinder. “You want to give Miss Mirza the bag?”
Mohinder looks up at me, suddenly shy, as if he hasn’t spent the better part of an hour crying in my lap. He holds the bag out to me. “This is for you, Miss Mirza.”
My heart swells. As much as this job can drive me nuts, the kids are too cute for me to ever hate working here. I take the bag from Mohinder. “Thank you, Mohinder,” I say, then turn to Mrs. Singh. “Thank you so much for this—it’s really not necessary.”
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Singh says. “It’s the last day of school, and you’re getting married this summer!”
My gut twists, and I peek down at the engagement ring sitting on my finger. The diamond stone catches the light streaming in from the window and glitters brilliantly. Everyone told me I’d get used to the weight on my finger eventually, but every time I slip it on in the morning, I can’t help but feel it’s weighing me down like a thick winter coat. I curl my fingers into a fist. “Well, thank you again.”
She smiles at me, then takes Mohinder’s hand. “Time for us to go home, then.”
“Oh, wait, before you go.” I step forward and lower my voice. “There was an incident earlier. It’s nothing too major, but Mohinder got into an...argument, for lack of a better word, with another kid. It was about the existence of God.”
Mrs. Singh frowns. “What?”
I nod sympathetically. “Yeah, I have no idea where it came from, either. But you should probably talk about it with him. I didn’t want to say anything because I’m not sure what your family believes.”
“Thank you, that was very considerate,” she says. She checks on Mohinder, who’s now stomping his feet in an attempt to get his Skechers to light up. Looking at him now, you’d have no idea he was crying less than five minutes ago. His face is dry and his nose snot-free. “I’ll talk to him tonight.” She heads for the exit. “You have a good summer, yeah? And good luck with your wedding!”
I wave as she steps out of the building. “You have a good summer, too!”
I watch them make their way to the parking lot, and then move to shut the door, but just before it closes, a leg pops into the doorway. “If you break my leg, it’s a lawsuit!” Anaïs calls out.
I refrain from an eye roll but push the door open wider to give her more room. She stumbles in, three large storage bins in her arms and clearly in danger of toppling over. She peeks over her shoulder. “Mohinder’s gone?”
“Yeah.” I take one of the bins from her so she can see better.
“Thank God,” she huffs. She sets the bins down on the tiny brown activity table. “I thought he was going to go on for hours.” She points in the direction of the door. “That is exactly why I’m never having kids.”
