Friends & Belonging
Nothing on the Back
On Monday the fall pictures come down. In their place, Ms. Rendell tapes a looong sheet of paper right along the hallway wall. She draws the playground. The soccer field. The jungle gym. The trash cans. And, right at the far edge, the kitchen door.
Everyone cuts out a little paper person. Same round head. Same short legs. On the front, you write your own name. Ozan writes his so big the last letter runs all the way down one leg. Janek writes his neatly, in the middle.
First, before anyone gets tape, you hold your person where you usually spend recess. The soccer field fills up fast. Alma squashes two people onto one goalpost. Janek tries his at the very edge of the field, by the fence. Then he takes it back to his table.
Then Ms. Rendell gives the second instruction. “Turn your person over. On the back, write the names of the people who are usually there with you.” Scrape go the chairs. Scribble go the pencils. Janek holds his paper person by its short legs.
Ozan writes four names. The last one has to go sideways, up an arm. Alma writes three, then squeezes in a fourth. Kadir writes two. Last Friday Kadir yelled, “Want to play goalie?” and Janek went over for a bit. Sometimes Kadir is with him. Sometimes he isn’t.
Most days at recess, Janek walks the white line around the field. At one end, the school cat squeezes through a gap under the fence. Halfway around, the kitchen door is propped open with a brick in a dish towel. Anouk from the kitchen is usually there. She says hello more often than Kadir does.
Janek turns his person over. White. White from its round head to its paper feet. All around him, people are carrying their finished people to the wall. Ozan is already there, dangling his by one leg, waiting for the tape.
Ms. Rendell is coming around with the tape. Ozan is already at the wall. Janek has his pencil in his hand, and the back of his paper person is still completely, totally white.
What does Janek do?
Every choice costs something. Let’s see what.
Write Kadir’s name
Janek writes Kadir. The name sits all on its own in the middle of the white. He sticks his person at the edge of the field, by the fence. Kadir’s person is on the soccer field, several hand-widths away.
By Thursday everyone is lifting up the paper people to read the backs. Kadir lifts Janek’s and finds his own name. He looks across the hallway at Janek. “You can come again,” he says. Then he presses the paper person flat against the wall.
On Friday, Kadir walks all the way to the fence. “You coming?” Janek follows him to the soccer field and plays goalie all recess. The ball only reaches him twice. But both times, somebody shouts his name.
The next Friday, Kadir never looks over. Janek waits until the whistle, then walks the white line on his own. On Monday Ozan asks, “Do you play with Kadir every recess?” “No,” says Janek. “Just sometimes.” Ozan taps his paper person’s leg. “So what do you do?”
Put it up with the back empty
Janek sticks his person at the edge of the field and leaves the back empty. From the front, it looks just like everyone else’s. Nobody notices the blank. Not until people start lifting the paper people to peek underneath.
Alma lifts Janek’s person and holds it by one leg. “There’s nothing on yours,” she says. Janek looks at the white paper. “I know.” Alma presses it back onto the map. “So where do you go?”
At recess on Tuesday, Alma comes to the fence to see. Janek shows her the gap where the cat gets in. They wait. Whiskers! Then no whiskers. “Maybe tomorrow,” says Alma. She runs back before Janek has finished explaining about the loose wire.
The map stays up until the holidays. Janek walks past it twice a day. His paper person stays at the edge of the field, back still white. Alma doesn’t come to the fence again. But sometimes, passing him in the hallway, she asks, “Any whiskers?” Usually Janek says no. Once, he says yes.
Write Anouk’s name
Janek writes Anouk. Her name fits easily across the white. He sticks his person at the edge of the field, right by the little kitchen door Ms. Rendell drew. Wobbly pencil lines rise up from it, like steam.
On Thursday Ozan reads the backs out loud. He lifts Janek’s. “Anouk?” He laughs so hard he has to hold on to the wall. “She’s always by the kitchen door,” says Alma. And just then, Anouk herself comes past with the trash bags. And stops at the map.
On Friday, the brick is pushed further out, and the kitchen door is open wider. Anouk says Janek’s name, without anybody telling her. She gives him one end of a bag of rolls to hold while she ties the other. Warm, bready air floats out of the door around them.
The map stays up until the holidays. Nobody in his class moves their paper person any closer to his. Ozan calls him Anouk until a new joke comes along. At recess, the kitchen door stays open on its brick. Janek knows when the rolls arrive. And Anouk knows his name.