The Girl Who Taught Me Everything

Education has always been somewhat of a religion in to me. As I understood it, my sole purpose in life was to go to college, graduate, and go to college again until I received a PhD. I would then settle into a comfortable life as a Professor of Anthropology or Archaeology at some well-respected state university. In my opinion, college degrees brought happiness, and there was no way around it. This all changed when I met Eve.

I was exactly two years into my Master’s degree program when disaster struck. In an attempt to “motivate” me, my Major Professor began sending me nasty, fallacious letters regarding my progress in the program. Suddenly college was the one place I feared most. By the following summer, I had made little progress on my thesis, and I spent the better part of June working at a filthy commercial bird farm. Every day, I would arrive home from work in tears. My life seemed meaningless. I felt like I had lost myself.

One particularly sweltering day, I found myself at a downtown café, stewing in a stale mixture of my hatred for birds and my own self-pity. Glancing through the local newspaper, I found a “help wanted” ad for a company that was hiring students to work with people with disabilities. Needing a distraction from my own disappointments, this sounded like the perfect job. Within a week, I had applied, interviewed, and secured myself a job with the company. On clear morning in July, I drove 30 miles North the unassuming town of Giveaway. That’s where I met Eve.

Eve lived with her family in an ageing singlewide trailer on a small, dusty piece of land. I remember the first time I saw her, standing sleepy-eyed in her dark living room, staring at me while my supervisor chatted with her father. She had long, stringy blonde hair and a thin, mousy face. Sharp jagged teeth protruded from a slightly malformed mouth, and I was momentarily taken aback. “Hello Eve”, I said cautiously, attempting to smile. “Hollow,” she began, sitting next to me on the tattered sofa. She continued talking. Now normally, I’m not actually afraid of people talking, but in this case, it scared me a little, because I had no idea what she was saying. Here was a twelve-year-old girl who was expecting to communicate with me, and I couldn’t understand a word she said. I sat, dumbstruck, fumbling with the awkwardly crocheted afghan lining my seat.

“I hear you like dogs.” I said, recalling the few tidbits my supervisor had told me. Eve’s face immediately lit up. She hustled over to a dusty bookshelf and pulled out a library book about training dogs. Sitting back down on the sofa, she began reading to me. Despite having to struggle to understand her, I found that she was an enthusiastic reader. As she read the books, I asked her questions relating to the dogs. “That one’s boo-tiful!” she exclaimed, pointing to a picture of a shiny black labrador. “He is beautiful.” I said, and at that I knew we were instant friends.

Later that day we strolled down to the local library, accompanied by Eve’s sister, Chloe, a merry little chatterbox with fiery red hair. I immediately learned two things that I had in common with these two girls: a love for literature, and the desire to be in the great outdoors. You see, their family was desperately poor. They couldn’t afford many of the modern luxuries commonly attributed to a middle class childhood: satellite TV, a DVD player, video games, or even a computer. The girls replaced these unnecessary luxuries with a plethora of books, and ample outdoor play. On our walk to the library, we visited many of the neighborhood horses. Eve’s coffee-brown eyes gleaned in the dazzling sunlight as she described to me how “boo-tiful” each animal appeared to her. Upon arrival at our destination, a miniscule building set amidst the dazzling tamaracks, Eve and Chloe gasped simultaneously and scampered to the door. Inside, they sandwiched themselves between the bookshelves and began eagerly filling their little arms. “I can’t read,” Chloe explained to me, a look of absolute disappointment crossing her face, “But I’m going to get books anyway.” Obviously her older sister’s love for books had rubbed off on her.

Most of my days spent with Eve were eye opening for me. It was on a particularly warm day in August that I came to the conclusion that I was meant to work in Special Education. I was playing with Eve in her tiny, cluttered bedroom. As I listened to the innocent laughter that was filling the room, I casually glanced at the clock on their wall. It was nearly 3:30, time for me to go home. I was shocked. I hadn’t so much as looked at the clock all day. For the first time in my life, I was at a job that I didn’t want to leave.

Eventually, I did have to say goodbye to Eve for good. She returned to school, and my hours with her were reduced. I finally got a hold of my advisor, and I began the archaeological excavation that would fulfill my thesis requirements. But I knew things were different. I would not seek a PhD in Anthropology as I had planned. Instead, I would return to school to become certified as a Special Education teacher.