The Institute

Time was as stagnant as the air. As the teacher persuaded herself into the number 114 room at the La Quinta Inn and Suites (La Quinta is Spanish for "Free HBO!"), she could smell the odor of every man, woman and child who ever slept a night in those sheets, sat on one of the itchy dull navy chairs, or wrapped a faded white towel around his or her naked body.  Every customer since the grand opening ten years ago--she sniffed in their scent, as well as the dog they brought with them.  Suddenly, they were all there with her. Old men wearing vacation shirts discussing what might be included in the complimentary breakfast.  Mothers in bathing suits with skirts to cover their thick thighs, complaining about the heat.  Little kids scrambling around, hitting and kicking and crying. A tan colored cocker spaniel lifting his leg in the corner by the night stand.  Their smell had summoned the memory of them;  a memory that should have never existed to her.  It was as if the lack of proper ventillation had somehow kept the past patrons of La Quinta trapped in the room, not allowing them to ever change, or age, or leave.  She began to panic that she would suffer a similar fate.  Unable (unwilling?) to inhale, she pushed her way through her unwelcome roommates and collapsed through the doorway. 

After an emotionally restrained negotiation with the woman at the front desk (La Quinta is Spanish for "Friendly customer service!"), she finally secured room 118 (a room that was somewhat less crowded) and unloaded her suitcase inside.  Before she could sort out her clothes for the next day, she had to set up her laptop to confirm that she had arrived at her location and would be prepared to teach. She entered her password online, clicked a few icons, sent a receipt of instructions to her supervisor, and that was that.  She had only spoken with her supervisor once in the three months she worked for The Institute and that was when he hired her.  His name was Rob and he was only to be contacted through email, which he never failed to respond to in a timely fashion.  In fact, due to the amount of travelling each teacher needs to do to reach the many locations across the country, teachers rarely had an opportunity to see or speak with their supervisors or fellow teachers.  She thought for a moment and realized Rob was the only person from the Institute that she ever met.  He had thick black hair and piercing blue eyes that were at once warm and enthusiastic, yet firm.
         
She recalled her interview with Rob and how nervous she was.  She had not been nervous walking into the fourteen story office building on Woodmont Avenue.  However, once she walked back to the corner office and saw Rob sitting there, hands folded on the desk, head cocked to the side, and eyes looking not at, but inside her, she felt a wave of uncertainty and overwhelming self-consciousness.  However, Rob was friendly and his manner of conversation was considerate.  She remembered the dialogue between them that day that had sparked such curiousity and interest in her.
         
"I want to begin by telling you a little bit about the history of The Institute, then I want to talk about our program's goals, and then I'll leave the conversation open for you to ask any questions you have.  The Institute began with one man, a child psychiatrist named Dr. George Whindburg, who, unsatisfied with the methods his children's school used to teach reading, began to gather his own children as well as neighborhood children to read together and explore literature.  He also performed assessments to determine each child's individual reading ability and then ranked them in a series of levels so that he could then guide them through the levels with a clear direction.  As more and more parents became interested and involved in the what Dr. Whindburg was doing, the organization grew and the Institute was born.  Today we have teachers in 35 different states and we're currently working out the logistics of some programs in Canada. The Institute is able to maintain a low admission fee due to our financial partnership with Dr. Whindburg's medical practice.
         
"Now that I've described the history of the Institute, I want to discuss the program's goals.  We work to, first of all, teach students phonics and comprehension skills.  We do this using our Grizz and Shrew workbooks that teach kids letter sounds, word families, and word attack skills that lay the foundation for fluent reading.  Secondly, we work to instill a love of reading in our students.  Students who are able to read well and comprehend what they are reading will love reading.  It's just like any other skill, the better you are at something, the more you like it.  We know that if students are not loving reading, it is because they have not yet reached the level of reading necessary for a successful experience with books.  We have certain methods of support, based on Dr. Whindburg's carefully researched methods, that we recommend to the parents of students who are not achieving the level of reading necessary to enjoy their reading experiences.  This ensures that all students reach a successful level of reading.
         
"I've discussed the history and goals of The Institute.  Now I want to give you the opportunity to ask me any questions you may have," at this point Rob had leaned forward about 20 degrees and smiled.  "Please be assured that all questions are welcome and encouraged.  I want you to feel confident in the decision you are making to committ to this job before you continue with us.  And make no mistake, it is a committment.  I am very selective in terms of who I will even consider for this position.  Most of our teachers are recent graduates from some of the top universities in the country.  The fact that you are here is evidence that I am impressed with your credentials and with the conversations I've had with you.  That being said, what questions do you have for me?"  All the while she had been nodding and grinning like an idiot, she had one question pressing in her mind and seized the chance to ask it.
         
"I do have one question. Aren't there just some kids who don't enjoy reading no matter what the conditions?  I mean, everyone has different learning styles and some people just don't respond as well to the decoding involved in reading.  And some students would rather do something physically active instead of reading.  How does The Institute accomodate various learning styles?"  She wasn't aware that her question had sounded more like an argument than a question.  She hadn't considered that the etiquette of interviews dictated that the interviewee should only ask what would be considered more neutral questions, particularly questions they already knew the answers to.  She was just curious, perhaps to a fault.  However, Rob had handled the question with artful evasion.
         
"That is something that we would discuss during your training," he said, leaning back and smiling as he swivelled slightly to the left in his chair.  His air of calm and confidence, mixed with what she thought may be a hidden intensity behind his blue eyes, had demanded her interest and admiration.  She signed a contract with The Institute that very same day. 

Later that evening in her cold (from the air conditioning) yet muggy (from the stagnant air) hotel room (La Quinta is Spanish for "Comfortable rooms at a low price!"), she looked over her materials for the next day.  Luckily her lesson plans were provided by the Institute as a word for word dictation of how the two hour lesson should be delivered.  There was no room for embellishments or any personalization, so she didn't need to prepare anything.  She followed The Guide to Successful Lessons (GSL) and the lesson taught itself.    Though, she did need to make sure she read the storybook first before she read it to the children, to make sure she knew how it ended before they did. 
         
The book in her hands was called The Fat Cat Sat on the Mat.  As she soon discovered, it was about a fat cat who, despite the demands of an irrate rat, refused to get off of a mat until a witch came home and condoned the cat's behavior, while disapproving of the bossy rat.  Then the cat got off of the mat on his own accord.  She put the book down and, with a furrowed brow, consulted the GSL to see how to assess the student's success with a book like this.  Each class, The Institute required her to assess the every child's success and enjoyment of the book.  In order to assess the success, the child had to read aloud a passage to the teacher, who listened for incontinuities in the rhythm of the reading and the amount of hesitation the student has.  The assessment of the child's enjoyment was much easier to perform.  The teacher simply asked them.  Timmy, did you like this book?  If the child answered yes, that meant that he (The Institute followed in the tradition of using the assumed masculine pronoun) was reading successfully at the age-appropriate level.  If he answered no, that meant he was not performing successfully and needed an extra layer of support.  All this meant was that the teacher had to refer the student to The Institute, who would contact the parents with further instruction detailing an alternative method to attain reading success with their child. 
         
This was a nuisance for the teacher because she had quite a few referrals to make after each class.  Somehow, many of the students, although they seemed to be reading alright, were not enjoying the books.  She wondered if it was because they weren't successful readers yet, or if it had something to do with either the content of the stories, or worse still, the way she read them.  Each class she tried a variety of voice inflections and emphatic stresses on certain words to make it more engaging.  Still, the results were the same.  Timmy, did you like this book? NO! It's stupid!  The truth was, she often agreed.  The stories were stupid.  Usually their titles captured the entire plot of the story, such as The Fat Cat Sat on the Mat.  But during her online training, the GSL had told her not to be surprised by this reaction, since it had been a very long time since the teacher (presumably a college graduate) had been so young and that young children actually enjoyed simpler plot lines.  It seemed to make sense.
         
The teacher looked up and noticed the clock said 10:45 pm.  She had to be up early the next morning to teach three Level 2 classes. Taking a sip from one of the bottles of Vitamin-Enriched Water that The Institute provided to all teachers for free in bulk, she realized how tired she was. She went to turn out the light, but the bulb burnt out before she had the chance (La Quinta is Spanish for "Convenience!") and so she stumbled over to the bed, stubbed her big toe on the iron bed frame, and cursed her way under the frequently used sheets.  It took some time for her to fall asleep.  It was pitch black except for one obstinant red light from the fire alarm that attracted her eyes and would not let them rest.  She turned on her stomach, buried her head in the pillow, just as many people before her had done in the same pillow, and she finally fell asleep.
         
         
The next day in class, while the teacher was reading from The Fat Cat Sat on the Mat, she noticed one of her students yawn.  His name was Cory and he was taller than most of the other boys.  The Institute trains their teachers not to have favorites, and Cory certainly wasn't her favorite.  His yawn came from a place of defiance, not fatigue.  Fortunately, there was a protocol for correcting such behavior. 
         
"Cory, I need you to try really hard to focus in class and remember not to yawn in my classroom," she said firmly, yet warmly.  Cory looked at her blankly. The other kids looked at him briefly. She continued reading.
         
"I am a cat and I am fat. I am going to sit on this mat.  No rat, or bat, or hat can move me,' said the cat,"  the teacher read, this time emphasizing the all the verbs in the sentence.  She suppressed her own yawn.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Cory picking at loose rubber on the sole of his shoe.  Time for round two, she thought.  She walked up to his desk and stood above him as the GSL had instructed so that her physical presence would assert her authority.
         
"Cory, what is the rule of my class?" she asked flatly.
         
"Do what everyone else is doing in class," he said softly, looking down at his Spiderman shoe.
         
"On a scale of one to ten, how are you doing following the rules today?" This question always slightly confused the student, but they always came up with some arbitrary number.  Cory was no different.
         
"Seven?" he offered. She cocked her head to the side.
         
"Really?" she said, "I would have said four.  I don't want to have to make you sit alone for the rest of class, but I need you to promise me that you will follow the rule of class and follow along in the book just like everyone else."
         
"Ok," he said meekly.
         
"I need you to say that you promise, Cory."
         
"I promise."
         
"Good.  I'm going to hold you to that."  She moved away to the front of the room again and continued with the story. "'This is the mat of the rat' said the bat. . . ."
         
The GSL explains that after such a disciplinary issue in class, the teacher must discuss the problem with the child's parent.  So, when Cory's mother came to pick him up that day, the teacher swiftly approached her.  She was a thin, blond-haired woman with neatly manicured fingernails, yet wearing very little make up so as not to appear overgroomed.  The teacher quickly relayed the events of the day and the actions she took to correct Cory's behavior.  His mother looked quite concerned and a bit frustrated.  She threw up her hands. "Well I just don't know what to do now!  He took this class before and they told me he really needs more support in his reading and his ability to focus and comprehend things, but I didn't want to make him take those pills everyday, so I thought maybe we could just try again, but now it's still not working.  Do you really think he needs the pills?  I mean, I know they said it willl help him focus, but I don't know. . . .We don't really have that kind of money and I don't know if I like the idea of. . . .well, my neighbor's kid is on the pills now and all she keeps talking about is how calm he is now, but whenever I see him, it's just--eerie. . . .Is there anything else we can try?  They said he might fall behind in his reading and I don't want that to happen."  The mother looked at her with imploring eyes.  She didn't know how to respond.  Pills?  What pills?  She resorted to the stock response recommended by The Guide when faced with a difficult parent.
         
"Well, this is a conversation I would like to dedicate more time to.  May I call you at a time that's convenient for you so that we can discuss exactly what your goals are for your child?"  The teacher had memorized this passage and barely had to think before saying it now.  The mother looked momentarily comforted.  She smiled.
         
"Sure," she said.  "Anytime this weekend. Thank you! I appreciate it.  Sometimes I just don't know what to do, you know?"  The teacher smiled and nodded.  With that, Cory, looking a bit dejected, and his mother, left the room and the teacher alone with her startling discovery.  What pills? 

         
Classes were over for the day and the teacher sat on a grey stone bench at the corner of 14th and Haines Rd across from the high-steepled Lutheran Church and looked steadily at her hands.  She was procrastinating.  It was especially hot that day and she was on her third bottle of Vitamin-Enriched Water already.  She knew she had to have a conversation with Rob about Cory's mother.  She also knew that to have that conversation, she would have to mention the pills.  She had suspected that the pills were something The Institute endorsed, perhaps covertly.  She knew when she talked to Rob, he would explain the benefits of the pills in his warm, confident (manipulative?) way and she would either have to pretend to believe in him, in The Institute itself, or leave her job.  Unwilling to confront the inevitable dilemma, she sat on the bench, biding her time, letting the sun beat down on her face.  The volume in her head was inappropriately loud which intensified all her thoughts.  She turned to watch a teenage boy skateboard across the empty parking lot to her left and thought to herself that he was probably hot since he was wearing a long sleeved black shirt and it was almost 97 degrees out.  This thought, innocuous as it was, seemed almost threatening to her because all her thoughts were so uncontrollably loud.  HE PROBABLY DIDN'T THINK TO BRING WATER WITH HIM, the booming voice in her head cried.  BUT AT LEAST IF HE FALLS HE HAS AN EXTRA LAYER OF PROTECTION. Displeased with the tone of voice in her head, she tried to calm it down by thinking of a song.  But every song she attempted from Kelly Clarkson to Elton John all replayed in her mind with the same loud, somewhat demanding voice. 
         
She wanted to call someone, but was worried that if she spoke, she too would adopt the same extremely loud tone, which makes conversation with anyone awkward.  Was this a symptom of mental illness?  She dismissed the question because, obviously people with mental illnesses hear other voices in their head.  This voice was distinctly hers.  Just louder. Loud. Louder. Loudest.  She had just taught comparative words with -er and -est today with the Grizz and Shrew cartoons.  The voices of Grizz and Shrew were clearly the same person, only Shrew was an octave higher and Grizz had a southern accent.  In the cartoon, Grizz had screamed loud, then Shrew screamed louder, then of course Grizz (being a show-off) had to scream loudest.  After the cartoon segment was over, the teacher turned off the video and turned to the class.  All the kids looked at her confused with a "That was it?" look on their faces.  The cartoons were no match for the witty punchlines of SpongeBob or the rapid action of Yu Gi Oh and she knew they didn't exactly help in engaging the children's interest.  However, the GSL had explained that was a typical reaction of a student who has not achieved the level of success necessary to comprehend the phonics skills in the Grizz and Shrew stories, and therefore do not understand the humor of the cartoons.  That seemed to make sense.  She was to assess and report these students to The Institute accordingly.
         
All these thoughts ran through her head (volume enhanced) until she was distracted by a sudden screech from a blue Chevy Cavalier to her immediate left.  She jerked her head to see what was happening and watched as a white SUV smashed into the driver's side of the Cavalier.  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.  The screeching tires, sound of metal bending and glass shattering.    The boy on the skateboard put his hands on his head and exclaimed "Oh shit!" as he ran over for a closer look.  The teacher watched as a man, about forty two and balding, staggered out of the SUV and vomitted beside the back tire.  She watched, quite objectively, and then as she heard the skateboard boy scream "Call an ambulance!" to no one (to her?).  Still seated on the cold stone bench, she crossed her legs, adjusted her top and glanced behind her.  The road was deserted and no one else was there to witness the accident.  Submitting to a moral obligation (a finger pointed at her that was not seen, only felt) she rose from the bench and walked toward the scene.  She took out her cell phone and dialed 911. 
         
"HELLO," she said to the dispatcher, the voice in her head booming now, "THERE HAS BEEN A CAR ACCIDENT AT THE CORNER OF 14TH AND HAINES STREET."  She awaited further instructions or questioning.  When the dispatcher advised her to stay calm, the teacher almost laughed as she said, "I AM CALM," the voice in her head screamed.  It screamed over and over again until she could barely hear the dispatcher.  Her pulse was slow, her palms dry and her voice was steady, but loud.  Unusually loud.
         
"I AM CALM."