by: Laura Browne-Lambert
Lana felt her whole body tense up, struck with the sudden urge to vomit, as she dug her thumb into the rind of her orange and felt its guts squish under her nail. Ugh. She shivered and her heel took up a steady beat against the linoleum. Her shoe squeaked and she shivered again, working hard to school her face into a neutral expression. Her students and fellow teachers spoke universally about the awful sensation engendered by the sound of nails on a chalkboard. But few of them seemed all that bothered by the squeak of rubber soles on linoleum or the feeling of fleshy, sticky fruit between the fingers.
Lana shook the feeling out of her hands and feet hopping on her toes, rolling her shoulders, and wiggling her fingers. She stood and raised her voice, hoping it was the right volume. She had a tendency to speak too loudly in some moments and to quietly in others.
“Is everyone finished peeling their orange?” Lana asked. The chaos of interactive learning prevented her from seeing any real evidence that the class was ready for the next step. Lana tried again. “If you have finished peeling your orange and you have at least one side that looks something like this,” she held up her orange rind shaped into a little bowl with the long, pithy stem rising from the center, “hold it up in the air so I can see it.” Lana demonstrated by holding hers aloft and strolled down the aisles to get a better view of the class. An assortment of mostly workable orange rinds floated above her students’ heads. Except for --
“Vanessa, will you share your extra orange half with Devin?” Lana gestured to a girl whose hair was pulled back into a pragmatic pouf at the top of her head. The girl passed her second rind to the boy behind her whose rind had split. “Sorry, Devin,” Lana said gently, “but I think the oil will leak through that tear.”
CW: neurodiversity, sensory overload
Image Description: A photo of half an orange, the flesh gutted so only the rind and a pithy stem remains. A little oil sits in the bowl of the rind and the stem is lit like a candle. The orange is centered against a black background.
Credit: Laura Browne-Lambert
Once she reached the back corner of the classroom, Lana stopped and knelt down in front of a girl with a long, dark braid and a tan complexion. The girl had barely begun to peel her orange. Instead, she rolled it around the surface of her desk with her palm, a somber look on her face.
“Mae,” Lana said quietly, “If it’s getting too busy in here for you, it’s okay to take a break. Do you want to sit in the library for 10 minutes?”
Mae shrugged. The palm that rolled the orange moved faster. “I want to make the candle.”
“It’s okay to make the candle after taking a break,” Lana said. “You can come here after lunch and we can do it together. How does that sound?”
“Good,” whispered Mae.
“Great,” Lana pulled out a notepad from her pocket and scribbled a note to the librarian. “Here’s your library pass.”
The door snapped shut behind Mae as Lana made her way back to the front of the room. She held up the lighter that had been sitting on her desk. “Now, I need everyone to put one hand in the air.” Lana waited for the students to raise their hands, even the ones who liked to pretend they were too cool for listening to instructions. Lana would not continue without complete attention. “Repeat after me.” Lana paused to make sure the preteens were ready. “I promise to be careful when handling fire and follow Mrs. Cooke’s Science Class Safety Instructions.” Lana pointed at a listed printed in giant font on the wall of the classroom. “If you’ve forgotten any of the instructions, they are right over there. Now watch carefully.”
Lana pulled a pair of safety glasses over her face even though this experiment did not call for that level of care. Better to give the class a good example than to have them ask her why they had to wear goggles and she did not. She poured a small amount of cooking oil into the basin formed by half an orange rind and lit the natural wick with a flick of her lighter’s switch. A sound of astonishment fill the room.
Mae wedged the door open just as Lana swallowed her last disappointing bite of tomato sandwich. Normally, this was her favorite lunch, but today the textures were off. Lana gulped down some water and waved Mae into the room.
“How’re you feeling, Mae?” Lana asked.
Mae shrugged. “Better.”
“Good,” Lana said. “Ready to give the candle a try?”
This time Mae nodded enthusiastically.
Together, they huddled around Mae’s desk and Lana handed her student a pair of latex gloves. Really, she should have thought of that for herself. Without dealing with the textural nightmare of squishy orange innards, Mae was able to peel her orange into two rustic but workable rind cups, one of which had the desired pithy wick.
Mae poured a few tablespoons of oil into the rind and looked at Lana eagerly. Lana held up the lighter.
“Would you like to do the honors?” Lana asked.
Mae reached out a hand in reply. Handing off the lighter, Lana reached a hand to the light switch and flicked it off. Her student’s face lit up with the glow of the dim candlelight and her grin of accomplishment. Lana smiled back.
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