TOBY'S BABY
by
Bea Carlton
Toby Stone glanced furtively at the clock on his seventh grade history class wall for the tenth time in the past twenty minutes. A whole hour until lunch time, he thought despairingly. His stomach churned and his fingers that gripped a ball-point pen were slick with sweat. He tried to concentrate on the history book on his desk but the words scarcely
registered. Floating before his eyes was his mother, Rita, as he had seen her this morning as he left for school. She was lumped in a chair at the kitchen table in her old tattered bathrobe, a half empty bottle of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Anguish like acid boiled up inside and set his insides to burning and trembling. He glanced at the clock again. Only five minutes had passed. His mother was probably drunk and asleep long before
now. His seven month old baby sister, Carrie, would be without anyone to care for her.
The cigarette could have fallen from his mother’s limp fingers and set the house on fire by now! Suddenly old Mrs. Hayes' gravely voice broke into his tormented thoughts, "Toby Stone, stand to your feet! "Toby jumped as if struck on the cheekbone. "Wh-what did you say, Mrs. Hayes?" he stammered. "Stand up!" the teacher ordered again. Dumbly, Toby scrambled into the aisle, knocking his history book to the floor. It landed with a loud crash in the silence of the room. There was a nervous titter or two, quickly squelched by a stern look from Mrs. Hayes. "Toby, you have been looking at the clock almost constantly since you entered my class. Since you seem to be so interested in the time, you will remain in class for fifteen minutes of the lunch hour. Now sit down and see that you keep your eyes off the clock for the remainder of this class!
"Mrs. Hayes' words dropped like giant boulders into Toby's empty stomach. For a moment he stood staring at the teacher with horror-filled eyes." Well, Toby, do you wish to spend all of the noon hour sitting in my classroom?" Mrs. Hayes asked sarcastically. "It can be arranged. "No-no ma'am," Toby said and hurriedly dropped into his seat. Heat like a furnace rose into his face and neck as he bent to retrieve his history book. Shame stung him to the quick as he glanced across the aisle and saw Michelle Wood's gaze, grave and sympathetic. He looked quickly away.
He didn't need--or want--hers or anyone else's pity! Just to be treated like everyone else was all he asked! Fierce anger lanced through him. That old bony, horse-faced history teacher took every opportunity to embarrass him. Could he help it if he wore Salvation Army Store clothes that didn't fit, and never had a proper hair-cut? He noticed that the kids who wore nice clothes never felt the lash of her sarcasm. Just he and the big, unkempt Skelly twins were picked on! Then the more pressing problem reasserted itself. He had to get home! If Mamma had passed out on the couch, Carrie had no one to take care of her. He pushed away the returning thought that the house might even be on fire. Another morbid thought presented itself: If Mamma was drunk again, she might lose her job. Fear beat like a drum in his thin chest. And what would they do if Mamma lost her job? That would mean losing their room at the motel and cafe where she worked. And with no job--or place to live--Mamma could lose Carrie to the state! That's what had happened in the last town they lived in.
The history book page swam before his eyes and Toby hunkered down over the pages of the book. He mustn't cry. He had already blundered terribly today in watching the clock so much that it had brought attention to himself. That was something he always tried desperately to avoid. When people noticed you, they began to ask questions and that could mean trouble.
That's how it had started back in Texas. No doubt the teacher meant well when she asked why he never brought a lunch to school. He had lived too far from school to go home for lunch and had nothing to make a sandwich with. She began to question him about his shabby, ill-fitting clothes, and why he came to school unbathed. Before long there had been authorities visiting the dirty shack where his mother lay drunk much of the time. Child Protection Services had taken his little sister and Brother—Sissie and Frankie—away and put them in a foster home. Only his mother's pleas and promises to do better kept Toby from the same fate. He almost wished they had taken him away from his mother, too. At least he might have gotten to see his little sister and brother sometime. As soon as the case workers left with two and three year old Sissie and Frankie, his mother had packed their few belongings and left Texas, hitchhiking to Deming, New Mexico. For many months Rita had kept away from the bars. She got a job at a shabby motel and cafe and things had gone the best Toby could ever recall.
They had left-over food from the cafe, a roof that didn't leak, and even a bathroom, and beds to sleep in. But after the new baby was born, things had gradually fallen back into the old pattern. His mother began to drink again—not too much at first—and she had shifted the care of the new baby to Toby. Toby had almost exclusively cared for the other two that the state had take away. Toby cringed when he remembered the charge the state had made: neglect. He had done his best with what there was to do with! But, of course, mothers were the ones expected to care for their children, and no one had considered, or consulted him about what was done with his sister and brother.
The school whistle blew shrilly, startling Toby from his reveries. How stupid he had been to get detention! He had to get home and see about the baby! But, he cautioned himself, don't make any waves, Even old Horse-face might begin to ask questions. He must play it smart. He must not lose Carrie! He must not! She was all he had left. She is my baby, he thought fiercely, and she needs me.