But inaction never accomplished anything. With one sudden move, I jumped up and grabbed hold of her leg with one hand and her dress with the other. She hadn’t been expecting that. I quickly pulled her off balance and she came down off the wall and into my arms.
Venus sprang to life then. She shrieked blue murder and fought furiously against my grip.
I held on. I tried to sit down to keep her from kicking me, because, of course, being outside, she had her shoes on.
Venus screamed and screamed and screamed. Teachers and children came to the windows of their classrooms. Indeed, I saw someone come out of the house across the street and peer over their fence.
I wrapped my arms around her in a tight bear hug and sat down. Venus came down with a thud into my lap. She kicked and screamed and struggled.
Bob galloped out of the building. “Do you need help?”
“Hold on to her legs. I just want to get her controlled.”
Bob grabbed Venus’s legs and pinned them to the asphalt.
“Calm down,” I said in a soft voice to her ear.
Venus screamed and struggled harder. She disliked Bob holding her legs intensely and directed most of her energy there.
“Calm down,” I said again. “I’ll let go when you’re calm.”
She continued to fight fiercely. Minutes ticked by. She still screamed in a high-pitched, frantic manner.
Minutes. Minutes. Minutes. It was hard to hang on to her. Bob grimly kept hold of her legs. My arms hurt with the tension of keeping her against me. How much worse it must have been for her.
Everyone could hear us. There was an embarrassment factor I hadn’t expected. Normally this was the kind of gritty activity that went on behind closed doors.
I kept talking to her, almost whispering in an effort to get her attention. “Calm down. Quiet. Quiet now. I’ll let go when you’re quiet.” Over and over and over again.
A small eternity spun itself out over the playground. I had no idea how long we were there because I couldn’t raise my arm to see my watch, but I was afraid we were going to run into recess. Would the other teachers think to take their children to a different part of the playground? I dreaded the idea of other children surrounding us, watching. Once started, I felt the need to see this through to its conclusion, particularly after the last time with Julie, when Venus had managed to fight long enough to win her freedom. This was a power struggle I needed to win, if I wanted Venus to start playing the game my way.
Venus went hoarse with her screaming.
“Calm down,” I said for the hundredth time.
Then suddenly she screamed, “Let go!”
Bob and I exchanged surprised glances.
“Calm down. I’ll let go when you’re calm.”
“No! No, no, no!”
“Yes. No screaming. Quiet voice.”
“No! Let go!”
So, I thought, she can talk.
About twenty minutes passed before Venus actually did start to calm down. Exhaustion was taking over by then. She’d almost lost her voice. Her muscles quivered beneath my grasp. Indeed, mine were quivery too.
“Let go!” she cried one last time.
“Quiet voice,” I said.
“Let go.” It was said softly, tearfully.
So, I did. I loosened my grip and stood up. Bob let go of Venus’s legs. I lifted her to her feet but still kept hold of her wrist because I expected her to bolt.
“Wow,” Bob murmured as he dusted off the pants of his suit. “It’s been a while since I did that.”
Venus was still crying, but they were child’s tears.
Kneeling on the asphalt, I pulled Venus against me in a hug. She cried and cried and cried.
Finally I picked Venus up in my arms and carried her into the building. We started up the stairs but when I hit the first flight, I didn’t go on up. Instead, I took her down the hall to the teachers’ lounge. As I hoped, the room was empty. I went in and closed the door behind me. I set her down. Indeed, for the first time, I risked letting go of her altogether.
“Why don’t you sit there,” I said and directed her toward the sofa. Venus did as she was told. I took money out of my pocket and put it in the pop machine. “I’ll bet you’re thirsty after all that, hey? Do you like Coke?”
Venus was watching me. I thought perhaps there was the slightest hint of a nod. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking on my part. I picked the can out of the tray and opened it.
“Here.”
For the first time Venus responded of her own accord. She reached out and took the Coke from me and drank deeply of it.
“That was hard work, wasn’t it?” I said and sat down across from her. “I’ll bet you’re tired. I am.”
She watched me closely.
“Let’s not have to do this again, okay? Next time the bell rings, please come in. The bell says ‘Time for school.’ So you need to come into the building when you hear it ring. That’s the better way. I didn’t like having to do it this way.”
Venus lowered her eyes. She regarded the can of Coke for a long moment. Then she leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table. For that brief moment she looked like any kid. Then she sat back, let out a long, slow sigh, and the shade lowered again. I could see it happening. It was almost a physical thing passing over her. Venus went blank. Moving that Coke can was the last spontaneous movement she made for the rest of the afternoon.
As exhausting and traumatic as the day had been, I went home that night in a buoyant mood. Suddenly, there seemed possibility. Venus could talk. Venus could respond. Now all that was left was finding a way of drawing her out, of making her want to communicate with us.
But what way was this going to be?
I spent the whole evening preoccupied with this question. I cast about my apartment, looking for something to stimulate her, some idea that might work. Pulling out drawers from my file cabinet that contained teaching materials and work from students in years gone by, I forgot about having supper as I sat on the floor and went through folder after folder, looking for inspiration.
Two separate memories kept intruding as I searched. One was of the very first child I had ever worked with. Her name was Mary and she was four at the time. I was a college student, working as an aide in a preschool program for disadvantaged children. Mary was my first experience of elective mutism, where the individual, usually a child, is able to speak normally but refuses to do so for psychological reasons. In Mary’s case she had been badly traumatized by what I now suspect was sexual abuse, although this was back in the days before such things were generally recognized. Whatever the etiology, she was terrified of men and spent much of her time at school hiding under the piano. I was charged with the job of developing a relationship with Mary. Like Venus, Mary had been very unresponsive too, although not to the degree Venus was. She had also refused all the staff ’s usual methods of involving her in classroom activities. I was inexperienced and idealistic, so I’d never considered the possibility that Mary was too damaged or had