May We Be Forgiven

the situation, and that we are in fact dealing with the matter internally.”
    “We are charged with an enormous responsibility, Mrs. Singer. We are like superheroes who cannot fail our children.”
    “Of course, Mr. Silver, that’s why I’m calling you.”
    “How was the situation uncovered?” I ask, no pun intended.
    “It was brought to our attention by someone who wishes to remain anonymous.”
    “May I speak with Ashley?”
    “As I said at the top of our conversation, she’s not available right now—she has English and then science and lunch.”
    “Will you have her call me?”
    “This goes without saying, but I’m hoping you’ll keep it confidential.”
    “I have not said that I would or wouldn’t—but suffice to say I am concerned. As the guardian of a girl going through so much at home, I had hoped that school would be a safe place for her.”
    “Mr. Silver, times have changed. The world is not what it once was.”
    “Quick question, Mrs. Singer—do the other students know?”
    “It is my belief that they do not.”
    She takes a long breath; I suspect she’s actually sneaking a cigarette. “Against the advice of counsel—my ex-husband was a lawyer, so he taught me to say that—I’d like to give you my home and cell numbers, in case you need to reach me.”
    As I’m writing her numbers down, I’m simultaneously texting Cheryl.
    “Urgent,” I text.
    “Motel?” she texts back quickly.
    “More like soup and sandwich,” I type.
    “I have errands,” she answers slowly.
    “I need help.”
    “What kind?”
    “Kid stuff.”
    “Fine—meet me at the food court in the mall at one. I’ll be near the frozen yogurt.”
    “Thx,” I type. She’s squeezing me in.

    “ Y ou have to be really cool about it,” Cheryl says, as she feeds me crunchy noodles and cold chicken from her Chinese chicken salad.
    Today her hair is in a blond pageboy. “Is that a wig?”
    “No,” she says. “I got a haircut. Listen, if you freak Ashley out, she’s going to clam up and you’ll get nothing. It’s not clear-cut abuse, but more of a Lolita kind of thing.”
    “Do I take it to the police? Does that make it worse?”
    She shakes her head. “Keep it under the radar unless the kid wants the authorities involved. If she doesn’t, and she’s the only one talking, it could get ugly and be worse for your niece in the long run. You need to talk to her, let her know that you know, and make a safe place for her to share her feelings—or not. … And ask her how she feels about reporting it—some people feel like it’s not taken seriously unless it’s reported; others would rather die than have to keep talking about it.”
    “Maybe it’s all a big false alarm,” I suggest. “Maybe Ashley got a crush on the head of the school and it was more of a mother thing, a platonic emotional affair. I doubt much happened of a truly sexual nature—I don’t think Ashley even knows about that ‘stuff.’”
    “What planet are you on?” Cheryl asks. “These kids are sharp; they’re not going to let on what they’re up to. You can bet the teacher put it all in the guise of being parental or teacherly—giving her lessons. Ask if they used any fruit.”
    “Fruit?”
    She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “My husband taught my son about condoms with a banana, and when my friend’s daughter asked her mom what it felt like to have a penis inside her, her mother directed her to the vegetable bin and said, ‘Male genitalia are like vegetables, they come in all shapes and sizes, there are carrots and zucchini and hothouse cucumbers.’ She was fond of telling her girls that in a pinch they could use the free hotel shower caps as a birth-control device. ‘And whatever you do, you never want to get any of “it” in you or on you. Think of “it” like Krazy Glue, hard to get out of your clothes, of your hair—and disrespectful. Any man who respects you leaves his “discharge” in a receptacle other than you, and any man who doesn’t should take his interest elsewhere.’”
    “Do parents really talk with their children that explicitly?”
    “Kids are curious, they find out—it’s better they find out from you. Also, given that your niece is almost a teenager and she doesn’t have a mother, you should find her a female doctor who practices adolescent medicine.”
    “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
    “It’s better; she doesn’t need to be talking to Dr. Faustus about her