Protecting Lola

Lola swung her legs against the chair, the tips of her toes grazing the tile. She tapped her pencil gently against her temple, squinted down at the paper on her desk, and wished she knew even one of the answers on this test.

Behind her, Ewan McElroy pushed the tip of his muddy boot through the slit in the back of her chair, poking her in the back.  He did this every day. Once, Lola yelled at Ewan to stop, but she was the one who got in trouble, not Ewan.

Lola was always the one who got in trouble, no matter what she did.

Lola didn’t want to give Mrs. Wright a reason to yell at her, so she scooted forward in her seat quietly, doing her best to keep her blue plaid skirt and white blouse away from Ewan’s muddy boots.

Good girls keep their uniforms clean, Mama told her. Lola tried extra hard to be good. Mama said it wasn’t her fault she was bad. It’s the bad spirits. They follow Lola around and entice her to mischief.

Lola told mama she didn’t do mischief; she only got blamed for mischief.  Mama shook her head and blamed the bad spirits for making Lola lie.

Lola felt Ewan push his boot farther and farther toward her. When he couldn’t reach her, he switched to shoving against the chair so hard that Lola had to brace herself to keep the chair still. Both feet flat on the floor, she held tight to the edges of her desk and looked up toward Mrs. Wright, willing the teacher to notice her struggle.

Desperate, Lola turned her head and pleaded with Ewan in a whisper.

“Please stop, Ewan, we’re going to be in trouble.” Ewan only grinned. He liked being in trouble and he never cried when he got the paddle.

Right then, with Lola turned around to face Ewan,  Mrs. Wright decided to look up.

“Lola!” She shouted. “Front and center. Now.”

Lola jumped up from her seat and hurried to the front of the classroom. She found the “x” taped on the floor in front of Mrs. Wright’s desk, right in the center, and stood directly on top of it, feet together.

She clasped her hands behind her back and held her breath. In trouble again; Mama would be mad.

“What is the consequence for cheating in my classroom, Lola?” Mrs. Wright’s hands were folded on her desk. She had a nice face; round cheeks and large blue eyes framed by shiny black curls. When she first came to Mrs. Wright’s classroom, Lola liked how her eyes twinkled when she grinned. It reminded Lola of a storybook princess.

“I didn’t cheat.” Lola protested.

“What is the consequence?” Mrs. Wright repeated. She drew out the s sounds and grinned at Lola. Her eyes twinkled, but Lola didn’t like it anymore. It didn’t remind her of a fairy princess. It reminded her of a snake about to strike.

“The paddle,” Lola answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Fetch it please, Lola.”

The worst part of getting paddled was collecting the paddle from the principal. He was so large he filled a doorframe and his booming voice was overwhelming even when you weren’t in trouble.

“What did you do this time, Lola?” His voice was like thunder in her ears. Her eyes widened as he pulled the paddle out from behind his desk. It looked like the end of an oar for a rowboat, but instead of a long handle, it had a short, leather-wrapped handle with a knob at the end.

“I didn’t do anything.”

The principal grunted and slid the paddle’s edge along the palm of his hand. Lola clenched.

“What’s the consequence for lying, Lola?”

“The paddle.” Lola had never been paddled by the principal before. Her breath caught at the thought of it. She clenched harder.

“What did you do, Lola?” The principal asked again.

“I cheated on a test,” Lola stared down at her shoes.

“Grab your ankles, Lola.” Mrs. Wright said.

Lola pulled down on her skirt, worried her underwear would show when she bent over in front of the class. The other students watched quietly. Some, like Ewan, would enjoy it. Others would flinch every time the paddle made contact.

Lola closed her eyes and gripped her ankles tight. She ground her teeth together and held her breath. When tears threatened to fill her eyes, she blinked hard and fast to keep them from spilling.

When it was over, Lola blinked up at Mrs. Wright.

“Can I please go to the bathroom, Mrs. Wright?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“May I please use the bathroom, Mrs. Wright?”

“Be quick about it.”

Lola tried to finish crying quickly. If she took too long in the bathroom, Mrs. Wright might paddle her again, but the thought of it, the fear of it, only sent her into another bout of sobs.

She sat on top of the toilet, with the lid down, hugging her knees into her chest and resting her forehead on her arms. Gently, she rocked forward and back, wiping fresh tears on her skirt when they came, until she felt soothed enough to brave the class again.

She slid the lock over, and pushed the stall door open.

That’s when she saw her.

A warrior.

The warrior was a grownup, but younger than Mama, younger than Mrs. Wright. Her dark hair was in braids and wrapped around her head like a crown. Golden armour covered her body and her hand rested on the handle of a golden sword hilt.

Lola gazed up at the woman in awe. The woman knelt before her, right there on the black and white tile of the bathroom, and bowed her head toward Lola.

“Lola,” her voice was strong and melodic, “no one should touch you without your permission, no one should harm you, no one should hit you. It’s wrong.” The woman lifted her head and met Lola’s eyes. “I’m here to protect you.”

Lola didn’t know what the woman meant, but she didn’t ask; she took the woman’s hand when offered and allowed her to lead Lola back to her classroom.

While she walked down the row of desks to take her seat in front of Ewan, the warrior went straight for Mrs. Wright. Lola sat down and looked up just in time to see the woman draw her sword.

Mrs. Wright didn’t budge. Mrs. Wright didn’t flinch.

Mrs. Wright didn’t react to the warrior at all.

Even as the sword scraped against its scabbard, even as the warrior took a fighting stance, even as she plunged the sword into Mrs. Wright’s heart, Mrs. Wright didn’t acknowledge her.

It was seconds later, just after the warrior returned the sword to its scabbard when the teacher finally reacted.

It wasn’t to gasp at the golden-clad, sword-bearing woman standing in her classroom though, it was to clutch her chest, gasp desperately for air, stand abruptly, then collapse with a thud onto the classroom floor.

An hour later, Lola sat criss-cross applesauce against the wall in the hallway, along with the rest of her class. They had watched as men and women in different uniforms moved in and out of the classroom. Eventually, a rolling bed moved down the hall with what they all knew was Mrs. Wright lying on top, covered in a sheet.

The warrior stood by the classroom door the whole time, but Lola tried not to look at her. As the adults moved in and out of the classroom, Lola couldn’t miss that none of them, not one single person, saw the warrior.

Lola didn’t like being the only one to see something, especially when that something killed her teacher.

Mama picked Lola up from school early and took her for a treat. She swiveled in the pink stool and licked strawberry ice cream as it dripped down the waffle cone while Mama asked her how she felt about the day.

“I feel okay,” Lola lied.

“Do you have any questions about what happened to Mrs. Wright?” Mama asked. Lola had a lot of questions; all of them about the warrior, who sat between Lola and Mama at the table. She left the school with them and rode in the back seat with Lola.

The warrior didn’t swivel. The warrior sat up straight with shoulders back, eyes on the door, and a hand on the sword. Her crown of braids looked like they were painted on from a distance, but up close Lola could see little whisps of hair moving gently when the air moved.

“No questions,” said Lola.

Mama asked if Lola would like to take a walk, she could bring her ice cream if she wanted. Lola nodded and slid off the pink stool. They got to the door just as a man stormed inside the ice cream shop in some kind of hurry. He barrelled into Lola’s arm, the one carrying the ice cream cone.

It hurt.

The strawberry scoop smashed into the man’s jacket then tumbled onto the floor.

“Stupid little girl, ech, yuck!” The man tried to brush the ice cream from his jacket. Mama gave the man a nasty look, but didn’t say anything.  She plucked the useless waffle cone out of Lola’s hand, dropped it into the garbage, then shooed Lola out the door.

“Should be on a leash,” Lola heard the man call after her.

Even though he was the one in a hurry.

Even though he was the one who ran into her.

Lola rubbed her arm where the man hit her. It was going to bruise, she was sure of it. Tears formed in her eyes.

She turned to look through the ice cream shop window as they walked away. The warrior was still inside, standing behind the man, sword drawn. She swung high this time and the sword sliced through the man’s head.

Just like it had with Mrs. Wright, the sword looked like it cut through fog, not flesh. Nothing happened right away.

Lola turned away before it did.

A moment later, the warrior appeared beside her.

“No one should hurt you like that,” she told Lola, “He thought that because you’re a child he could treat you however he wanted, but that’s not true. You are a person. And now, I’m here to protect you.”

Mama started talking to Lola about death and trauma and how important it is to share feelings, but Lola was focused on the sounds behind them. A shout for help, a commotion, and, a few minutes later, sirens.

There was a funny smell at home. Lola pinched her nose when they walked through the door. It smelled like food, left so long it got fuzzy, mixed with a campfire mixed with cinnamon.

“It’s just the protection spell,” Mama explained, “To protect you from the bad spirits, so you don’t get into so much trouble.”

“Protection?” Lola whispered. It’s what the warrior said. She said she was there to protect Lola.

“I know you’re tired of being in trouble, Lola. And I’m tired of you being in trouble. So I got a spell. It will protect you from the bad spirits who are always getting you in trouble.”

Mama did a spell to protect Lola from bad spirits.

But spells are illegal. And expensive. Lola tried to think this through, but the smell made her head ache.

The warrior sat in one of the kitchen chairs and propped her leg up on the table. The armor made a thudding sound. Lola jumped, but Mama didn’t hear it at all.

The warrior smiled kindly at Lola and patted the chair next to her.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Lola. We’re going to be great friends.”

Lola tried to smile back, but her mouth only twitched. She clutched her stomach where a deep ache was forming.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she told the warrior.

“Okay, sweetie,” Mama replied.

The phone rang when Lola returned from the bathroom.

She slid onto the chair beside the warrior and listened.

“Okay,” Mama drummed her fingers against the counter.

“I see,” Mama’s eyes darted toward Lola.

“Yes, I understand.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.” Mama hung up the phone.

“That was your principal Lola,” Mama sighed a deep, disappointed sigh and crinkled her nose as if suddenly offended by the noxious smell of the spell.

“You cheated on a test?”

No, Lola wanted to say, but Mama wouldn’t believe her. Mama would think Lola was lying, just like the principal did. And just like the principal, lying to Mama meant a bigger punishment for Lola.

Tears welled up in her eyes and Lola blinked them back. Her teacher, dead on the rolling bed, under the white sheet, was still getting her in trouble for things she didn’t do. Next to her, the warrior gripped her sword.

“Go get a belt, please, Lola.” Mama said it gently, but it wasn’t a gentle request.

Normally, Lola felt sick and frustrated and a little sad when she walked upstairs to fetch one of Daddy’s belts. This time, Lola stomped her feet against the stairs. She curled her little hands into fists and thought about how unfair it all was.

How wrong it all was.

The warrior trailed silently behind her; up the stairs, down the hall, into Mama and Daddy’s room, across the carpet to the closet door. Inside, six belts hung from hooks. Lola clenched at the sight of them, but no tears came, only a flush of anger.

She picked the thinnest, narrowest belt then turned back toward the door. The warrior looked down at her, her face full of pity, her hand gripping the sword. Lola’s anger, which had been rising steadily, paused. Her eyes stayed on the warrior’s hand as it massaged the sword handle, preparing to use it.

Lola’s anger drained in an instant, left like a flood. Her cheeks, heated pink seconds before, turned pale.

Mama was going to hit Lola with the belt.

Like how Mrs. Wright hit her with the paddle.

Like how the man in a hurry hit her in the ice cream shop.

Mama was going to hit Lola with the belt, and the warrior was going to hit her back.

Lola dropped the belt onto the bedroom floor and ran for the stairs.

“Mama, you can’t whip me. You can’t.”

“I have to give you a consequence, sweetheart. It’s my job as your mother.”

“You can’t.”

“I think my spell attracted more spirits instead of sending them away!” Mama shook her head, “Lola, I have to correct your behavior. It’s my job.”

“You don’t have to hurt me, you don’t. Please don’t.” Lola turned to look at the warrior. She was standing a few paces behind Lola, observing her curiously.

“I’ll get the belt myself this time, but wait until Daddy gets home. He’ll have something to say about your newfound defiance.”

Mama stomped up the stairs and Lola listened to her footsteps move down the hall.

Lola turned to the warrior.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Lola begged.

“I’m your protector.” The warrior thrust her chin upward.

“But I need her,” Lola begged.

“I must hurt whoever hurts you. It’s my job.”

Lola bent over when Mama asked. She held back her tears and tried to pretend she enjoyed the whipping, but the warrior was not fooled.

Panic formed in Lola’s chest when Mama set the belt on the table. She could barely breathe as Mama sank down to her knees in front of her and told her how much she loved her; how the whipping hurt her even more than it hurt Lola.

All Lola could think about was the warrior and her sword. All Lola could hear was the sound of her own heart.

When Mama stood back up, Lola heard the sound of the sword sliding against its scabbard. She turned and placed herself between the warrior and Mama.

“No,” Lola breathed, “Please don’t.”

The warrior took a fighting stance, ignoring Lola.

“Who are you talking to?” Mama asked.

The warrior took steps to move around Lola and Lola matched her, shielding Mama as well as she could.

“You can’t stop me,” said the warrior, “I have to protect you.”

“You’re not protecting me, you’re hurting me!” Lola screamed.

The warrior flinched. Something changed in her face. Her grip loosened on the sword. She turned her focus from Mama to Lola.

“Really, Lola,” huffed Mama behind her, “What got into you today?”

“You’re hurting me.” Lola repeated. She locked eyes with the warrior.

“You’re hurting me. You’re scaring me. Protect me from you.”

“Lola? What's going on? What are you screaming at?” Mama’s voice was high and panicked. Lola ignored her.

“Protect me!”

The warrior’s eyes closed and she lowered the sword so the tip hit the floor.

“Do your job,” Lola kept on, afraid of what would happen to Mama if she stopped, “Protect me! Protect me from you!”

The warrior opened her eyes then and bowed her head toward Lola. Then she raised the hilt of the sword up over her head, jammed it into her own stomach, and disappeared in a cloud of golden dust.

Lola dropped to the floor in exhaustion and relief.

Mama ran to the phone.

The next day, Mama took Lola to the facility.

The facility was all white and silver inside, with doctors who talked about things like “observation,” and “intervention.”

“It’s only for a little while,” Mama assured her as they walked down a sanitized hallway.

Lola’s room at the facility was tiny; just big enough for a twin bed and a dresser.

When Lola cried and begged her not to leave, Mama said she didn’t have a choice.

“You’re hurting me,” Lola whispered.

“I’m protecting you. It’s my job.” Mama unpacked Lola’s tiny pink suitcase, carefully placing a stack of tee-shirts and a stack of pants into the dresser.

Lola watched helplessly.

“I’ll try another spell,” Mama whispered when she hugged her goodbye, “A better one this time.”