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The third Thursday of each month looms like a black hole for Joelle. That is
the day the nurse comes to the school, with her pretend smile and her
nametag that says "Debbie M., R.N." Debbie M., R.N., meets with the two
diabetic kids, and she checks creepy Ashleigh's special feeding machine.
She talks to Eric, even though he is blind and deaf and drools all day. Then
she tells Joelle that she still has headlice.
"Joelle honey, didn't you tell your mama that she can't just wash your hair
with the shampoo, she has to comb out all the nits? Nits are the eggs that
hatch and grow into new lice." As if Joelle doesn't know what nits are. As
if Debbie doesn't know that Mama doesn't shampoo Joelle's hair, Joelle
does it herself. Sometimes the poison lice-killer chemicals get in her eyes
and sting so bad any other kid would cry.
It is the same every month. Every month the lice are still there, with their
sticky white nits glued to Joelle's hair like rice burned to the side of a
saucepan. Every month Debbie runs her gloved hands through Joelle's hair
and sighs, "You have such pretty hair, honey." Every month she gives
Joelle a big bright yellow notice for Mama, and a new bottle of lice-killer
shampoo. Every month Joelle shuffles back to the classroom full of staring
kids, hiding the notice and the shampoo behind her back, trying to make
herself and her head of shiny clean lousy hair turn invisible.
Debbie is still moving her vinyl fingers in Joelle's hair. Joelle holds her
breath. Any second now it will be over and Debbie will snap off the gloves.
Any second now it will be too late.
"Joelle!" Debbie leans forward for a closer look at Joelle's head. "Joelle
honey, are these sores on your head from a cigarette?" She turns Joelle
around to face her. "Sweetie, who burned your head? Was it someone at
your house?"
Joelle nods. Debbie knows no one lives at her house except Joelle and
Mama.
After school Debbie comes with white form papers and takes Joelle to
another lady's apartment. The lady's name is Cindy B., but she doesn't have
a nametag. Joelle eats pizza and watches a video while Cindy B. combs the
nits out of her damp hair. "Oh sorry Joelle, I hit the burned spot. That must
hurt."
Joelle shrugs. It only hurts a little bit, nowhere near as much as it did to
press the glowing tip of the cigarette to her own scalp. That hurt so much,
any other kid would cry.
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