Moira’s drawing showed her teacher, who’s very pregnant, near a tree, on a hilltop, with a little girl next to her.
“Is she supposed to be my daughter?” teacher asked, all smiles.
Moira nods.
“Mm. But why does she have black circles instead of eyes?” teacher still smiling.
“Because,” Moira replied, “she’s dead.” (Very matter of fact, as if she said, “Because, she’s wearing blue.”)
The teacher’s face turned gray, then pale. She snatched the drawing from Moira’s desk and ran off.
“Where’s her mother?” the principal asked Mrs. J. the next day.
“She’s unavailable. But I’m here on her behalf.”
“Well… Mrs. Jordan. I’ve had a little chat with Moira yesterday…and…it has raised questions about how…”
Nevermind the rest of the principal’s drivel. Home schooling it was.
