Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Ready, Aim, Fire!

Last week, the Apple Tree teachers and I needed to fill time for one afternoon, as the teacher for our students' Chinese class would still be out on holiday. It wasn't necessary to teach Chinese to the kids, simply because none of us knew the language. We decided instead to have a water gun fight out on the roof after lunch on a warm, humid Friday. It was scheduled to last from 1:00 P.M. to 2:20; whatever time was left over after the fight would be devoted to resting, cleaning up, and watching a movie until the kiddies headed home. The plan seemed peaceful enough.

The day of the special activities arrived with students brandishing bubbly, plastic weaponry of all sizes--from tiny, three-inch pistols to mega-sized water rifles with torpedo-like backpacks for extra ammunition. What I noticed as the kids unpacked was the number of folded raincoats that appeared in their cubby-holes to rest on top of their books. Some had remembered to bring towels as well, nestling them among the day's other accessories. They would definitely be well-armed, I thought as I watched the kids filing in. I looked at my unshielded self and an uneasy feeling settled over me. I thought about my own assets--two tank-tops, one pair of shorts, a pair of sandals, and a travel bag. I had no towel, no change of clothing, and no super-soaker to use as retaliation. I knew it was true even as I confessed to a nearby teacher: "We're gonna get soaked."

Just before one o'clock, James and a couple of Korean teachers gathered students in a line to go upstairs, helping to button slickers and adjust hoods. I spied Teacher Michelle collecting kids' water guns and other such odds-and-ends with a raincoat encircling her body. Anita, seeing to the children's wet ammunition, was clothed in like manner. Grace was similarly clad when she later joined the festivities. Once shot at a few times, James retreated back downstairs for a moment to don his own protection. Daniel, one of our part-time teachers who was on hand to help carry water, spent most of the fight in the comfort of the office; he had been sprayed once and, without any plastic shielding, had decided once was enough. Hints of what lie in wait for the one who came unprepared were all around me, had I eyes to see or a willing heart to heed. I could have refused to take part in the activity, but I chose to err enthusiastically on the side of unabashed participation instead.

As we ascended the stairs, Daniel noticed our low water supply. I rounded up the classes as the other teachers scrambled back to the fifth floor for more munitions. Remembering Jack Teacher, the American who had just left, I led the students in a game he made up called Leader Game to fill the down time. Sherry, from my K-1 class, pulled at her plastic collar as we began. "Teacher, hot," she said. I could almost feel the kids sweating under their protective layers while we waited. The day's humidity sat oppressively on top of us in its own anticipation of the impending fight. It was a perfect day for such an endeavor: the humid, breeze-less air wouldn't matter once the children were wet.

At almost the same moment that the signal was given to fill cartridges and start shooting, I made a beeline for the other side of the roof, mercilessly not even 50 yards away. When they saw me running, my students gave chase. I soon found myself surrounded by no less than 10 pre-K and Kindergartners, all pointing their plastic barrels at me; I was backed up to the edge, my flailing arms a feeble attempt to stave attacks. Left without recourse, I stepped onto the shin-high ledge, held tightly to the golden railing, and looked out, mimicking a woman in search of the best place to jump. Satisfied that they had thus cornered their prey, the kids left me for other exciting targets. Less than five minutes into the fight, my army-green shorts already bore the dark stains of the enemy. I wasn't sure how much longer I could last.

It was then that I remembered my cell phone, left in the now-sopping pocket of my shorts. I stepped into the stairwell to make sure it was none too worse for wear and one of my K-1 students, Sky, tried to follow me. She stuck the business end of her water gun inside first, aimed it at my chest (I surmise), and fired. A trickle of water dribbled from it to the floor; it seemed she was in need of a refill. "Teacher Jennifer has to check something," I instructed her. "She's not a target right now, not for the next five minutes."

After a moment of respite downstairs to hide my phone, I reemerged on the roof, this time to find shelter in the other direction. What I found sadly was a space no more than one-quarter the size of the roof's other portion. A small detachment of troops, made up of Egor, Richard, Sky and a few others, watch me try to hide there and were instantly upon me. I clamored up a fire-escape ladder to try to avoid them, holding tightly to each rung for fear of losing my grip. Sky ventured to the first rung and reached her gun as high as her arms would let her to unload her ammunition on me, the squirt of water hitting my flexed calves like a small dog nipping at my heels.

I stayed up there, suspended above concrete, for several minutes just to earn relief. By now, more than just my shorts were soaked through and it was no longer feeling like much fun. The moment I touched solid roof again, Richard backed me into a trio of whining air conditioner units that I nimbly climbed over, careful not to fall off this side of the roof either. I almost rammed face-first into a large spider and her web as I dodged his shots. Once secure in my defenses, I peeked my head out from my armored cover every few seconds to locate my predator. My only reprieve was granted when the kids were called around the corner for a picture. They then settled on emptying their water guns onto the black wall behind them, instead of me.

Soaking wet, I returned to the office fully aware that I would now have to teach my afternoon classes in such a foolish condition. It was only 1:30 and I knew we had to keep the kids for at least another hour, but I was none too helpful at that moment. The air conditioner's icy fingers had already started to curl themselves around my limbs and I was too wet to sit down with the children on the sofa to watch the movie. "I'm going for a walk," I told Teacher Daniel. "I'll come back when I'm dry."

I can't say I dried off any on my walk. I spent the better part of a half an hour meandering around picturesque apartment parks in Dongtan trying to speed evaporation, a thing unlikely on such a humid day. The only other thing I could have done, I suppose, would have been to run myself dry. But I doubted how my moisture-swollen skin, clad in water-saturated sandals as it was, would have weathered such an endeavor. That, and I don't really like to run. At one point I tried sitting down in an effort to squeeze as much water from my shorts while still leaving them on, which resulted in two half-moon water prints left on the bench where my rear end used to be.
All I have to say is that you know how loved you are by how drenched you become after a water gun fight with kindergarteners. As I was a favorite target, I must have ranked high on their list.

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