Heaven in the Voice Room

This will not be an official report. I will be keeping this in my private files. And I will remain anonymous.

Mr. Defoe was one of the newer staff members, but he had already proven himself to be a very valuable asset at the school, covering for other absent teachers, finding lost files (actually discovered one behind a filing cabinet that was so old it was in one of the colours I had not seen in almost a decade), and creating his own lesson plans. With all of that work, the decision to put him in charge of our Voice Room seemed easy enough (the other teachers simply did not want the job, and he was too polite to say no).

Now, let me explain the Voice Room to you, future reader: this is a space where different students can come in, take a seat on the couch, and have a chat with any teacher who happens to be on duty for that hour. Often, the room is very quiet, especially on weeknights when people want to get home and not face the traffic and occasional drunks outside (young women were encouraged not to be out there after five pm). Some teachers created special nights where they would use the television provided and have dialogues based on film and television. Mr. Defoe once arranged an event based on something called Monty Python’s Flying Circus that was well-advertised and very popular among all levels (I believe they watched a skit called “The Argument Clinic”). Naturally enough, he was prepared for small groups, large groups, or single students. And the level of ability was no matter worth discussing. He would adjust his talk depending on his audience.

And that is why I am still impressed by what happened that night.

Many of the students who come to our school want to improve their English for grades, work, or just daily life with a growing community of foreigners. Some are bored housewives and retirees who have absolutely nothing better to do. And then there are what we call…special cases.

Mr. Y. was one of those special cases. And I suppose that the word “Special” is the best description we have for a boy who never developed the mental capacity to go to a regular school, hold even a part-time job, or have a real pool of friends not chosen by his parents. He was almost twenty when he came to our office, and I knew that he would be a problem for us. He would be a problem for some of our teachers…

Except…

Yes, Mr. Defoe did take him on. The classes were always private and he would often lead Mr. Y. to laughter and applause (yes, he would physically applaud in the small cubicles we had on the upper floor and you could hear it from the stairwell). So, when he came that night, I wondered if he knew that Mr. Defoe was not in a regular classroom.

But he knew…

They both knew that this was a special night.

And I wonder now how I missed it.

Mr. Defoe, always full of surprises, brought his guitar to the office. I had not seen it on the monitor, or heard any rumours about him being able to play anything at all. He would occasionally bring CDs to play on the PA system (always instrumental movie soundtracks and always inspiring), but the idea of him playing an instrument here? In our office? Ridiculous!

And then…I heard him.

Now, the front desk is near the Voice Room, and you must remember, it was a weeknight, very close to the end of our day. Mr. Defoe brought in his guitar – classical, I believe – and greeted Mr. Y. And then he began to play.

I had never heard the song before, but I did some research on it later. It was by a band called Talking Heads and the title was “Heaven”. And it was one of the most beautiful melodies I ever heard.

He had a much better voice than I suspected. Not that he was loud or aggressive, but he had the tone of a teacher who had to adjust his manner for different audiences. Maybe that was why the performance was so mesmerizing.

Maybe that’s why I actually paid attention to the lyrics:

Heaven…

Heaven is a place…

A place where nothing…

Nothing ever happens…

That was the chorus and I could not concentrate on anything but that song. At least two other women on desk duty also paid him close attention – women really do love musicians – and were surprised by the performance. We were all struck by it.

And the applause from the room was loud and strong.

I don't know why they planned to have such a performance on that night. The few other teachers on duty never said a word about it and seemed surprised to see the guitar in the office. Maybe Mr. Defoe knew that he could reach his student through music in a way that could never work with conversation.

Just maybe...

And I have decided to keep a record of this moment for my own private files. It is good to know that there are people in this world who will go beyond their expected roles and provide something for clients that they could not find anywhere else. And since the school closed down, I have found it harder and harder to imagine that people are willing to be that kind. Not many of the places I've been forced to work in have such people.

Thank you for that special night, Mr. Defoe. We need more people like you in this world.

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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