Our Daughter Amantha

Dear Principal Summers,

I’m writing to you today to document our family’s struggles over the past few months to obtain a fair and equitable education for our child, your student, Amanthania BloodRoseoftheHeath Anderson. A copy of this letter and your reply will be sent to our attorney as we prepare for potential legal action.

We knew adopting Amantha would bring different challenges from our other children the moment the hunched old woman pressed her into my arms on that windswept, foggy cliff and whispered, “She grows in power with each passing day, and soon all who behold her will tremble and weep,” before disappearing into the mist. 

Babies don’t come with instruction manuals, and Steven and I had a steep learning curve adjusting to our daughter’s special needs. We soon learned her base body temperature was roughly 40 degrees below most humans, that she didn’t cry because she was incapable of feeling pain and that 17th century Gregorian chants would send her right into a state some would call sleep. Steven, who had first been so reluctant to repeat with me the spell I found in that tattered grimoire once all other avenues at adoption had failed, was soon wrapped around her preternaturally wizened finger. I’m sure you’ve discovered most people who gaze into her unblinking yellow eyes fall immediately into her thrall. 

Dropping Amantha off for her first day of kindergarten, I was so worried that her teachers wouldn’t be able to take care of her the way we had at home, or that she would reject the food they served because it wasn’t trying to wriggle from her grasp with a desperate squeak. But she quickly adjusted to the change and thrived in the room full of small, soft children. Often, at pick-up time I would find the class asleep — even the teacher — with Amantha in the center of a circle made from their prostrate forms, perfectly content.

Like they say, the days are long and years are short. Soon I was helping Amantha choose an outfit for her first day of middle school. As you are no doubt aware, teenagers can be a real challenge, even ageless and immortal ones. You have to pick your battles. So I let her wear what she wants as long as it’s modest and weather appropriate.

Imagine how I felt when I got a call from your office informing me that I had to pick Amantha up, and that you were making her wait on the front steps. Can you imagine how humiliating that must have been for her? True, I’m not convinced Amantha feels emotions like shame, fear or love, but I was still shocked in principle. I’m aware the voluminous velvet cloak in which she chose to wrap herself that day has a distinct odor, but I find it unspeakably offensive that you chose to compare it to, and I quote, “a combination of human corpse and sulfuric soil.” The cloak in question is the only thing Amantha inherited from her family of origin, and I am certain she chose it as a comfort item for her first day.

Over the last few weeks, the indignities have continued. I’ve been forced to leave work and pick up my child at least once a week due to your discriminatory attitude toward her attire. Steve and I are very proud of Amantha’s creativity and her ethical stance on fast fashion, and we support her choice to make her own clothing from locally sourced materials. The necklace of human teeth you placed on a list of forbidden items was (mostly) crafted from her siblings’ baby teeth, many of which fell out naturally. The chevron-patterned gown you forbade Amantha to wear for picture day was made from the wings of the bats and birds that smack into her bedroom window to be sacrificed in service to her art. And the monkey’s paw tied by a length of twine around her pale neck? It’s plastic. She got that at the Halloween shop. Grow up.

Finally, I would like to draw your attention to the bullying Amantha has experienced over her dietary needs. Steven and I understand the school cannot accommodate every child’s unique nutritional requirements, and we have taken steps to make sure our daughter brings everything she needs to remain well-nourished and attentive, up to and including a sound-proofed cooler so the panicked sounds of her lunch do not distract other students. However, it has come to our attention that Amantha was inappropriately disciplined for snacking between classes. I wish that you had spoken to me first, as I would have been happy to explain to her that the school’s ceiling joists and crawlspaces are off-limits to all students, even hungry ones who scent prey. I also take extreme objection to your description of my child “scuttling across the rafters.” The bloodstains on the music room’s ceiling tiles should be removable with bleach, cold water and a little elbow grease.

I regret that things have become so acrimonious, but one does what one must to protect one’s child and make sure they have every opportunity for a bright future. Please do not subject Amantha to anymore disciplinary measures until this has been resolved. Also do not look her directly in the eyes or invite her across the threshold of your office without me or my legal representation present. I feel obligated to inform you that she has begun sketches for a new pair of leather gloves, the polka dot pattern of which closely resembles the freckles on your forearms. You may consider waiting in a ring of salt to hear from my lawyer.

Linda Stansberry (she/her) is a freelance writer and journalist who lives in Eureka.

This article appears in Halloween.