Harold’s
room is dark. There’s no lights, no TV, not even the glowing blue power light
of his PlayStation. The street lights outside cast a pale amber glow across the
floor from the window. It makes the space look sour.
The boy
who is normally full of whimsical, and yet often profound imaginative qualities
looks sullen. He can usually be found doodling or reading comic books, but
instead he sits slumped on his bed, staring at nothing, thinking of everything.
His cheeks are puffy, red-hot and not quite wet from stale tears.
After
waiting to see if he snaps out of it on his own, Harold’s mom knocks, but opens
the already cracked door at the same time.
“You
ready to tell me what happened today?”
Harold
sniffed, a thick snort filled the room. His mother handed him a
tissue, and waited.
“I
got beat up.” Harold turned towards the window as he said the words.
“Really?”
his Mom looked him over. “You look fine. Are you okay?”
Harold
shrugged off the hand that inspected his face, “I’m fine Mom, it didn’t hurt,”
this he said proudly, as he craned his neck back towards his mother. She could
see in his eyes, he meant what he had said. The truth in his words was
overwhelming. She wanted to hold him, hug him, but she resisted, knowing that wasn’t
what he needed right now.
“So?”
she asked casually.
Finally,
Harold spoke, “Ronnie Danko called me ‘fat boy’ again today.”
Harold’s
Mom nodded.
“I
told him if he ever done it again, I was gonna punch him in the mouth.”
“So
what’d you do?”
“I
punched him in the mouth,” Harold giggled, and his Mom joined him in the
laughter.
“I
take it there’s more to the story?”
Harold
nodded, “After I punched him, he didn’t fall. He came at me, knocked me down
and kicked me in the stomach a few times before Mr. Rawls broke it up.”
“Oh
honey, I’m so sorry.”
“The
worst part was no one helped me. No one even yelled at him to stop.”
She
held his hand, he let her. Harold’s Mom wanted to cry for her son. She was
furious as she imagined the crowd of students staring, mouths agape, fulfilling
their role as nothing but spectators. She didn’t say what she was thinking, “What
happened after?”
“I
dunno, not much.” Harold’s speech quickened though, “Mr. Rawls carted Ronnie
off to the office, Trisha, that student-teacher, took me to the nurse.”
“And?”
the patience in her voice was profound, knowing.
“When’s
it go back to normal?”
She
thought she had been prepared for the question, any question. “Does what go
back to normal?”
“Me?”
Harold paused, maybe struggling a bit to find words, which was never a problem
for him under normal circumstances. “I feel empty, like he took what made me happy.”
She
could hold back no longer, she hugged Harold, tightly. “Don’t worry it’ll come
back in time son, and it will be stronger than ever. You will be stronger than ever.”
“Thanks
Mom.”
“Thanks
for talkin’ to me,” she rose from his bed, and headed for the door.
“Mom,
I thought I had him you know? I just thought I had it figured out, how it would
go. Thought, he would fall and not get back up.”
She
paused to look down at her son, “Sounds like you two have something in common.
Only difference is he got up and kept going during the fight, you get to do it
after.”
Harold
nodded. She hoped he understood as much as he seemed. “Oh by the way, there is
one thing I know for sure little man.”
“Ya,
what’s that?”
“That
precise moment when you think you have things figured out, just know you don’t.”
“So
what do you do then?”
“Something
different.”
No comments:
Post a Comment