Skip to main content

Featured

every other man

The light outside the main entrance to our building has gone out again. The heavy metal door swings wide as I pull a hat down over my ears. In the darkness there are maybe twenty teenagers standing still. My boot scrapes across the ground, slowing down. Their hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, I look for a space to pass between them. A voice appears, saying hello in English, with an obvious accent. I am all instinct, sayingpivyet as I pass, not looking back, wondering who said this. There was a boy that was an extra in Blackbetty that lives in our building, but he is too young, too short for it to have been him.

I look back, navigating the puddles in the street. It does not make any sense.

N is with V, making their way home. I meet them, pulling V into my arms as she chatters about her day, about dry leaves and princesses, about her grandmother's apartment and what she ate there. We are going back home, and I try to explain the odd collection that stands outside. As we pass th…

not even a whisper

A parent/teacher meeting was announced at E's school. At 6:30 on a cold Friday night, we ducked into the building. The hallways were empty. The rows of lockers stood silent. She told me how many flights it was to her classroom as we climbed the stairs, our footsteps echoing. 

Out of twenty five children, only six other parents were there. They huddled around the teacher's desk, sweaters wrapped tight around them. I needed E to translate for me, so we made our way to the back of the room, hoping our whispers would not disturb anyone. We yanked our hats off, and settled in. I smelled ammonia and cheap perfume.

The teacher had a constant sigh stretched across her face. Her blonde hair hung limp against her ears. She stopped the joking chatter and cleared her throat. She talked about the boy that died, and how two weeks of investigation had uncovered the fact that he took some gum from a stranger on the school playground and there were narcotics in it. Nothing more. There was some additional warnings explained. The faces nodded, hands folded carefully over each other.
There were no questions.

The conversation turned quickly to the errors happening on the school website when grades are posted there. There were constant complaints from the mothers about homework assignments, about harsh grading from one teacher, then another teacher. The room filled with people talking over each other about math homework, a cacophony of pleas and examples raised. But for that 15 year old boy, not even a whisper.






Comments

Popular Posts

best personal blogs
best personal blogs