What They Saw

That morning, I’d introduced an in-class worksheet to my charges, so they’d lowered their heads and screwed up their faces, bringing every watt of brainpower to their work. They were to draw the solar system, labeling each element—a big ask for third graders. But they were undaunted, for they still cared about impressing me, and honest effort always did the trick. And at nine years of age, they still respected their teacher, loved him even, and so they accepted my direction without question. They trusted me.

I strolled around the clusters of tables and almost tripped over my own feet. The school had replaced the flooring last summer with vinyl tile the color and texture of slate, and it grabbed every sole that moved across it. The air still smelled of disinfectant from the night’s cleaning, which always tightened my chest a bit.

“Mr. Jackson?”

Jaylene was a favorite, for she was forthright and curious, and her home situation made my heart break. I walked to her side and stooped. She’d penciled the sun and identified it—correct. But she’d labeled the first planet incorrectly … and she’d drawn it as large as the sun. She’d stopped, sensing that Jupiter didn’t go there, likely recalling its placement from yesterday’s visuals.

Then I saw her error. “The list of planets—they’re not in order,” I said, almost a whisper.

“Thanks.” Her face warmed with a smile, and she flipped her pencil and started erasing.

At the next pod of tables, Percy was tapping his pencil in a jazzy rhythm. I walked over and touched his forearm, and he stopped, but his eyes continued to dart around the table at the other students’ work. They’d changed his meds, and on the whole his behavior was much better.

I looked at his paper. Everything looked correct; his lines were sharp and precise.

I set the paper down in front of him. “Remember, we talked about this. What are you supposed to do … if you finish ahead of the rest of the class?”

He just stared at his sheet, unresponsive.

“See part two?” I pointed to the screen in the front of the room. “Which planets have moons?”

He turned his head up toward me and gave a quick nod. A bit of breakfast clung to the corner of his mouth.

“Then draw them in.”

I drifted to the back and scanned the room. All heads were still down, and the only sound was the whispered scratching of pencils on paper. Beautiful. I walked to the windowsill by our story space and took my notebook from my trouser pocket. I ran my fingers once over its blue leather cover and then jotted a note:

Tue Oct 5
Percy is quick—needs more of a challenge
Watch Jaylene’s writing hand—a couple of her fingers are curled up, hurt? recess accident?

Sometimes I felt it all fell on me, that I was the only one watching.

I looked out the windows. Some thoughtful architect had placed them high enough so the students only saw the trees and sky from their tables, no doubt to protect the kids—and reduce distraction. The morning was beautiful, crisp and bright for a fall day, and a young man, about sixteen, was walking with an older man, too old to be his father. Perhaps a grandfather? But something was off. The older man had a cane and was shuffling at a speed that irritated the adolescent.

T-tap, tap, tap. T-tap, tap, tap.

“Percy!” I called, but I kept my eyes on the sidewalk.

The pair exchanged angry words, and the old man jabbed the grandson in the stomach with his cane, his face contorted with anger. The grandson winced and started yelling back, then stomped off a few yards down the walk, leaving the grandfather stunned.

“Mr. Jackson?” One of the students had raised his hand.

“Yes, Leo?”

“I need you.” His expression seemed unsure—almost anxious.

“Just a minute … go to the next section.”

Outside, the teen had turned and walked back to his grandfather. The old man’s face was red with indignation—or was it fear? He was shouting back and pulling his coat tight around him, his cane raised now, ready to strike the teen’s head, but the boy covered his head with his arms, ready to fend off any attacks. I could read the profanity coming from the old man’s lips. My stomach knotted, just like when I was six … and I could hear the words—smell his breath.

I wiped the cold sweat from my face, and blinked my eyes fiercely, pulling myself back. I should do something.

Percy. Tapping again. I shot a glance at him, but he wasn’t looking.

When I looked back, the old man was moving down the sidewalk, with the grandson a few steps behind, fretting and mumbling. A few paces further, the grandfather turned and swung his cane in a violent arc at the grandson. The teen grabbed it and knocked him to the ground. What had the old man said to provoke that reaction from the boy?

“Hey!” I pounded on the window, but they didn’t seem to hear. I looked at my class. They were staring at me, waiting. “You can’t all be finished. Keep working!”

What was the protocol? I couldn’t leave my kids, but I couldn’t let the grandfather treat the young man like that. He wasn’t in school, likely suspended or expelled. I’d seen troubled families—recognized the signs. I’d lived them. But this? I wasn’t sure. My eyes searched the other side of the street, down the block, hoping for someone to appear—to intervene. No one.

My heart pounding, I rushed to my desk and punched the button that dialed the office.

“Mrs. Lopez? There’s something happening outside. On the sidewalk. A boy’s being abused by his grandfather. Call 911.”

“We know about it. We’ve called.”

I hung up the phone and looked back to the windows. The grandfather was still on the ground, and the grandson was bent over to help him, going through his trouser pockets. Then he shoved something into his own pocket and bolted down the walk. The old man lay there, his chest heaving. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my head. Maybe he was going for help, but my gut told me no.

“Mr. Jackson?”

“Just a minute, Leo!” I snapped.

When I looked back at the class, twenty-two pairs of eyes stared at me, questioning. Percy had stopped his tapping, his head down on the table. The kids’ pencils started moving once again.

The police arrived, followed by an ambulance.

Someone was knocking on the classroom door. Mrs. Lopez.

I opened it a few feet, but stayed between her and my class.

She came close and spoke under her breath. “It’s all under control.”

“You called family services? That old man’s behavior—it was so upsetting.”

Her eyes softened. “Oh, no. He’s Ellie’s grandfather. Ellie from 4B? She’s a bit green today, so we were sending her home.” She frowned a little, her posture remaining unmoved. “He was coming to get her.”

I swallowed, feeling exposed. “But his grandson …”

Mrs. Lopez tilted her head. “That wasn’t his grandson. He was robbed—right there in front of the school! Can you believe it?”

She shook her head and turned away, walking down the hall. I let go of the door, and it drifted closed.

My thoughts were spinning as I walked back to my desk and fell into my chair. What had I seen? I looked out the window, but the old man, Ellie’s grandfather, was already in the ambulance. Yet, his expression—the anger, the bitterness—it wouldn’t leave my mind. I pulled out my notebook. I needed to remind myself to check with Ellie’s teacher, see if everything was okay at home. But the pen—it wouldn’t stop shaking in my hand.

“Mr. Jackson?”

The voice sounded far away, as though bubbling through water.

Leo’s hand was raised. Always Leo, but this time with a concerned expression.

“I’ve been trying to say, Percy’s sick.”

His head remained down on the table, but now his eyes were closed and his skin was as white as ash.

What had Leo just said?

The classroom was still.

I found my hand at my left temple, massaging.

And all their eyes were on me, seeing—knowing. But what had just happened here? I was unsure. I’d faltered, yes, and they saw it, but something else. The moment had revealed a shadow in me, something vulnerable, for I felt the too-familiar fear. I closed my eyes once again to still the panic, the odor of the disinfectant stealing my breath.

“Mr. Jackson, Percy’s sick. You need to call the office.”

My eyes shot open and I fumbled for the desk phone. Percy was in trouble, and I’d missed it.

“Mrs. Lopez?”

✧ ✧ ✧

This story is a work of fiction. Except where explicitly identified in the afterword, the names, characters, and incidents herein are a product of the author’s creation and any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

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