The sky hung heavy, big, gray and brooding
overhead. Rains fell from above all over the city wetting everything. It was
not a real surprise that it had begun to rain that particular day. On the
morning walk to school the smell of coming rain was buzzing on the air.
During
that year, on that day, I was a 12 year old kid sitting at the furthest table
in the back of the room, and staring through the large rectangular window as
its transparent surface became distorted and runny with the constant rolling of
water. I was watching a house far off in the Oakland hills. It was light gray,
like an overcast sky, and surrounded by thickets of woodlands. From my view I
could see one of the home’s large windows and a swig set.
I desperately wanted live in that house away
from the sprawl everything in East Oakland seemed to be surrounded by. Funny
thing is I do not recall wanting to live there to escape the violence or
anything of that sort. When you live with something long enough, even bizarre
things, it can all began to see quite average. The shooting, the fist fights,
even the seemingly constant wail of sirens felt common place.
Even the immediate chaos of the classroom
was not much of a distraction anymore. That year I had the grand fortune to
land in the absolute worst class of the entire school. On that particular day,
as always, no one in the classroom listened to Mr. Evans while he made more
futile attempts to teach the class. It was nearly mid school year and the class
had barely accomplished a handful of assignments but a majority of the children
did not care.
Perhaps if it had been another city where
more funds were available, where more people cared, and day to day survival did
not constantly occupy so many people’s time, I imagine someone would have
stepped in and took control of that situation. Even chaos loses its pizzazz if
it is a day to day thing.
That is not to say there was no one who was concerned or moved to
action. There were teachers who truly cared but were essentially powerless in
their day to day struggle out amongst the underfunded trenches. There were
parents who complained and petitioned but they were basically ignored. The
principals were just figure heads who controlled little; they were a lot like
the Wizard of Oz, just a bunch of smoke and mirrors. Mr. Evans was one of those
unfortunate teachers caught in a worse-case scenario. Many of the worst little
bastards the school had to offer all shoved into one classroom. He was
constantly mocked, ridiculed, and insulted. Any authority Mr. Evans attempted
to exert was slapped away.
It did not start that way of course. He once
had the reigns of powers in his slippery hands when the year first began. But
he let things go too far. So, like some sort of unmediated border dispute, the
situation in that class slowly escalated. First there was laughing and noises
behind Mr. Evans back. Then there came out right defiance and insults. Finally
the first shot was fired. Someone threw a small pebble at him while he had his
back turned. Others joined in on the fun. Soon people began to throw small personal
dictionaries. When no one stepped in, when Mr. Evans did not respond with
appropriate measures, the artillery grew to large lime green science books,
dark blue math books, and even rocks.
Before long class was out of control and any
hopes for Mr. Evans role as a teacher or authority figure was completely null
and void. Perhaps worst of all is that the kids were completely aware of this
and they were merciless because of such knowledge.
So, on that particular day I continued
staring out the window while ignoring the happenings in class. Any attempts to
learn would have just been dust in the endless chaotic winds of the room
anyway. However, to his credit, Mr. Evans was still trying to write something
on that big green blackboard. Such was only met with a growing swell of
disrespect and disregard.
It
happened like clockwork. Any time he turned to write upon the board, there came
a swift flapping of pages fluttering through the air like the wings of a
frantic bird, before slamming against the board or Mr. Evans’s back. Finally
having had enough he turned about with an almost flabbergasted look on his round
bearded face.
"That is assault!" He warned
angrily only causing the class to laugh. "If one of those books do me any
serious injury, and I catch who threw it, it won't be me, you, momma and the
Principal. No Sir! It will be me, you, momma and the Police!"
The laughter only grew from the class and
someone yelled ‘Shut that shit up!’ from the anonymity of the class.
Mr. Evans looked about the class with a sort
of haggard expression. Finally he seemed to just sigh and give up before
retreating back to his desk. Sitting there quietly for a while he appeared to
ponder his situation then shuffled through some tests only very few of us
participated in. Mr. Evans looked so weary, down trodden, and forlorn to me.
Even as a child it was abundantly clear to me that he was very unhappy. It must
have hurt to have so many kids mocking and disrespecting him continuously. He
existed in some bizarre universe where the students were bullying the teacher.
No, do not confuse my observations as
altruistic concern. I would like to say I was moved or that I deeply
sympathized with him. Perhaps it would benefit my image more if I were to say
such. However, my father had been murdered only months earlier, and I honestly
just could not find it in me to feel much about anything. I was just an
observer behind a thick glass of apathy. Sometimes I occasionally laughed but
either than that I just wanted to be left alone.
Mr.
Evans’ degradation did not magical manifest from nowhere. If there were any
ring leaders of that variable three ring circus of malice than I would have
never hesitated to say it were Abjah and Jimmy. Both were held back before,
both were too old to be in the 5th grade, and both had behavioral
problems. With those two boys in the class, equipped with an entire gaggle of
flunkies, there was no way of ending the chaos. Those poor kids did not realize
they were victimizing themselves the most.
The day in question was literally going
nowhere, plus Abjah and Jimmy were just in rare form that afternoon. The school
day started out pointless and would end pointless. Bored out of my skull, and
needing to break up the constant nothing, I finally lowered my eyes from the
window, opened my desk and began searching for something to do. Again, I heard books and objects fly across
the room. The multiple impact hit along the walls and floor as the students
laughed. Mr. Evans gave another impotent warning that only served to further
amuse his tormentors. For a moment he seemed to have had enough. Standing from
his desk, he marched over to the phone on the wall that would put him in
contact with the office on the first floor, but then stopped, shook his head
and changed his mind. It was a pitiful thing to see. Perhaps he was afraid
calling in for assistance once more would not bode well.
A knock at the door drew Mr. Evans’
attention and caused the class to quickly power down. Such always happened in
case it was the principal or someone else with more than enough power to
handout punishments until their heart was content. Mr. Evans answered the door
to find a student sent by one of the other teacher’s with a message of some
sort. The chaos slowly began to power up once more.
I
was going to return to what I was doing until the conspiratorial whispers from
Abjah, Andre, Ben and Jimmy baited my curiosity. I was sure they were all up to
something by the way the poisonous smiles began to slowly spread across their
faces.
“Walter.” Abjah looked over at me and then
motioned to Mr. Evans. “Watch this.”
I ceased what I was doing and continued to
watch with building curiosity.
I quietly waited.
I continued quietly waiting.
I kept waiting.
Then nothing happened.
I grew bored and just a little disappointed
at the anti-climactic finish. Without anything else to do I turned back to my
desk and began digging for some sort of book to read. I had already finished
our textbooks. Well, all except that damn math book, which I had not even
entertained touching because I absolutely loathed math. Fortunately I had
checked-out a couple of books from the school library on the previous day.
The fearful, high-pitched scream of a girl
suddenly raised above all the other sounds of the class. I looked up just in
time to witness Mr. Evans about to close the door when a small trophy, with a
marble base, cut through the air and smashed into the wall right in front of
his face. The impact shattered a large hole in the plaster and snapped the
trophy into various pieces.
Mr. Evans, startled by the near miss that
was obviously aimed for his head, took a few clumsy steps back, bumping into
the still partially opened door, resulting in it swinging fully open once more.
The room erupted into an uproar of laughter as he seemed to stand there dumb
founded. The curtain had been raised, Mr. Evan’s was on stage, and the audience
was so eager to see him preform. The amusement lasted for quite some time. There
was so much laughter and name calling.
However, the longer he stood there, frozen
with that exact same frightened expression on his face, the more the clamor of
the room began to die. After several long seconds the audience was not so elated
anymore. Mr. Evans finally took a curious half step to the left then turned as
if he was going to walk off, but his legs went limp beneath him, and he toppled
quite suddenly to the floor with all the grace of something spilling out of a
container. Mr. Evan’s head bounced off the hard surface and he lie sprawled out
there partially in the doorway.
There was a silence after that. It was a
quiet so harsh that only the sounds of the rains pelting building was allowed
to make any noise. The eyes of the entire class were forced upon the results.
Mr. Evans was not moving.
A very
skinny girl, Felicity, bounced to her feet and rushed over to him. She became a
fit of hysterical screams and screeches as she danced around Mr. Evans’ fallen
form, grabbing at her face and shaking her head as the level of her hysteria
seemed to grow the longer she stared down at him. It was as if Felicity rushed
over because she wanted to help him but was too over taken by panic to actually
do anything. Blood was beginning to run from the side of Mr. Evan’s head,
trickling upon the beige, brown and black swirl pattern floor. The sight of the
blood caused some of the kids to begin completely freaking out.
“Mr. Evans! Mr. Evans! Oh my god!” Felicity
continued screaming a short while longer before suddenly bolting out of the
class room. Panic is a volatile contagion. It has the terrifying ability to spread
with speeds that can out pace even the most voracious wildfires. Soon many
other students began rushing from the classroom, pouring into the hallway,
hysterically banging at neighboring classroom doors.
“Mr. Evans is dead! Mr.Evans is dead!” The
panicked children began raising the alarm. But even as all the screams for help
were occurring other kids were beginning to accuse one another and point
fingers. Fear was rising. This latest escapade had gone much too far. There
were going to be usual suspects, but none of them, even the most brazen amongst
their ranks, wanted to be the one tossed under the massive bus obviously
speeding towards the class. A reckoning was nigh.
I continued sitting there watching it all
occur. I was calm because the event mostly did not resonate with me on an
emotional level. Of course I felt kind of bad for Mr. Evans but I realized
there was nothing I could really do for him. I considered retrieving a coat out
of the coat closet to lay his head a top of it like a pillow but I also
remembered constantly hearing not to move an injured person. I finally stood
from my desk, sort of crossed over Mr. Evans, and wandered out of the classroom
into the hallway. Other teachers were exiting their classrooms while telling
their own students to stay in their seats. Some of the kids were still yelling
that Mr. Evans was dead.
I watched for a little while before turning
and moving down the hall, walking down the two flights of steps to the first
floor, and going to the office. A very large man named Mr. Knolls, who served
as security, stepped out of the office as I approached. Felicity, who arrived
long before I did, could not be calmed down enough to speak coherently. Ms.
Gause, an administrator in the office, was trying to console the sobbing girl
as best she could with a hug but it appeared to be doing little, if any, good
at all.
“Walter.” Mr. Knolls said sternly in his
commonly deep voice. He was a very intimidating figure. “What happened up
there?”
“Someone threw something and I think it
really scared Mr. Evans. It looked like he fainted.” I explained with a shrug.
“Did you see who threw whatever it was?” Mr.
Knolls asked.
“No. Sorry.” I replied.
He watched me suspiciously for a while as if
maybe I knew more than I was admitting to. Perhaps there was some truth to
that. I saw the conspirators whispering and one of them did tell me to watch
for what was coming. However, I did not actually see who threw the trophy. I
only saw the object in midflight and the ending results.
Mr. Payne, the school’s principal emerged
from his office. He was so worried about Mr. Evans that he rushed past us all
and raced up the steps to check up on him. Mr. Knolls began gathering the
entire class downstairs near the office. All the kids, even those who were
never involved in the craziness, appeared frightened by the turn of events.
There was still bickering amongst the main instigating group, each vying not to
lose their head as the realization of how bad the situation really was
continued to expand.
The front entrances, a large pair of double
doors, were open when the paramedics parked in front of Parker elementary. I
remember being able to hear the water gurgling in the gutters, and the tires of
vehicles sloshing across the wet streets as they passed. A pair of EMT’s
hurried into the building with a stretcher, and a cop followed them into the
building. The situation seemed to only grow worse. Mr. Payne was furious by the
time he returned to the class of children gathered there near the office.
“You should all be ashamed of yourself.” The
principal began in his mildly high voice. “What you did here today really hurt
an innocent man that was just trying to teach all of you. Are you proud now?
Are you happy about what happened here? Mr. Evans is going to the hospital
because of all of you.”
Many of the students, including the instigators,
began to cry as his words seemed to dawn on them. I remember seeing Abjah,
Jimmy and the others crying as I glanced over at them. To this day I remember
feeling terribly sickened. Not because of what they had done, or even the
outcome it caused, but because it seemed absurd they would have the nerve to
shed tears after having had a hand in causing the incident. I could not believe
they were seeking sympathy and a hug.
“We are going to find out who did this.” Mr.
Payne warned gravely. “The responsible party will be found. There will be
consequences for your actions.”
The crying increased as the EMT’s carefully
carried Mr. Edward’s dazed form down on a gurney. He had a bandage on his head
and there was a glazed look in his eyes. Mr. Payne continued his speech but I
do not clearly remember any of it now because my attention turned towards the
open doors where I watched the rain. I am not sure when it happened or why it
suddenly annoyed me so much but eventually I just turned and walked off down the
hall. I did not want to be a part of it all any longer. I heard Mr. Payne, and
some other adult call after me, but I did not acknowledge them. I did not want
to be privy to any more speeches or crying.
Everything suddenly felt silent and gray
like the cloudy sky outside had somehow saturated everything to such a point
that all the colors were washed out down into the gutters, leaving the world
bleak and colorless. I walked down the secondary hallway and sat at the flight
of steps leading out of the building. It was a secluded area that I often
isolated myself. No one really ever went there and I could just be alone.
Sometimes I would just sit there and think about everything. Other times I
would read. That day I watched the rains falling outside while partially
reflecting on all that happened.
"Walter?" A soft and familiar voice called from behind causing
me to turn and find Mrs. Language staring back at me through glasses. She was
the school’s special programs coordinator and psychologist. My desires to be isolated
and left alone caused us to cross paths on numerous occasions. She was always
kind and funny. Everyone seemed to love having her around.
“Hi, Mrs. Language.” I said with a small
smile.
“What’s the matter?” Mrs. Language asked
with some concern.
“Nothing.” I replied simply. “Why?”
“Well, I heard about everything that
occurred with Mr. Evans so I came to see what was happening. I was told you
left so I walked around to find you.” Mrs. Language explained.
“Oh.” Was all I could really think to say
for a while. “I just didn’t want to be there with them. What’s the point?”
“Well, maybe you should come and sit with me
in my office for a short while.” Mrs. Language smiled a little and despite the
way she phrased it almost like a requests, I knew she was telling me to come
with her. So I did. We walked down the next hallway before stopping outside her
office door, where she unlocked it and allowed me to walk in first before
following me up the short flight of steps.
The
room always seemed to have had a comfortable glow no matter the weather. Her
office had two large windows that overlooked the entire schoolyard. All about
the office were a great deal of books on shelves, trinkets from various
cultures she had studied, posters against drinking, drugs, unsafe sex, and
others about homework, honesty, integrity. Besides for the sound of the rains
there was some sort of R&B instrumental playing on the radio from one of
those stations that only play that sort of thing. Mrs. Language pulled out the
chair at her desk and had a seat. I sat across from her a little distance away.
“How are you feeling?” Mr. Language asked
gently.
“Okay, I guess.” I shrugged.
“Are you sure, Walter?” She further
inquired. “A lot has happened today. It is okay to be sad or upset about any.”
I was quiet for a while. I seriously thought
about what she was explaining to me and I wondered if I should feel something.
“No. I guess I am ok.” I replied to her sincerely and turned my eyes out
towards the rain. “It has been raining a lot lately.”
“Yes.
It has. The forecaster said it should last throughout the next couple of
weeks.” Mrs. Language said with a small
smile that did little to cover her concerns. But she did not press. She was
always very patient that way. God knows she would need such dealing with me.
