Crooked Smile

The boy fell hard, his head bouncing off the pavement like a rubber ball and cracking like an egg. Dane watched the red stain the boy’s blonde curls, the life drain from his eyes. The teacher rushed over as he admired the injured boy; she was screaming and crying for help.

“Dane – hurry – go get help!” she shouted through sobs.

“But you are the help,” he replied blankly.

More teachers began to crowd around the boy, pulling Dane away and covering his eyes. “Don’t look,” one of them said, “you shouldn’t have to see this.” An ambulance finally arrived to take the boy away and policemen with stern faces and deep scowls interviewed every teacher there. No one talked to Dane; no one remembered that he was the first one there. His mother eventually came to take him home early at one of the teacher’s requests. She cooed and coddled him all the way home with a chorus of, “I’m sorry you had to see that sweetie, it’ll be all right. I’m sure he’ll pull through so don’t you worry. Do you want some ice cream? A new toy?” but he didn’t say a word. His mind was focused on the image of the fallen boy with red stained hair and dead eyes.

Dane was called to the principal’s office the next day. His mother was there, shoulders squared and jaw set as she faced the principal. Mrs. Burton beckoned for him to take a seat next to his mother, putting on a stiff smile that made her crow’s feet spread like tree roots across her face.

“Dane," she began calmly, "can you tell me about what happened to Johnny?" The woman gave him another crinkly smile to encourage his answer.

"This is preposterous," his mother interrupted, "my son has no idea what happened to that poor boy."

“Dane, please tell me what happened to Johnny. I want the truth.”

“He fell.”

“Yes, I know that. Did you push him?”

“Did you see me push him?”

“No, but…”

“Then I didn’t push him. He fell.”

Mrs. Burton sat quietly for a few moments, examining the five year-old closely. His voice was mild, as if he the words were nothing to him. Something in her knew he was involved, but she had no way to prove it. Unfortunately, Dane’s mother stood and chimed in before she could ask anything else.

“My son has nothing to do with this. If you are going to keep accusing him of something he clearly didn’t do, then I’m calling my attorney.”

“Now, now, Ms. Miller, there’s no need for that. I’m only trying to find the truth.” The principal's voice became unsteady at the thought, a light sweat threatening to appear along her wrinkled forehead.

“The truth is that my child is a sweet boy, and he would never do what you're implying," Ms. Miller snarled, "I’m taking him home now, and if you harass my son again, I’ll be filing a lawsuit against you and this school.” She grabbed Dane by the arm and yanked his frail body out of the office and towards her car.

“I don’t care what anyone says. You’re my boy and nothing will ever change that.” She said as they drove home. She looked over at him when they were stopped at a red light. “I love you.”

She didn’t see him take a deep breath, carefully arranging his facial features into a wide, sad grin “Thanks mommy that means a lot to me.” When she turned back to the road again, his face fell, and he stared at himself through the rearview mirror. He was thinking of the blood again, all of that glorious blood.

The following week, they received news that Johnny had died in the hospital. The two left town shortly after, Dane’s mother saying she needed a change of pace. She was tired of her neighbors' scrutiny. They all presumed to know what her son had done, and blamed her for it. She was the mother of a monster, the keeper of a killer. From Harrisburg, they moved to a small town up north called Rosalie, where no one would know what her son had done.