Teachable Moments

1

The day had been a blur. A massive backlog of work to grade, a sea of disinterested faces, and a seemingly endless list of names that I knew I'd never memorize. All in all, I was almost as bored as the kids I was supposed to be teaching. It may have been my first day, but it wasn't theirs. The school year was more than halfway over, a marker that was evident by the downtrodden appearance of the students, their energy so depleted at this point by essays and equations they barely even noticed me standing in for the normal art teacher who was out on maternity leave for the rest of the term.

Who would've ever thought I'd be a teacher. The thought was still laughable to me, even as I sat behind a rickety metal desk with my name shakily written across the whiteboard behind me. This wasn't rock bottom for me, far from it, but it wasn't exactly my epitaph either. As much as I may complain, and trust me it's been a lot, I am grateful for this job. It's giving me time to catch my breath and get everything in order after the shit show that has been the last year of my life.

It isn't until my last class of the day that I notice a presence that doesn't blend in with the entirety of the student body. Dressed in all black, with facial piercings and a black scorpion emblazoned on his neck, it was clear that the boy didn't exactly fit in with the popular crowd. I took notice of his downcast gaze and the way he sat as far as humanly possible away from any of the other students. I felt a strange kinship with the kid. I had been an outcast in high school. Being the fat comic book nerd with an unhealthy obsession with death doesn't exactly help you make friends.

I read through the list of names for this period, silently waiting for one to match up with the quiet figure in the back of the room. He finally looked up when I read off "Frank Iero", briefly raising his hand before going back to picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

The lesson went by smoothly. It was just me showing a pre-made powerpoint on an art technique and getting the students started on drawing something in that style. I made my rounds, answering questions before returning to my desk to grade older assignments left behind by the actual teacher. I looked up from my work every so often just to make sure the little brats weren't trying to murder one another. For the most part, they worked on their projects and talked quietly with one another. All but Frank that is. He sat stone still, staring a hole into the blank sheet of paper on the desktop in front of him.

He looked sad, more so than was normal for a teenager, like everything good in the world had been snatched away from his grasp. I swear it looked like he might start crying at any moment. The release bell sounded suddenly, causing me to get caught staring like a total creep. Maybe I am a creep. I mean, I am a grown ass man and he's some obviously troubled, barely legal kid.

I quickly tell the class that they can finish their work over the weekend and throw open the door at the front of the room, narrowly avoiding the stampede of young bodies that rushes forward to escape it. Frank lingers at his seat, it's like he wants to talk to me but he doesn't know how to break the ice. I decided to approach him to ease the pressure.

"Hey, Frank right? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah."

His response is short and vague, the word so clipped I'm not even sure he said anything at first.

"Yeah to which part?" I ask, hoping for some elaboration.

"Yeah, my name's Frank."

With that, he is brushing past me and storming out of the room. All that was left in his wake was a musty smell of cigarette smoke and a stark white sheet of paper left at his seat.