Dancing with Shadows

River

Ratliff spots me in the halls. I'm strutting deftly to fifth period when I see him see me. Oh shit. See, the thing is, its gratifying to be defiant, exhilarating even, until your mouth is caught on the hook and you're getting drawn out of the water like the proverbial slow-witted fish. The fish knows whats coming next and much like it, I too know whats coming to me.

"Mr Bennett!" He calls just as I'm ready to make a run for it. If I run now I'm only adding to the crime.

"Yes, Principal Ratliff?" I turn to face the beckoning hand he has held out to me. He wants me to follow him to his office. "Yes, sir."

His office is behind the doors marked "ADMINISTRATION" overhead in bold uppercase. He pushes the doors open and Alice, the receptionist lady, jumps to her feet and, moves from the other side of the drawn-out countertop separating her from the one kid clutching what appears to be a broken nose. She speaks quickly, walking and talking at the same time. Ratliff holds another door open for me and turns to her. "Send him to the nurse's office, Alice. I'll be with you in a minute."

Its a standard office with a large oak desk- stray papers and heavy files abound. I notice for the millionth time the framed picture of his family that is set neatly amid the chaos. His daughter is perched on his lap and he and his wife envelop her in a three-person hug. I want to ask him how old she is like I have on all the occasions I've landed myself in here but it doesn't seem like the right time. If I'm in here its most certainly NOT the right time. 

He takes a seat on the chair behind his desk and motions for me to take any one of the two opposite him. As it has come to be somewhat of a custom, I pick the left chair. I hop over the chair closest to the door and plop onto the next. I relish in the satisfaction that this bothers him. Sure enough, his eye twitches and he adjusts his glasses. 

He follows with the grand gesture of clearing his throat, "I trust that you have read the school handbook." His voice croaks in his throat.

"Correct," I straighten up. "Correct, sir."

"So I know you knew when you were doing whatever this is," he stops to wave his hand at my head. "That you knew it was against school rules. So, what I'm interested in knowing is why you did it anyway."

He hunches over the desk, hands folded into his chest and, looks at me earnestly as if to say I'm listening to you and I want to know why you do the things you do. Ratliff is one of the very few if not the only adult who has ever looked at me this way. I'm not sure if that means he pays attention and cares or if it just means he's good at his job as overseer of the "Hormonal Masses". It is my experience that the latter is often the case.

I consider my options. I could be honest. I could say I was in my bathroom and I got the overwhelming impulse to change my appearance, I dont know why but I wanted to and so I did. The same way I want to drive nowhere sometimes and I do it simply because the "why" is never lucid nor important. Once the urge is there, I cannot ignore its existence, perpetually whispering to me to do these things. It sounds asinine even as I'm thinking it and I wonder just how it would sound even more so if I said it into the space between us where words can get judged. 

I decide to go the safest route. Evade. Evade. Evade.

"Do you know that seventy percent of grown-ups regret never having done anything crazy in their teen years?" I pause for a reaction. Nothing. "I think thats a sad statistic seeing as all those people, the whole seventy percent of them can never do the things they could have when they were younger. Dont you agree?" 

He keeps his eyes on me. I am aware that I am not getting anywhere with him but I continue nonetheless. I rack my mind for all it's worth. That beautiful tortured creature.