NARRATIVE:
“Tomas, can you explain this to me?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, sir.”
“That’s not an explanation, Tomas.”
______________________________________________________________________________
The fridge was empty. My lunch was gone. And this is my typical morning routine. I
opened the fridge, only to find nothing in it. Not really sure why I even bother opening it
anymore. I picked up a moldy loaf of bread from inside our moldy broken cabinets, and put it
back where I found it. My backpack was heavy, full of all the worksheets and homework from
Mr. Holmes that I didn’t have time to finish because I was picking up after my mom the night
before.
I stood near the front door with my empty stomach and full backpack. She was sitting on
the sofa, staring at used syringes left lying on the table. Her mouth was hanging open, so I
thought maybe she’d say something this time.
“Bye ‘ma,” I tried.
Nothing. She stayed glued to the sight of those sickening syringes that have ruined our
lives, and said nothing. Water was dripping from the ceiling just inches from her feet, but she
appeared to have no idea or just didn’t care. Probably just didn’t care. I tried making as much
noise as possible as I opened the door and prepared to leave. I glanced back to see if she noticed.
Still nothing. I slammed the door.
My bike was locked up out front; I am still impressed nobody has stolen it all these years.
Goes to show what a piece of shit it is. I’m almost halfway to school when Mike and his posse
drove by. They thought it would be a good idea to start throwing beer bottles, cans, and garbage
at me. A bottle smacked the side of my face and made me lose my balance. I fell on the loose
gravel and my jeans ripped right below my knee.
“Cute bike, Tomas!” one of them yelled out the window as it sped away.
And I just said to myself: fuck this! Fuck Mike. Fuck everything. Just a normal fucking
day for Tomas Walker. No breakfast. No lunch. Ripped jeans. Bruised jaw. And I wasn’t even
halfway to school.
______________________________________________________________________________
“Tomas, please watch your language.”
“Sorry, sir.”
______________________________________________________________________________
Anyway, I got up and was dusting off my pants… and I saw this group of black dudes
across the street looking at me like they were all concerned about me or somethin’. Made me
mad, you know? Like, I’m not trying to be racist or anything, but they just don’t get anything.
They don’t know me. They don’t know my life. I don’t need their pity.
By the time I made it to school I was already starving. Sometimes I don’t know why I
even bother coming to school, except that maybe I’d rather be here than be back home. When I
walk through the halls on the way to class, people ignore me just like ‘ma does. But at least
(most of them) aren’t high. At least they aren’t supposed to be my mom.
And then, sir, the wildest thing happened. Anne Boone said my name.
“Tomas, hey!” she said.
I had to blink twice and pause to make sure I heard her right. But it was actually Anne
Boone walking right next to me and saying hi. With a smile on her face. But I was sure it had to
be some kind of joke.
“Tomas?”
“Oh, hey.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. You know Anne, she’s popular. She’s
pretty. Really pretty. And she doesn’t talk to guys like me. I don’t even know how she knew my
name. It had to be some kind of dare or somethin’.
“You dropped your student ID back there,” she handed me my card. I took it and nodded
at her, expecting her to leave... but she kept walking with me.
“What happened to your jeans? That hole looks new,” she said.
I hesitated before explaining, “I was helping my neighbor. He’s really old, so I was
helping him move some stuff and my jeans just got caught on somethin’.”
I don’t really know why I made that up. It’s not like I’m embarrassed or anything…. it
was just a stupid white lie. Just came right out. But she was still walking with me.
“Why are you talking to me?” I asked, “Did someone tell you to do this?”
She looked alarmed. I’m not so good with girls, you know?
“No, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I just wanted to get you your ID. And I realized I’ve
never really talked to you before but I think we have a class together,” she said.
We do have a class together; we were about to walk into it. “Sorry,” I mumbled, “I
haven’t had a great morning.”
“It’s okay, me either,” she said. And she said it like she meant it. There was something
weirdly comfortable in the way we silently walked through the rest of the hallway to class
together. I don’t feel comfortable very often..
Before we walked into class Anne smiled at me one last time before abandoning me to sit
with her friends. I sat in the back, as far away as possible from Mr. Holmes, I just don’t like the
guy. Haven’t liked him since the beginning of the year. He’s always riding me about something
or other. He’s on some kind of power trip or somethin’, you know?
Peter, the fat kid, knocked over my backpack when he tried to squeeze into one of the
chairs next to me. My blank worksheets spilled out onto the floor and I sat just staring at them.
And I know it wasn’t that big of a deal. Like, it was just paper. But it made me so mad, like…
what else? What the fuck else could happen to me today? Peter was too fat to bend over to help
pick things up. And nobody else cared.
Except Mr. fucking Holmes, of course. He walked my direction and began to pick up
some of my papers. Acting like he felt bad for me or somethin’, or maybe he was just tryin’ to
play the “good-guy-saves-the-day” card or somethin’. And I couldn’t believe it. You know, like
what right did he have to do that? And so… I told him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!? You think it’s a good idea for you to come
over and put your filthy fucking hands all over my shit!? Who the hell do you think you are?!!”
“Tomas, I know you’re having a tough time right now, please let me help,” he placed a
hand on my shoulder. He placed one of HIS hands on MY shoulder! And that was it for me, I
had had enough.
“Get your dirty hands off me you stupid nigger!”
Silence. Silence followed for what felt like years.
“Tomas. Please take your things and go to the Principal’s office. Immediately.”
And now, not only has he tried to make me seem like this helpless kid in front of the
whole class, but he orders me around and tells me what to do like he has some kind of power
over me or somethin’. The fucking nerve. I stared down at my blank worksheets, and I could feel
all eyes were on me. I looked up and made eye-contact with Anne. She looked terrified. So that’s
when I got my stuff and came here.
______________________________________________________________________________
“So why did you say that, Tomas?”
“Say what?”
“Why did you call Mr. Holmes the n-word?”
“It was an accident sir. I didn’t mean anything by it, he just really provoked me when I was on
my last straw, you know? I mean, I am the one that got beer bottles thrown at my head at eight
AM. I’m the one who never has food to eat. I’m the one who was born into a f-- a broken family.
I’m the one who’d never talked to a girl ‘till today. I’m the one that nobody cares about. And
then he comes along and aggravates me like that… in front of everyone…and you know he did it
on purpose. He even said it himself, like he knew I was havin’ a hard time. I mean, I don’t even
know how I got here. How the hell did I become the bad guy?”