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I never thought that I would experience something like this in my life, as I did now. Whenever I had heard about something like this before, I had only smiled, in the good faith that something like this would be far from me. I mean, my father was a nice man. Always friendly, always funny and always loving to his only son. Me.
But since he lost his job almost two months ago, he had become unrecognizable. He had started smoking and drinking. One thing he had always detested. The fact that he was doing it now hurt me. Where had his good behavior gone? He had always been well-respected, but now, with his shabby clothes, three-day stubble and beer bottle in his hand, he looked more like an anti-social person. He wasn't the only one he hurt with his impossible behavior. No, I suffered from it too. A lot, in fact. I had no one but him. There had never been a mother in my life because she died giving birth to me. So I had clung to my father all the more. He had always been there for me. But now everything was different. He seemed to see no meaning in his life, firstly because he got no prospects of a further occupation and secondly because I was getting worse and worse at school.
I was pretty much at the end. On the one hand, I wanted to help my father, but at the same time I was afraid of his new face, so I spent most of my time hanging around the houses, without any perspective. Lately, I've been hanging out with people I wouldn't have given the time of day to before. But now everything was different anyway. I started stealing, doing some shady things, and again and again there was this terrible fear that one day I might end up completely on the street. At the moment, I thought my father was capable of anything. If he knew about my new, broken life, he would throw me out on the street.
I had become a nuisance to him anyway.
But these thoughts were facts that I rarely wanted to conjure up in my mind. As soon as I thought about them, I wished I could go somewhere far away where all these current events would bounce off me.
I was a 15-year-old boy. Quite young for all these events. Most of the guys on the street I hung out with lately were much older than me. And I got that too. They treated me roughly, like a little kid. I didn't really want to have anything to do with them, but I had no choice. Either I sat at home all day with a drunk father who shouted as if there were no tomorrow, or I escaped all that and let myself be bullied by guys who didn't mind hurling insults at me. It was obvious what I preferred.
Today was September 16th. A day that I hated on the one hand, but on the other hand longed for like no other day. Today school started again after what seemed like an endless summer vacation. I already knew that I wouldn't pass this year, that I would skip school a few times, and that I would hide bad grades from my father. All of this, which would never have occurred to me a year ago, had now become reality. It just scared me.
I knew I didn't even have to get up that morning, because what was the use of putting a good face on a bad game? I had changed, and it was time to accept it. My former classmates, who had once liked me, were frightened by my new attitude, so I could be sure that I would have to adjust to a lonely new school year.
I tore open my closet and rummaged through my clothes. Black had become my favorite color at the moment. It just suited my dark mood best. I had also taken a liking to studded straps, which I now tied around my neck and arms to make myself seem unapproachable to others. They shouldn't think that I longed for closeness. At least on the outside, I wanted to look strong.
After I got ready for this fateful day, I walked down the stairs with my bag and was relieved to find that my father was not yet awake at such an early hour. All the better. I snatched a cigarette from him and lit it on my way to school. Did I want to look cool? Did I really?
Maybe. Maybe a cigarette, just like my new look, was supposed to distract from everything that hurt deep inside me every time I looked my father in the eye, every time I was teased by my new friends and every time I felt lonely and all the longings for recognition and love became too great. Then it always helped to put on a mask, just like I was doing now.
Without any expectations, I arrived at the school after a good quarter of an hour. It was a place that was safe, but at the same time felt like a prison and one that I didn't necessarily want to visit. For a brief moment, a thought arose in me that I normally thought every time a new school year began. Who would be our new teacher?
I smiled because, deep down, the old David Portian still lived in me, who occasionally came back to me and reminded me of such questions, thoughts and moods.
A little more confidently, I walked across the courtyard with a few disapproving glances from the other students at my back and made my way to my new classroom. But before I would settle down there, I wanted to be alone for a while. I couldn't bear any more shocked or frightened looks. So I went to the school toilet and into a cubicle. Once there, I threw my bag on the floor in front of me, locked the door and took a deep breath. Well, this year could be something.
I sank back into my thoughts, which I would have liked to have switched off at least once, so that I didn't really notice the school bell. It was only when I glanced at my watch and was shocked to realize that I was already ten minutes late that I finally made my way to my classroom. I rushed through the empty corridors, and when I arrived at my destination, I tried to get my rapid breathing under control.
Okay, I shouldn't pretend that I was in a hurry. Adopting a disinterested look and a dismissive attitude would be much wiser now that I was no longer the same David that my class had known before. With this in mind, I finally opened the door, looked down and waited to be noticed. I heard someone talking, apparently it was our teacher. He fell silent and I could clearly feel the many pairs of eyes that were now all fixed on me. Great, now I had even more attention! Could I never do anything right?
“And who are you?” I was suddenly asked.
I slowly looked up from my shoes and looked into the face of a teacher I didn't know.
“Who are you?” I asked back with a hidden aggressive voice.
The guy was clearly surprised by my choice of words. He furrowed his forehead a little, but relaxed again immediately and smiled leisurely.
“I'm Mr. Courten. The new English teacher. And may I now know who I have the pleasure of meeting?”
I swallowed hard. My God! What did this pompous teacher think he was? I was not used to a teacher talking to a student so casually. Maybe it was because he was so young?
I had no idea, I just knew that this Mr. Courten was already unpleasant to me.
“David,” I heard myself say. ”My name is David Portian.”
I never expected to feel this way again. It felt a bit like a mixture of fear of the final college exam and anticipation of my very first day at work. That day, something like my childhood dream had come true, but that dream of me as a successful and, above all, beloved teacher by the students, was quickly shattered.
Now the day had come for my second and last chance to maybe make my dream come true after all. Today was my first day at my new school. I had actually been quite happy with my transfer to Phoenix, Arizona. Moving had been the right thing to do, and here I was getting a job again.
Working as a teacher in Sacramento, where I had spent my entire life so far, was unthinkable. The scandal surrounding me had become known throughout the state, and even some newspapers in Los Angeles had reported on it. Fortunately for me, however, the whole thing had not gone beyond the borders of the state, nor had my name been published in the process.
The L.A. Times had called me a “pedophile pervert.” A ridiculous headline, considering that my alleged victim had been 17, almost 18 years old. The correction of this insult had certainly not even been read by ten percent of the people who had seen the actual article. In the end, a rival magazine of the L.A. Times took on my case and a reporter saw his big chance in clarifying what really had happened.
Thanks to the fact that I had given up anyway, I had told Myers everything, not caring that he might have written another defamatory article. But he hadn't, and a large number of the people who had detested me as a result of the Times' hate campaign came to see me as almost a normal person again. But in Sacramento they didn't believe that and so I found my new home in the neighboring state, more or less by force.
No one here knew about all this, except for the administration at my new school. None of the students here knew about Scott. The boy who had almost my entire life on the conscience. Meanwhile, he was 19 and was studying safe soon literature, he had always planned to have and often told about it when we were lying naked and in the dark on my bed at night. He had always had to smoke, just for him I had bought a set of ashtrays and spent a few dollars more to start the air conditioning.
He was a bright boy, clever and cunning and insanely beautiful. It was like an obsession, I just had to touch him whenever I could. And Scott seemed comfortable with me worshipping him like that, I could imagine that it must have been a great feeling for him, an older man, a real man, feeling that way about him.
One day, one of his classmates had seen us as we snuck into my apartment at night one weekend. At the time, it felt like Scott had just ripped out my heart and torn it apart. The boy to whom I had given this heart and whom I had trusted so much suddenly claimed that I had forced him to sleep with me so that I wouldn't give him bad grades.
I was suspended and arrested within half a day. The sheriff had explained that I had been charged with sexually abusing a ward. It hadn't come to a trial because Scott had admitted that he had wanted it just as much as I did, after letters from us had been found in his room and in my apartment. It was the most humiliating feeling I had ever felt, when excerpts from these letters were read out in front of the judge, when my entire emotional life was revealed to a group of strangers, when it was quoted word for word how much I idolized this boy.
The accusation of sexual abuse was immediately withdrawn and in the end I only paid a fine for having had sex with a ward. Thanks to a precedent set in Reno, I was even able to work as a teacher again, provided that I moved to another state. A young teacher from this city, which I actually hated, had thus saved my career and, in a way, my entire life by having an affair with one of her students and later teaching again in Kansas.
It was only thanks to her that I was now standing in front of this building, which I hoped to enter every morning for a long time to come. The difference between Sacramento and Phoenix was huge. Although this was not exactly a backwater, it was a real small town by comparison. I liked the fact that this completely different atmosphere made the whole thing a bit easier. Of course, I was completely insecure, extremely nervous and excited. But I was looking forward to this new beginning. I had decided not to look at anyone here, not at any student or anyone else for that matter. If I met someone who liked me, then they should come to me, my trust in others was currently zero.
Taking a deep breath, I entered the building and made my way to the staff room. I had already met the director and my new colleagues; there had been some conferences in the last week of the holidays, I had been introduced to my “mentor” and my timetable and the school system had been explained to me in more detail. Unlike most schools here, there was no course system, but fixed classes that were only separated in some subjects. This was to form better communities and improve the social behavior of the students.
My mentor was called Mrs. Arnold, a woman in her forties with always teased up, blonde hair and a seemingly endless collection of gray costumes. Contrary to her definitely unfriendly appearance, she was very, very nice. They had even told her about my “dark past” before she took the job as my mentor, but that hadn't bothered her. To my amazement, she took it very easy and said that I would certainly not get into trouble here, just be careful where I spent my free time if I didn't necessarily want my sexual orientation to be known.
“Good morning, Mr. Courten!” she greeted me when I entered the staff room, and some of my new colleagues also briefly raised their hands in greeting. I smiled at Mrs. Arnolds, took a quick glance at my pigeonhole, and then sat down at my permanently assigned desk, my final timetable in hand, next to my mentor. The staff room consisted of a large room with the subjects of all the teachers on one long side, in which there were two large, elongated group tables, a small kitchen with a coffee machine and refrigerator, and a smaller room with two televisions and several computers.
“If you have any problems with your class, just come to me. I taught the class last year,” I suddenly heard a dark, male voice next to me and looked up. A dark-haired man of about 30 sat down in the chair next to me and pointed to the timetable in my hands.
“Nice to know,“ I replied, smiling a little nervously. Of course, I didn't know all of my colleagues; I had only seen a large part of them once or twice before.
“Kevin Hoffmann, my name,” he said, shaking my hand. I told him my name and learned that he continued to teach math to the class and that I probably wouldn't have any major problems.
I found him likeable, even if he talked a little too much, but at least I had a direct point of contact when it came to my class. It was a good feeling to be welcomed so warmly here. A little later, the bell rang for the first time and most of the people present started to get ready to leave. Nervously, I took my bag, put the piece of paper with the timetable on it in my pocket and followed Mrs. Arnolds out of the room. She explained to me where my classroom was, wished me luck and left me to my fate. I took a deep breath before putting my hand on the door handle and slowly opening the door. The class quieted down by itself when I entered the room, but then again, most of these teenagers were already 15 or 16 years old.
“Good morning! My name is Mr. Courten and apparently I am your homeroom teacher this year,” I explained, putting my bag on the table and letting my eyes sweep across the class. 25 students, 11 girls and 14 boys. At first glance, they looked nice, ready to accept me as their teacher. The smiles on most of the faces took away my nervousness and I began to tell a little about myself and about what we had ahead of us this year. After about ten minutes, the door suddenly opened. I finished my sentence and looked at the boy who had just entered for a few moments.
“And who might you be?”
“Fine, David!” Mr. Courten was still smiling. ”Since you're generously telling me your name, would you also tell me why you're more than ten minutes late? You do belong to this class, don't you?”
I didn't even bother to hide my contempt, but rolled my eyes. “Snooze. Got a problem with that?”
“I certainly don't,” replied Mr. Courten immediately, still in that calm voice that was slowly but surely driving me crazy. ”But I think the school board won't be too happy if you're late on your first day. Please sit down in an empty seat!”
I grumbled something unintelligible to myself and reluctantly followed the request. Some of my classmates shook their heads as I walked past them and sat down on an empty seat in the back row, away from the others. I threw my bag on the chair next to me quite defiantly and folded my arms demonstratively across my chest.
Mr. Courten glanced at me again before turning back to the rest of the class and saying something about California.
I didn't even bother to listen to him. The fact that this teacher would be my new homeroom teacher for the rest of the school year spoiled any interest I might have had in his class. He might have been nice, but for me he was a touch too friendly. It almost seemed as if he wanted to be more than just an authority figure for his students. And I couldn't stand those teachers who thought they were becoming a kind of buddy for their students the least. Teachers were there to teach us something. Friendliness and fun should be separated from the lesson. At least that was my opinion.
However, this Mr. Courten didn't seem to share my opinion at all. Sure, he probably thought of himself as young and dynamic, that his time at school was still fresh in his mind and that he could put himself in our shoes as students. But was that really the case?
Sighing, I leaned back while Mr. Courten walked through the rows and handed out the English books for the year. When he came to me, he looked at me again with that look that I couldn't interpret. Apparently, he was surprised by my appearance and my overall demeanor.
I thought he would want to say something to me, but then he just silently handed me a book and walked back to the front of the class.
“Please write your names in the books and listen to me again!” he said, sitting down on the chair behind his desk. ”We will not be dealing with grammar and spelling this year anymore, as you did last year. We will now mainly pass the time with essays. We have several types of work to do. One is a literary characterization, a discussion, and a protocol.”
He smiled encouragingly at the class, after some students had grimaced. “Don't worry, we'll approach the new material slowly. First, we'll write some practice essays that won't have anything to do with these lofty topics. Just to get fit in writing.”
I sighed quietly. Well, that could be fun. I've never been good at writing. I really hated it because writing down my sentences always revealed a piece of the feelings I harbored. However, I didn't want to reveal a single emotion of mine to this Mr. Courten, I was already sure of that.
While he continued to prattle on, I barricaded myself behind my open book and pretended to read something in it. In reality, however, I was watching our teacher closely, following his every move and every reaction to students' questions. I could see a little nervousness in his eyes. Maybe this was his first class to teach. Who knows.
Actually, I had to admit that Mr. Courten was quite good-looking. He was not one of those typical teachers who seemed bitter and dissatisfied with themselves. There were plenty of those at school. But he seemed to be exactly the opposite. He had a friendly smile, a well-groomed appearance, short black hair, brown eyes and a slim figure. The typical teacher who made the hearts of female students beat faster. And when I looked around the class a little, I realized that I was right. Some of the girls looked lovestruck and smiled at him respectfully, blushing a little when they were noticed and then turning away from him, embarrassed, only to giggle excitedly and quietly with their neighbor.
Wasn't it all just a bit silly!
Even the boys paid attention to Mr. Courten and stopped their chattering or their laughing to listen to him eagerly.
Had everyone suddenly lost their minds? Was I the only one who disliked this teacher?
It couldn't be true that no one else saw behind this hypocritical façade and just saw a normal teacher with an overdose of friendliness. Or was I doing Mr. Courten an injustice? Was he really as wonderful as everyone here thought?
In my thoughts, I shook my head. Nonsense, David! Don't let the others persuade you of anything. This teacher is just a complete idiot.
Look at him! As soon as he realizes that everyone is well-disposed towards him, he already feels safe and lets the good buddy hang out.
How much that makes me sick! Such guys certainly had no idea about the really hard life I was going through. No, how could they? This Mr. Courten had certainly had a totally sheltered life, growing up in a family that gave him the support he needed to realize his desires and goals and was always there for him. And now they were surely proud of him. He certainly didn't have a father who was drunk first thing in the morning and who spent all his time telling him how awful he was.
I had to swallow at this thought and inevitably I came to a different topic. What would I do today after school? Go home? Lurk on the streets? Or go out with my new friends to do some shady things again? All three options proved to be a torture and my mood dropped even further, if that was even possible. What should I do? I wouldn't be able to stand this shitty life for much longer. Something should finally happen that would get me out of this hole. But what could that be?
I doubted that my father would ever stop drinking, and it was also extremely unlikely that my friends would suddenly start following the law and no longer be on the police lists.
So, what should this be? What would put my life back on the right track? What on earth?
I almost despaired of this question, so I didn't even notice how suddenly everyone's attention was focused on me.
Only a throat clearing brought me back to reality and I started.
I looked at Mr. Courten, who had stood up and was looking at me questioningly. “David? I asked you a question. Would you please answer it?”
“W...what kind of question?” I mumbled, visibly confused.
A few students started giggling again, which I tried to ignore.
Mr. Courten sighed. “I asked you what the term ‘literary characteristic’ means to you! Can you imagine anything under this type of essay?”
I immediately gave him a grim look for tearing me out of my thoughts, and shrugged my shoulders. ”Why don't you ask someone else? You know very well that I don't know anything about your crap.”
For a moment, I was surprised at my own arrogant language and a little unsure whether I hadn't gone too far after all, but Mr. Courten didn't even bat an eyelid, but called on someone else.
Two minutes later, the bell rang for the next lesson. Relieved not to have to see this teacher again for the rest of the day, I got up and made my way to the chemistry lab like the others.
But as I was the last to walk past Mr. Courtens' desk, he called me back.
“David? May I have a word with you?”
I didn't quite know what to make of this boy. Of course I didn't want to devalue him because he had come too late; after all, as a teenager, I had been a role model for every amateur latecomer. Being sleepy was nothing you could hold against someone in my opinion, but his way of reacting to me was surprising.
At my old school, all the students had actually gotten along quite well with me, and I had heard more than once that it made the lessons more interesting. I didn't want to be the typical bitter teacher. But it seemed to me that this David was bothered by exactly that about me. While I was making small talk to get to know the class a little better, he just sat there with his arms folded, staring ahead.
Every now and then, I noticed that he looked at one or the other of his female classmates, almost staring at them, and it was precisely these girls who were smiling resignedly at me. So apparently it bothered David that the rest of his class accepted me as a teacher? It almost seemed that way to me. As I handed out the books, I wondered for a moment whether I shouldn't suggest to him that he move to a seat further forward, after all, there were seats available further forward. However, I quickly changed my mind. After all, he was at least 15 years old, and this move would have been more appropriate in a second or third grade.
Apart from that, I definitely liked this class! It was nice to teach again, and the fact that these young people mostly accepted me made the whole thing pleasant. Even as a student, I had always imagined and wished for this kind of close-knit class-teacher community, but my teachers had never been so keen on it. If these students remained so interested, I was willing to remain this buddy-teacher for them. It was fun being a teacher when they didn't reject me.
“Well, first of all, we'll start with the literary characteristics this year. Surely a daunting term for most of you. What do you know so far about this essay genre?” I asked after some time explaining this year's material and looked around.
One or two looked questioningly at the person sitting next to them, but most of the class just looked at me, at a loss. Except for David. He seemed to be staring at his English book, but to me he gave the impression of being very far away with his thoughts, so I did exactly what I had always detested as a student.
“David? Ideas?“ I addressed him, leaning against the desk with folded arms. Instead of answering or at least looking at me, his eyes remained fixed on the book. I cleared my throat and saw the entire class turn to look at him.
“David?” I repeated, and he finally returned from his thoughts to reality. “I asked you a question. Would you please answer it?”
After I had repeated my question with a sigh, of course, he just grumbled why I had called him, I would know that he had no idea about it. Of course I hadn't known that and I was also convinced that he could have answered my question with a little thought, but nevertheless, without commenting on his arrogant answer, I called a girl in the second row.
“Excuse me, what is your name?” I asked her with a smile that I had trained on my previous school for nice, little girls and then let me answer my question from Nicole.
A little later, the lesson was already over and I said goodbye to the class. I stepped behind my desk, put my folder in my bag and raised my eyes for a moment. David was just picking up his bag and walking to the door without talking to any of the others.
“David? Could I talk to you?” I asked him before I had even realized that I had opened my mouth. For some time now, I have been in the habit of not addressing students in front of the whole class about their behavior or the like, because that's exactly what I used to hate. But I hadn't actually planned to address David after the first hour, although sometimes my mouth was faster than my mind.
I heard a few of the other students giggle at my sentence, and the one I addressed just rolled his eyes visibly and took a few steps back to his desk. I looked at the door until the rest of the class was out and realized I was getting nervous. One-on-one conversations were definitely uncomfortable for both students and teachers, but it was still better than if I had berated him in front of the class for responding to my question in such a way.
“All right, David,” I began. ”You know, I think myself that your answer earlier was really not okay. Maybe you're just having a bad day, I don't know. I'm new here at the school, as you know, and I don't think you could have made a judgment about me so quickly, which is really the truth. I want to make the lessons as pleasant as possible for you and I definitely don't find it helpful when you give such answers. You don't have to be my friend, but as you have noticed, the rest of the class gets along quite well with me, so it would be quite unfair to them if I put on a different show because of you, wouldn't it?”
Such sermons were clearly not my strength, I felt rather idiotic about it, but still to play the schoolmaster.
“I don't give a shit about the rest of the class,” David replied, looking me in the eye only for a very brief moment. ”Can I go now? I have a class.”
Before I could say yes or no, he had turned around and walked to the door.
“David!” I stopped him. ”I don't want to play the bitter teacher for you, but I don't feel like taking orders from any of you. For your own good, you'd better watch your temper!”
I heard him take a noisy breath and hold his breath. And then, without turning around or saying anything, he just left. Completely perplexed, I stared at the door and saw it slowly fall shut.
What had just happened? What on earth had I done to this boy to make him react so unkindly? Even if it went against the grain for him that I preferred to base my teaching on friendship, that didn't give him the right to talk to me like that! I was still his teacher and answers like “I don't give a damn about the rest of the class” were most definitely not okay! I started to get a little angry because I didn't want to be treated that way. I thought it was terrible when other people just left me standing in front of a closed door, but I would definitely not put up with it from a student, especially not on the first day!
I made my way to the staff room, after all, I had the next hour off, and sank down into my seat. All in all, my new start had got off to a pretty good start, but my encounter with David had dampened my initial euphoria quite a bit. Hoffmann had said I wouldn't have any problems with the class, hadn't he? Then why hadn't he mentioned a boy like David? He was very much a problem!
“Well, did you survive the first hour?“ I heard my colleague's voice a little later and nodded with a somewhat pained grin.
“As I said, the class is harmless, there shouldn't have been any complications, right?” he continued immediately and sat down at his desk next to mine.
“Well, overall really not. What do you think of David?” I asked him right away, without thinking about it much.
“David Portian? One of the most harmless in this class! He was a bit quiet in the last few weeks before the holidays, but otherwise he's a nice boy,” Hoffmann replied, and I furrowed my brow.
He described David as harmless? He was quiet before the holidays? Were there two David Portians in this class by any chance and I hadn't noticed?
What did this teacher think he was doing?
With folded arms and a look at the floor, I listened to his lecture more or less tortured and just hoped that he would finally leave me alone.
Of course, I had suspected it right away! Mr. Courten was exactly as I had imagined him. One of those typical young teachers who wanted to be a buddy to be more popular with the students. He probably thought it was great to be idolized by all these pubescent girls and was mighty proud of it. At least that's how he seemed to me, while he tried to drum into me that I should better adapt for the good of the class.
I had no desire for such conversations and certainly not with this teacher, so I just looked at him indifferently. “Can I go now? I have a class.”
I was already trying to make a dignified exit, but he stopped me again.
“I don't want to play the bitter head teacher for you, but I don't feel like taking orders from any of you. In your own interest, you'd better control yourself!”
I felt a little anger rising in me at his words. I hated being told what to do. This teacher didn't know anything about me! Did he know what it was like inside of me? I doubt it.
I could count myself lucky that he was new at this school and didn't know my former self. Otherwise, it would have been embarrassing for me, because by now I really detested the old, loving and well-behaved David Portian. I didn't want to be reminded of what I once was. This ideal world in which I had lived no longer existed; nor did I want to make those around me believe that I didn't mind all the misery that had befallen me. I wanted them all to see how cruelly they had taken away all my happiness and security and how lonely I felt with a drunken father at my side who didn't even seem to remember that he had once loved me.
Furious and terribly saddened, I left Mr. Courtens' desk and walked with my head bowed to the door, opened it and disappeared into the hallway.
He had no idea! Absolutely no idea!
I felt how agitated I was and that another lesson in which I had to sit still seemed almost impossible. And since chemistry was not exactly my favorite subject anyway, I decided to withdraw for a while.
When I crept back into the toilets, I smiled wearily. It was strange how much you could change. Last year, I would never have dared to skip a lesson or even a whole day. But now it seemed to be the best way to escape all those idiots.
I opened the toilet window and lit another cigarette, in which I placed all my hope for a little reassurance. After all, I still had another two hours of school ahead of me after chemistry, which didn't promise any relief. Even my former favorite subject couldn't cheer me up when I saw the subject “Art” for today on the new timetable.
“What have you done to me, Dad?” I muttered to myself as I took another deep drag on my cigarette.
Lost in thought, I fiddled with my studded collar and felt the sharp spikes. If only I really were as strong as I pretended to be. If only I really were as strong-willed and defiant as I wanted to prove to Mr. Courten today. It would save me some worry.
After a while, tired of staring out of the window, the bell rang for the first break. I was amazed. Had I really skipped the whole lesson?
Well, all the better. That way, I would certainly be spared another telling off.
Glad about it, I grabbed my bag and opened the toilet door. In the distance, I saw a few students storming out of the classrooms, and my class was also on its way to the courtyard.
I leaned against the wall and sighed deeply. Would the whole school year go by like this? If so, I'd better kill myself right away. There didn't seem to be any meaning to my life anymore anyway.
I jumped when I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder.
When I turned around, I suddenly looked into the eyes of Mr. Taylor, our chemistry teacher. Great! That's all I needed.
“David, may I perhaps know why you were absent from my class?” His voice sounded a little sharp, but also worried.
I swallowed hard. What should I say now? Should I tell the truth? That I just didn't feel like chemistry? But Mr. Taylor wasn't the kind of teacher I could be cheeky with. He wasn't like Mr. Courten, with whom it was certainly not a problem to be unpleasant. Mr. Taylor already knew me, and as a nice student. After all, I had had him for two years in chemistry.
“I... I wasn't feeling well!” I stammered as an excuse. ”I didn't want to throw up all over your chemistry classroom.”
Apparently, my way of expressing myself was not what Mr. Taylor wanted to hear, because he raised an eyebrow. “David, you know that you have to report to me beforehand if you are absent during my lesson. You can't just leave.”
“But I felt sick,” I replied grumpily.
Again I was scrutinized critically. “So you felt sick?” David, you used to be better at making excuses. Or do you always smoke when you feel like 'throwing up'?”
I was amazed at how he could possibly know, but then his wrinkled nose gave it away. Surely I still smelled of cigarette smoke.
“You realize,” Mr. Taylor continued, ”that unfortunately I had to put you in the class register. Besides, I'll have to have a word with your new homeroom teacher, because you know how I feel about students who cut.”
I bit my lower lip in annoyance and lowered my eyes.
Great, now he was talking to my lovely teacher Mr. Courten! Was there anything I was spared on this horrible morning?
Apparently not.
Everything seemed to have conspired against me.
Mr. Tailor was about to move on, but then he looked at me again, sighing. “What's the matter with you, David? Do you have any problems?”
I laughed to myself. Problems? Where did he get such a far-fetched idea? How could I have problems?
'Yes, you idiot! And you'll have a problem if you ask me such a stupid question again!' I thought angrily.
However, I didn't say anything, but just shrugged my shoulders.
“I mean, I've known you a long time, David,” he said again. ”And you've always been a nice boy. You started to withdraw at the end of last year, and I get the impression that...”
“Listen!” I finally interrupted him. ”There's nothing wrong with me. I'm not even going to deny that I skipped your class, so please give me a punishment assignment and that'll be that!”
Mr. Taylor looked at me for a while and then shook his head. “I don't like to give out punishment work on the first day of school, but I'll have to talk to your homeroom teacher whether I like it or not. I'll tell him my suspicions that you certainly have some problems, and then the three of us will find a solution together, okay?”
Before I could object, Mr. Taylor nodded at me and left.
I stood there like a drowned poodle and was extremely annoyed.
So now Mr. Courten found out about the old David that I hated so much.
Great!
“Are you Mr. Courten?” a voice startled me out of my thoughts towards the end of the first break. I was still planning something for my next lesson in a fifth grade and my thoughts were anything but in the here and now. A terrible habit.
“Of course!” I replied to my counterpart. ‘That's me.”
“You are this year's homeroom teacher of 10b?’ asked the somewhat graying, but otherwise still relatively fit-looking colleague, and I replied with a nod. Did he have problems with my class?
“My name is Tailor,” he then introduced himself and held out his hand. ‘I've been teaching the class chemistry for some time now. Do you have a lesson in the next hour, or would it be possible for us to have a short chat?”
“I have a lesson for the next two hours,’ I replied with a regretful shrug, and Mr. Tailor took his notebook out of his pocket.
“Do you have time during the lunch break? It's quite urgent,“ he said, and I nodded again.
“All right, thank you for taking the time,” he said, putting his book away again and smiling a little.
“May I perhaps know what this is about beforehand? Are there problems with the class?” I wanted to know, but he just shook his head and then gave a harrowing answer.
“No, it's about David Portian, one of your students.”
The fifth was a cute class. The children were completely intimidated and were terribly afraid of saying a word to a classmate, apparently they had been threatened with some cruel punishment. I tried to help the little ones relax a little without one of them starting to cry, and then, after the little ones had started to write the typical short essay on the topic “My best vacation experience,” I sat down on my chair behind the desk, taking a deep breath.
Unfortunately, my thoughts were not on the lesson I had planned for the class. I was surprised by Mr. Taylor's request to talk to me about David. Kevin, as Mr. Hoffmann had asked me to call him, had said that David was a little angel. He had probably known him since he had come to school and was firmly convinced that he would never make such cheeky remarks to a teacher. However, I had a completely different opinion and his chemistry teacher seemed to share it. I was curious to see what he would tell me during the lunch break, but I was also a bit disgruntled. After all, was this my very first day and already there were such problems?
“Mr. Courten? I'm done,” a little girl next to me suddenly murmured, and I was startled out of my thoughts again.
“Well, then show me your essay!” I asked her, smiling. ‘When the others are finished, and if you like, I'll read your essay aloud, okay?”
The girl beamed from ear to ear and hopped back to her seat.
“It's best if you come with me, we'll go to a meeting room,’ said Mr. Taylor when I entered the staff room an hour later. I nodded and followed him to one of the rooms on the other side of the hallway.
“Before I start, if you don't mind, I'd like to dispense with the Mr., my name is Anthony,” he said as he sat down and I nodded again, giving him my first name. By now I was really very curious to hear what he wanted to tell me about David.
“Well, Andrew, I already mentioned that it's about David Portian,” he began. ‘I've had him in a chemistry class for three years now, and in the last two years I've actually gotten to know him as a quiet, ambitious, and good student.’ Slowly, this was definitely starting to get weird. What was wrong with the boy that I had gotten to know him quite differently than all his other teachers?
“He was absent today when I taught the class in the second hour, and his classmates said that he was present in the first hour, albeit too late. I found him during the break and asked him about it; apparently he spent the hour, wherever, smoking. He reacted quite harshly to my questions about why he behaved that way,” he said, and this David, whom he had just described, seemed much more familiar to me.
“I asked him if he might have problems, after all, I had noticed before the vacation that he had suddenly become completely silent and withdrawn within a very short time. Of course, he said that everything was fine with him, but his behavior speaks a completely different language. You know, Andrew, I thought to myself before the holidays that he would surely behave normally again after these weeks, but I find it very worrying that he has now jumped from this withdrawal to aggressiveness. Of course you know him much less than I do, but you are his class teacher and I would ask you if you could perhaps talk to him. Maybe David didn't want to talk to me because I've known him for so long?”
I was silent. The concern written on this man's face almost made me forget my outrage at David's behavior. A man who had known him for several years was so concerned about him, and I had to admit that his behavior did in some ways suggest that his aggressiveness was a way of compensating for other problems. Did this boy, who at first glance had seemed relatively unremarkable to me, perhaps have serious problems?
“I spoke to him after he had been inattentive in my class and, above all, very impertinent. However, he didn't seem to be listening to me at all and just said he had a lesson and simply walked out of the room. Apparently, David doesn't get along very well with me as a teacher,” I expressed my concerns and Anthony looked at me thoughtfully.
“I still think it would be best if you talked to him. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But as long as his behavior doesn't change in the near future, you should do something. Maybe David really needs help,“ he said, and I nodded.
“Have you had any contact with his parents?” I asked after a moment's thought.
“David is a half-orphan. His mother died young. His father was at almost all school events until last year and was also regularly present at parents' evenings. I actually remember him as being very caring,” Anthony replied. ‘There's a parents’ evening for the 10th grade at the beginning of next week, isn't there? Maybe you could talk to David before then, and if nothing comes of it, we'll invite his father to the parents' evening separately and you can talk to him there?”
I hesitated for a moment. I didn't think it was a good idea to talk to the parents right away, but what else could we do? If David didn't want to talk, then we would have to get information from other sources, if necessary even from his father. I noticed that my initial anger and outrage at the boy had faded. I also began to worry. After all, from this point of view, his behavior was really worrying. When teenagers were so rude and didn't even show respect for teachers, it was usually for a reason. And often these were not positive ones.
Two more days passed, which were absolutely identical. For me, it was more of a long, painful day, made up of two days and two nights. Not being home the whole morning was one thing. But not spending my free time on the homework that we were already given, but avoiding going home, was something else. It was exactly as I had predicted on the first day of school. Just as terrible, if not worse.
After the school bell had announced the liberating message for many students that they were no longer bound to school for the rest of the day, the horror began for me. To be honest, I didn't even know what I found worse: sitting in a building all morning and being looked at askance by everyone, or walking the streets alone for the rest of the day, without a goal and without perspective.
I wasn't made to survive a life this hard. I had always been sheltered from such terrible realities, and I knew I could lean on my father. But what about now?
It seemed like a bad joke that I, David Portian, had become just as poor as the many people I had once ridiculed.
I still hoped for a miracle, that I would just wake up one day, stretch in my bed and smile as I thought back to these silly dreams.
But with each new day, I became more aware that there was no waking up. I should come to terms with it.
On Thursday morning, as I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, I critically examined the black eye I had received from yesterday's altercation with my “friends”. Actually, it shouldn't have surprised me. Fights among themselves were something perfectly normal and now I had just taken a beating. Actually, it was even my own fault. I should not have objected, but should have done what they asked of me. It was not a big deal. I should have stolen a CD. A CD! What was that? They usually stole more expensive things. But I had never dared to do something like that, I had just managed to muster the courage to steal some food, but even a CD was too much for me. My discontent had just cost me the black eye.
I sighed and dug out my sunglasses. If I put them on, no one would see the consequences of my refusal. But at the same time, I also knew that it was not allowed to wear sunglasses or hats at school. Out of politeness.
I laughed dryly. I thought it would be more polite to put the glasses on instead of giving everyone a black eye. But maybe the rules of politeness had relaxed a bit and no one would say anything.
I felt sick at the thought of Mr. Courtens' possible comments. After all, I had him in the first period today.
For a moment I thought about simply refusing to take off my glasses, but then Mr. Taylor's words came back to me. He wanted to talk to my homeroom teacher. I didn't know if he had followed through on his threat. Of course I hoped not, at least Mr. Courten hadn't made any allusions to me since. He hadn't even said anything about the entry in the class register. I was quite happy about that, because the last thing I wanted was to have that teacher on my back all the time.
I tried to pull myself together a little and didn't skip any more lessons after the failure in chemistry. Well, it had only been two days so far. Surely such a case would happen to me again in the near future, but I wasn't thinking about that yet. Rather, I was just busy trying to make myself look presentable, because in addition to the black eye, I also had a partially split lip. Maybe I should just go without my studded bands today to draw less attention to myself.
If Mr. Courten paid as little attention to me as he had in the last two days, it wouldn't be a problem anyway. I prayed fervently that he would not forget his apparent intention to leave me alone in the future when he saw me today.
So I resolutely took off my sunglasses – they looked silly anyway – and ran my fingers through my bleached, short hair before I ran out of the bathroom and made my way downstairs.
But as soon as I reached the bottom steps, I could hear my father busy in the kitchen. He grumbled to himself, while he repeatedly uttered a word between his unfathomable sounds that sounded like “cigarettes”. Apparently, he was looking for them.
“Hey, boy!” he shouted as I had already arrived at the front door and wanted to disappear.
I suppressed a sigh and turned to him only slowly. The sight of him really frightened me. Again and again I couldn't understand how he could change so much. He looked more and more like a miserable bum, and he stank horribly of sweat, alcohol and cold cigarette smoke.
“Yes, Dad?“ I asked timidly, trying not to look him in the eye. I couldn't bear his cold gaze with which he had been eyeing me lately. There was no love for me in his eyes anymore. A fact that could make me cry every time I would allow myself to cry.
“Where'd you put my cigarettes?” he slurred.
I swallowed hard. “N...nowhere, Dad. I don't know where they are.”
“Don't lie to me!” he shouted, suddenly turning an incredible red color. “You little... you little nothing-smoker...”
I took a deep breath, ignoring his words. ”I have to go to school, Dad! See you later!”
I could still hear him shouting behind me, but I just ran out the door, ran and ran, until I arrived at school in record time a little later and ran across the yard just in time for the first hour to ring.
My breathing was completely irregular and considerably fast as I made my way to my classroom. The thing with my father was getting me down again so much that I was already panicking about the end of school. Where should I go? Should I let myself be beaten up again? Or should I stay with a monster?
A terrible choice, I thought bitterly as I quietly opened the door.
Of course, I had no luck, because Mr. Courten was already in class. Actually, I had hoped to go to my place in time and to be able to keep my eye largely covered for the entire hour, but when I now had his confused look on me, I knew immediately that he had already noticed the visible result of my yesterday's arguments