Astronaut
He didn’t seem to enjoy the day. His first day in the new school. He seemed small, shrunk under the weight of stepping into adolescence and out of childhood. After few hours in this dusty place with bad opinion, his eyes got red and I could see every little vein, pumping blood through the white parts of his eyeballs. At the end of the day, his under eyes turned purple, he got paler and long, girly eyelashes worked steadily like heavy curtains. He was small, scared and alone.
He sat by himself in the back row. A teacher moved him to the front, to join a long table of boys. He did, but soon became invisible. The only colour that stayed on him was the orange fur of his plastic teddy companion. Students task was to come up with some creative ideas of a new logo for the school. What’s important for you, what do you value, what would you like your school to be. Students have been listing some well-known, dry, clichéd phrases: Motivation is the key to success, Together in learning, Education is a weapon against poverty, Tolerance and diversity our motto. While the teacher gagged in ecstasy, I yawned. And then spotted him, my invisible pea with angel’s eyes.
He drew a peace symbol and apparently felt unimportant. Afraid of being ridiculed, as no one else thought of peace, he hid within. Even when I took it up and praised his idea, enhancing its importance, he didn’t smile. It was as if the smile had too long of a distance to cover, to show up just yet.
At the end of his Induction Day, he still didn’t have anyone near him. On his own, sat quietly in the corner. Non-intriguing, uninteresting for this bunch of mostly awfully predictable, common youngsters. I sat few chairs away and peeked at him from time to time. He must have sensed it. Because he turned into a bird, some very sad but thoughtful, mystical bird, who is now looking at me with his large, glassy, curious eyes. A one, anxious, short, sharp glance from the side, like some fearful hen.
I let him get away with it, left it unnoticed, and then smiled to him after awhile. He smiled back and I knew we reached some cosmic connection. A teacher pointed out: this boy looks upset, poor child. I knew it has little to do with being upset. It’s over-awareness and some existential loneliness that bugs him. This boy’s eyes send a message that no one can possibly decipher straight away. It makes other children so disturbed, that they pretend to be blind at his presence.
At the very end of his Induction Day, like every other secondary student-to-be, he got a tie. It was a black and blue, striped tie that clips to the shirt. He clipped it to his orange teddy and it looked funny. She showed it to me over the crowd of excited voices of others messing around with their new possession that is soon to be hated. We were there together, in the deep sea of commonalities, floating over their heads, in the feeble bubble of our outlying way of thinking, perceiving and living.
His parents didn’t show up on time, when there was time for parents to pick their children up. His eyes got even more red and even more glassy. Two little floods of disappointment and anxiety. I felt like I must stay near him until they come. He moved closer as well, and I knew he wants to talk to me. I didn’t know what to say, I suddenly felt my imagination to get overwhelming. I felt like I must leave him with something to hold on to, because this school was no good for people like him. Was any? I must give him some hope and some strength, I don’t want them to destroy what’s already beautiful in him, I don’t want him to be scared, I want him to unfold his potential and I was sure — at that moment — that this boy is special.
I asked him what’s his favourite subject. He said Maths. I sobbed inside, because I knew how terrible our Maths department is. I told him Maths is a beautiful major, because it’s abstract and not everyone can access it easily. I explained what ‘abstract’ means and he nodded with sparkling eyes. Abstract is not about simple objects you can touch in the real world, but it’s all about what’s in the world of thought, all you can see in your head and nowhere else. I mentioned philosophy and asked him about the universe.
For the first time that day, he smiled so wide that I saw all the gaps between his teeth and was scared that water from his eyes will spill on the floor. It was as if all the colours came back at once to him and sat softly on his skin. He brightened up and glued his sight in me for good. ‘I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut’. Please, don’t let people to destroy you, chicken. Take advantage of being the smartest kid on this earth and be proud, consistent and hard-working. I told him how I regretted to be in the best school in town, how sometimes paradoxically what seems to be the worst scenario, turns out to be the blessing. Stick with the right people and focus on what you love to learn. I wished him good luck and said see you. Even though I knew I will probably never see him again.
And then I cried because it’s just so sad that this person is so young and so hopeless in having no influence on the point in which his journey begins. It can go any direction. Any direction. And there is no rule, no golden recipe for making it right. His potential may be crashed in one easy whoosh. His potential swept away by indifference and stupidity of others he depends on. If only I could be there for him next year. Is there a free school for people like that anywhere? It should be, maybe then I’d cry less.
