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Finding a Heart:


Mini-story I wrote in 2003 (just found in an old notebook): 

Finding a Heart:

When the young substitute teacher came into the class, most of the young teens settled down, but one kid, whose smile was a challenge, remained where he was, sitting on the teacher's desk, playing with the stapler. He had splayed the stapler and was clicking staples out, one by one. The school was in a bad neighbourhood, but the teacher came from the 'hood. He knew these kids, watched their eyes tracking from the gangsta to him and back, waiting, almost without breathing, to see how he’d react.

The sub wrote his name on the board, giving himself a minute to think while listening to the clack, clack, clack of the stapler. When he’d written his name, he came slowly around the desk to half-sit beside the kid, ignoring the rest of the class, though he was very conscious of every eye that was on him, eyes dark with frustration and despair. Waiting  for him to conquer or submit.

He picked up one of the staples that lay scattered across the desk and offered it to the kid. The kid looked it, his eyes flat and expressionless. Silently, the teacher reached around and rolled up his sleeve to expose a powerful bicep, keeping eye contact with the kid the whole time.

“So, you’re a tough guy,” he said softly to the kid. “Well, so am I. Why don’t you push this staple into my arm?” He held out the staple again.

The kid looked down at it. “Ya think I won’t?”

“Nah, I think you will. Go ahead. I give you my permission.”

The kid’s eyes looked scared now. Really, he was not much more than a baby. Probably thirteen, the same age as the sub's youngest brother. The sub could feel, in the pit of his stomach, the kid’s fear, determination and defiance as he glanced uneasily at the other kids. 

When he turned back, the teacher could see the kid’s anger covering his fear. The boy grabbed the staple out of his hand and quickly tried to jam it into his arm, one-handed. It didn’t penetrate the skin. The kid had to hold his arm with his other hand to make the staple bite through.

A drop of blood appeared at each end.

The sub looked directly into the kid’s eyes while letting tears of pain run down his face. “It’s not all the way in, I think.”

The kid’s hand was shaking as he reached up. Instead of pushing the staple in, though, he jerked it out. The teacher didn’t look down at his arm.  Instead, very gently, he reached over to touch the single tear that was sliding slowly down the kid’s face.

“You know what that is?” he asked.

“What?”

“That’s your HEART. That’s who you ARE, inside. Your tough guy act, like mine, is crap. Remember that.”
***

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