Mystery Boy

I saw him from across the street.
He didn’t recognize me.
Who would?

I had been back in town fore less than a week and I spent four of those days securing my apartment and checking in when I would start work at what was my former high school. So, up until when my eyes met his I had only had five hours of time to think about things other than the 9 to 5…or in the case of my school, the seven to whenever I fell over from the exhaustion of teaching high school students.

Being twenty-three years old but the look of a teenager worked in my favor sometimes: some men left me alone; but then again, some didn’t and buying a simple bottle of wine required the patience of Job and sometimes five cops to study my driver’s license like I was trying to steal the Hope diamond from the Smithsonian.
The principal nearly kicked me out of his office on the day of my interview because he assumed I was a student. The interview went well but he muttered something about “21 Jump Street” after he shook my hand.

I wore a name tag and my “John Lennon glasses” for the first few days I was on campus so the kids wouldn’t cat call or throw shade; and faculty would acknowledge me as a member of the staff. My short stature didn’t help me blend in because people would see my face and clothes and glasses—and assume I was a “Harry Potter” fan, sans scar, before seeing the name “Miss Leslie Thomas” on the said name tag.

Maybe it was for the best that everyone thought I was a short co-ed because growing up I was just considered “the little boy who got stuffed in the locker. That locker in particular was number 224, on the second floor, right next to my new classroom. When I passed by it for the first time in seven years it looked like it lost some of the luster that I remembered. It should have been decorated in a pink, blue and white flag along with a splattering of sacrificial blood of all the times I made Harry Houdini look like an amateur contortionist.

You would be okay to ask why I would come back to my old hell hole? I had a plethora of choices to go—I could throw a dart on the map and just go there. : Malibu, California or Pecos, Texas—any place where no one would recognize me but I kind of wanted people to see me and wonder for a second, is she or isn’t she? Would they dare ask such a question in the lawsuit happy world we lived In nowadays? Not like I wore a pin on my shirt or a triangle on my jacket so all I could do was smile at them and laugh a bit on the inside…with a little bit of tears.

The principal who interviewed me was the one when I went to school there. He saw me in his office every other week after being there when I would twist myself out of the locker. Maybe his vision and memory had gotten bad over the years…that, or it was all of the personal changes I made to the image I once looked at in the mirror.
I was a murderer.
I killed him.
It was a mercy killing. No ,no, I enjoyed every moment of it. Just like how I enjoyed looking at the guy across the road.

Our eyes locked and I nodded at him.
He took little time to trot across the street when he stopped a few feet in front of me. He had a strong build to him; he had the muscles of someone who ran track; which was apparent from his jacket that had a red and black color scheme.

“Shit,” I muttered in my head, “he’s a student at the school.”
“Hey, Miss Thomas.”
I felt stupid, a bit perved and a bit peeved at myself if he had a glimmer of what I was thinking at that time.
“I saw you at the school. So, you’re getting out and about?”
“A little bit out, yes.”
“Good. I’m new here too, you know?”
“No, I did not know that.”
“Yeah, have to press on with the education. This is my first assignment.”
“Assignment?”
“Yes, as a student teacher for physical education. It’s a part of my studies at the college.”
I was sure I had a dumb-struck look on my face.
“I thought you were a student for half the day on Wednesday. Saw your name tag, but thought, maybe she’s just new to the school. But, between the two of us, a student with a name tag is just asking for a label on them, you know?”
I smiled and gave a slight laugh. It was corny, but since it wasn’t totally at my expense, I let it go.

“So, where you heading?” He asked as he looked right at me.
“Just walking around. You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”
“Sure.”
We took a few steps together in silence.
“Social studies?”
“Yes. I’d prefer if they still called if Civics.”
“You’re one of those old souls?”
“I think education has gotten dumbed down over the years. When I was in high school, this substitute teacher came in and tried to teach us about World War Two.”
“Did he use like charts and graphs No, he was in the military, am I right?”
“No, but he asked if anyone had every played something called”Black Ops”.
“Call of Duty, yeah.”
“Yeah, and several hands went up, mostly the guys in the class. He then asked what the plot of the game was and no one would answer.”
“Let’s kill Hitler.”
“I didn’t know that, so I went and bought the game myself. The guy tried to reach out to us on our level and we’re all sitting there slacked-jaw. I promised myself I would never be so naïve about things.”
“Naïve about World War Two?”
“Everything.”
“I know something you haven’t paid attention to.”
“What’s that?”
“You have a circle of admirers at school.”
“I do?”
“I’m one of them.”