The tale of the rainy day: page one
The room is cast in shadows while outside a thunderstorm rages on. A small golden plaque on the open door reads ‘guidance counselor’. The dusty red glow of a digital clock reads 4:20. Sitting on either side of a paper littered desk in the middle of the room two men are facing each other. Both seem relaxed. One is tall and lanky with long wispy hair that is thinning badly on the top. A massive keyring at his belt, along with a long cleaning rag hanging from one of his back pockets shows him to be a janitor.
The other is a red headed man of medium build and average height. He wears a black button down shirt with rolled up sleeves and faded blue jeans. His tightly cropped beard and moustache do little to hide the timeworn and caring face beneath. Both seem interested in the light show the storm is putting on. With a sigh, one of them speaks.
“I’m glad you are free. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately and I don’t really have anyone to talk to.”
“Don’t mention it, that’s what I’m here for” the other replies.
“How long have you been here? Working I mean.”
“A few years now”
“Do you enjoy the work?”
“Yes I do. The kids here are great.”
“The kids, right. That reminds me of what has been on my mind lately.”
“The kids?”
“Not these kids, not really anyway. No, I have been thinking of another kid entirely. When I was young I knew this boy. He was a smart kid, always got really good grades, but he never fit in with the rest of us. He was a really goofy looking kid with buck teeth and a long skinny face. He wore the thick coke bottle glasses that those really geeky kids were known to wear.”
“So he got picked on a lot?”
“Yes, he got picked on a lot.”
Before continuing, the man stands up and walks over to the window. The other man patiently waits as he stares out at the pouring rain. Drumming his fingers on the windowsill he continues his narrative.
“This boy I have never forgotten about. He did get picked on. Constantly. No matter where the kid went, they picked on him. If it wasn’t his buckteeth, it was his glasses. If not the glasses, it was his clothing. They never let up on him. Even in his neighborhood he had no peace. He lived on the same street as some of his classmates, myself included.”
“Were you one of the people who picked on him? Is that why you never forgot him?”
“No. That is one of the few things that I have a clear conscience about. I never once picked on him. My friends did, but never me.”
“Then why is he still bothering you? All of us grew up knowing someone that fits the same description” reasoned the other man as thunder rumbled outside.
“Because there is far more to this boy and his story” the man whispers.
-John Alexander (aka SirJohn)
