Surviving Home

The little boy sat in the corner waiting for his mother to pick him up. School had only begun an hour ago, and he was already counting the minutes till his mother came rushing through the door at the Principal’s insistence. As he sat at a table in the corner of the classroom, he knew he wasn’t in any real trouble. Although he sat with a bloody nose and a busted lip, it was the other kid that had thrown the punches. He hadn’t even reacted. He knew his father would call him weak, but his mother raised him to be a pacifist and he couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Declan!” he heard the frantic voice of his mother. He looked up to see his mother’s eyes desperately seeking him out. He never understood why she had to look around the room. She always found him in the exact same spot. She caught his eye quickly, nearly hurling herself in his direction. Mrs. Clementine, his teacher called out, “Mrs. Blake, you were supposed to talk to the Principal first.” Her tone was not going to be received well.

“The Principal! Are you serious? Mrs. Clementine, this is the third time in two weeks I’ve been called to school because my son has been injured by another student. When the school cannot take measures to ensure my son’s safety, I assure you the last thing I want to do is meet the Principal before talking to my son.” Declan had never seen his mother so angry. Even Mrs. Clementine was stunned. Abigail Blake was the epitome of a doting wife and mother. Whatever was wrong with the world, Abigail took it on with a smile on her face. Nothing ever upset her, unless it had to do with the wellbeing of her family; and to Abigail Blake, nothing was more provoking than an attempt on her son’s life.

“Abigail, calm down please! You’re scaring the children,” came the voice of the Principal, Mr. Williamson. Declan liked him a lot. He was like an uncle. After all, he was good friends with the Blakes. “Let’s step out of the classroom. We’ll take Declan with us. You can look over him and I can talk to you at the same time,” Mr. Williamson offered.

Abigail extended her hand for Declan, which he quickly took. Within seconds, they were out the door and making their way to the cafeteria. This happened every time. His mother would buy him a pudding cup before going off on her old friend. He hated getting into fights, but at least he got pudding cups out of it.

This time, however, his mother had nothing to say. She just stared at the Principal with anger. “Abbie, I know Declan keeps getting hurt, but there isn’t anything I can do about it. He doesn’t tell me what’s going on. He refuses to tell me who hits him, and no one seems to come forward. Teachers are never around when this happens. We always find him later, when he doesn’t make it to class,” Mr. Williamson says, his voice cracking. He wasn’t’ wrong. Declan never let on about his tormentors. He didn’t think it necessary. His mother didn’t seem to think so. “He’s only 10, Greg. He’s probably scared. He’s being bullied. Do you not understand that?” his mother almost pleads, the pain evident in her voice.

“I am aware of the severity of the situation, Abigail. It pains me just as much to see Declan go through this. But there are 100s of students in school. I’m doing everything I can to keep Declan safe, but it just doesn’t seem enough,” Mr. Williamson says, running his hands through his hair. “Maybe it’s time for a change, Abbie. Declan is different. He’s got a sharp mind. But I fear that it will be silenced here, if he doesn’t learn to speak up.”

Abigail looked remorseful, her heart aching for her middle child and youngest son. She knew Greg was right. Declan, at 10 years old, rarely spoke. Always quiet and observing, his eyes peering into your soul, dredging out your deepest, darkest secrets. But the gentle soul that he was, never let on the secrets he knew about you. Instead, he used them to heal those around them, in the slightest, most precocious ways. If you hadn’t felt the burden of your fears and regrets being lifted off you, you wouldn’t even have realized that it happened. Yet, he never took credit for it. Not even a look of accomplishment on his face. It was a gift, so rare and pure, just like his heart. Then again, Abigail knew that her child was special. This wasn’t his only gift. When he decided to speak, no one could help but listen in admiration to the insightful thoughts and opinions he shared, as if mere facts, or common sense even.

Abigail realized then, that her special child needed special attention. He needed care and focus, something that she couldn’t give him; not when she had 5 needy daughters constantly demanding her attention. “I could send him to Derek…” she said out loud, unable to convince even herself that this was a good idea. But she had to try…