Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers
I was just stopping by, a quick summer visit. Camp was in session. I am not a part of the camp. I was just stopping by. A quick meeting or two.
A boy was wandering the hallway, with a look a teacher can spot from a mile, or at least a hallway or two away. It’s the look of “Maybe I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be doing, but I’m a little lost, I don’t really know. Am I in trouble? I don’t want to be in trouble, and I don’t want to go where I’m supposed to be or do what I’m supposed to do.”
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
A camp counselor came out of a door at the other side of the hallway, and she called out “Mark! Mark! Where are you going?” (Names have been changed, of course.) He said nothing, just wandered further away, closer to the outside doors.
“Get back here, Mark! Where’s your counselor? Where are you supposed to be? Upstairs? Come here. You need to find your teacher. Does she know you are here? You have to come here.” She kept repeating these kinds of statements, then said something I couldn’t understand, and walked back into her room for a moment.
Mark just kept walking, almost out the door.
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to leave.” I said, and then I called out, “Is he supposed to go out here?” (Sometimes we have to ask obvious questions…)
“No! Are you with him?” the counselor asked me, and I started to wonder… who is with this boy?
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
Mark walked back, as the counselor walked away and up the stairs. I watched him, but he didn’t follow. He walked slowly towards the outside doors down the other hallway. I easily caught up to him.
“Hi.” I introduced myself. “I’m Mrs. Thought. Is there something I can help you with? I’m a teacher, and it looks like you might need some help.”
“I lost my lunchbox.” he sniffed. “I left it outside, but I don’t know which door it was.”
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
We talked a bit, and as I was convincing him to not go outside until he found his counselor, another woman rounded the corner.
“Mark! You can’t just leave like that! You have to stay with me.”
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
“He thinks he lost his lunchbox outside.” I explained.
She looked at me and shook her head, mouthing, “He didn’t lose his lunchbox.” in a way that meant, “This isn’t about a lunchbox. Don’t believe everything this kid tells you.”
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
She walked away with Mark, and I heard her softly say, “Do you want me to go outside with you to look for your lunchbox?”
I’m just stopping by. I’m just here for a couple of meetings. I’m not involved.
His camp counselors have it covered…
But wow, I would really like to know the rest of this story, the rest of his story, and if there was a lunchbox out on the playground.
On a Thought 
Great story…told with great finesse. Love the ending! Glad you were there to help keep him within safe boundaries. Teachers have a sixth sense!
I liked the repetition of “I’m not involved..” – it made it all seem very tense in a great way! it was always a very smooth read. glad you were able to help “Mark” 🙂
Me, too. I can imagine a mantra like that going through my head. Well done piece.
An interesting slice that leaves us all hanging. Everyone has a story; wonder what his is…Thanks for practicing love in the moment for this wandering child.
Your language is inviting. Mark must have heard that difference. The camp counselors language is authoritative, far less inviting. Commands often don’t yield the results we want. Good thing for Mark you were there.
I like how disconcerting this slice feels, its lack of resolution. The writing makes me feel like I’m in Mark’s shoes — and yours.
Your repeating line, especially the last sentence, I say this to myself anytime I am anywhere around children I am not responsible for. Yet, for some reason, as a teacher, you feel responsible for all children. Their safety, their security, their voices, their self-respect. It can be so hard to know when to step in and when to sit back. I too would love to know the end to this story.