Confessions Of A School Nurse [Stoner Boy]

And you had to hit the one kid who you knew wouldn't hit you back.

You had to beat up Stoner Boy; looking a little like he's dead and hasn't crossed over to hell yet; you had to beat up Quiet Boy; never talks and never speaks up, his voice so quiet you can't hear him at all; you had to beat up the one kid who's gonna break next time someone touches him the wrong way.

You had to beat up the kid you <i>knew</i> would cry, had to beat up the kid you knew would cower away, and because he cowered everyone called him a coward, they're similar sounding-words and all, you know, so you call him a wimp and a coward and a little baby and you don't see him <i>snap</i> quietly, don't see that look drain out of his eyes, don't see his face go slack don't see him quietly give up.

You hit the one kid you knew wouldn't hit you back.

You don't know why he wouldn't hit you back; you don't know why he cowered. You don't know what goes on at home with him. You don't see the bruises that line his throat his chest his ribs his arms his face. You don't see it. None of you see it except me.

He doesn't come unless someone makes him; he only was noticed because someone watched him as he fell (but no one saw this real damage), and he doesn't come unless they force him here. And they did and only I and you saw the bruises and only I and you heard his quiet sobbing.

I've seen the bruises before. He won't let me do anything about them. I haven't pushed him. He's sixteen now. He can make his own decisions. Right? I've seen the bruises a thousand times before, and with some sort of twisted satisfaction I watch as your face contorts with shame, shame, shame, know that you can feel the blood crusted on your knuckles just as well as you can see the scars on his back now.

You won't do something. You'll ignore it, but when you think about hurting him next time, maybe you'll reconsider it or maybe not hit him quite as hard. But you'll ignore it, ignore his problems as well as your own, ignore it ignore it ignore it.

Only I will see the bruises and try to heal them. Only I will see the scars that will never fade, no matter how much I try. Only I will feel him flinch and try to heal it. Only I will hear his quiet sobs and try to heal him. He...is...so broken.

And you hit him and hurt him and told him he was a coward, and then you saw the bruises and you hit yourself and hurt yourself and told yourself you were a coward, but then you ignored him, ignored him, ignored him.

Ignore the Stoner Boy. Ignore the Quiet Boy. Ignore the Nearly-Dead Boy. It's all his own fault what he has to put up with at home. It's all his own fault that no one's ever tried to help him. It's all his fault that he gets hurt so bad. It's all his fault. Ignore him. It's all his own fault. He should get himself out of his own mess.

And only I will ever try to see who the Stoner Boy, the Quiet Boy, [the Artist Boy, the Writer Boy, the Smart Boy, the Happy Boy] might have been.

Only I will ever try to stop his crying.

Just as I am the only one he will ever look at with trust in his eyes again.

And you had to hit the one kid you knew wouldn't hit you back.

Author's Note

The beginning is cliche', I am aware of that. But other than that...?