the new kid

I do not know this boy, not really, not yet. It's only been a week.

I know that last year he caused us a fair amount of consternation when we went through all the enrollment rigamaroll and then he attended for one day, never to come back.

I know the first time I heard that note of quiet surprise in his voice is when I walked in to the guidance office, a year later, with the backpack he'd left behind. "You remember me?" Sometimes the best answer is a nod and a smile.

I know he has a sister and two brothers and a step-father who works out-of-town. I know last year he disappeared to work and buy the car which he drives without benefit of a license. I know the cafeteria food is beyond his budget. I know he sorts for FedEx under a different name. I know this is high school number four in state number three. I know that next week he will be nineteen. I know the odds. Perhaps even better than he.

I know that paperwork, ever the bane of his existence, may unravel this dream, if the wrong person tugs on the thread. Already the parking permit has become a protracted negotiation, my leverage mostly a figment. And the work program credits, well; I hesitate to guess. If it falls through at least there will be someone to break it to him who knows how to pronounce his name. Another surprise to him in itself. The smallest things make the connection, if only people would bother, if only people would notice the difference. He is, after all, a person.

A person who, after all, has walked in claiming the same goal so many others have abandoned. Who wants what we claim to deliver. I have to give him credit. Last year is last year, at least so far. I choose to believe, as long as there's reason, and maybe sometimes even when there isn't.