Driven

“Not quite sure. He won’t really talk with me about it.” And I really don’t think you care, either.

“What about the other kid?” A question that I ask every time and always get a less than satisfactory answer to.

“They said it was a simple misunderstanding.”

“They?” There’s more than one? “I hope that they are in your office as well, Mr. Baldwin.”

He clears his throat. “Not exactly. They are in class and—”

“What?” I shout at him, perplexed at his obvious bias.

“And I think it’s better if you come and pick up Aiden—”

“He’s suspended?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“No, he’s not.” I can hear the irritation in his voice at having me question him. “If you’d let me finish Ms. Thomas—”

“He’s not suspended, but you want me to come get him while the other boys get to stay in class?” My rising frustration is more than evident in my voice. “Surely you can understand why I’m upset at what seems to be favoritism here.”

He stays quiet on the phone for a moment as I gather up my things as best as possible with one hand so that I can go pick him up. “Ms. Thomas, your accusation is unfounded and serves no purpose here. Now I would appreciate if you could come collect Aiden so that we can let the two parties simmer down. This in no way indicates that Aiden is at fault in this matter.” When he senses that I am about to jump in during his pregnant pause, he continues. “In addition, Aiden has blood on his clothing and seeing as it’s against school policy for him to walk around with it there, I think it’s in the school’s best interest to send him home for the afternoon.”

I sigh loudly, biting my tongue from telling this less-than-stellar principal just exactly what I think of him. “I’ll be right there.”

***

Aiden has been silent all the way home from school. My shift at The House doesn’t start for another three hours, but I think that Aiden and I need to have a little alone time to talk about what happened. I haven’t pushed him to tell me what took place, but I need to know. Is he being bullied? Is he starting fights looking for attention that he’s not getting? Is he releasing frustration due to memories from his past? I need him to tell me so that I can figure out how to help.

Before we walk into the house, I motion for him to sit down on the front porch step next to me. He rolls his eyes but he obeys reluctantly. He stares at me as I take in the swollen lip with dried blood at the corner, the dark red mark on his right cheek and the beginnings of bruising on the left eye. His cheeks flush deeply under my scrutiny.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, buddy, but you have to tell me what happened.” I reach out and grab his hand while he lowers his head and watches an ant crawl slowly on the step beneath us. We sit in silence, and I allow it for a bit but then finally squeeze his hand, letting him know he needs to talk.

“They were just being jerks,” he grumbles.

“Who started it, Aiden?” When he doesn’t respond, I prompt again. “Aiden? Who threw the first punch?”

“I did.” His voice is so soft, so sad with shame that it breaks my heart. I see a fat tear silently slide down his swollen cheek, and I know that something is off.

“Talk to me, Aiden. Who was it and what did they do to make you want to hit them?”

He reaches up to dash away the fallen tear with the back of his hand and as only an eleven-year-old boy can, leaves a smear of dirt in its path. “They called me a liar,” he mumbles, his bottom lip quivering. “Ashton Smitty and Grant Montgomery.”

Little punks! The know-it-all, privileged, popular kids from his grade whose parents who never seem to be around. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and pull him to my side, kissing the top of his head. “What did they say you were lying about?”

I feel his body stiffen and my head is thinking numerous things as I wait for his response. When it finally comes, his voice is barely audible. “They told me I lied about going to the track on Sunday. That I didn’t really meet Colton or know him …”

My heart squeezes at his words. He was so excited to go to school and tell all his friends about his experience. So excited to be cool for once and have something that the other kids didn’t. And his enthusiasm turned into a fight. In my head I can see how it went; they pushed and pushed Aiden until he lashed back. I sigh loudly, squeezing him again. I want to tell him that the little punks deserved it and that he did the right thing, but that’s obviously not the most responsible way to react. “Oh, Aiden … I’m sorry, buddy. Sorry they didn’t believe you. Sorry they pushed you … but Aiden, fighting somebody with your fists is not the way to solve it. It only ends up making things worse.”

He reluctantly nods his head. “I know, but—”

“Aiden,” I scold sternly, “there are no buts here … you can’t use your fists to fix problems.”

“I know, but I tried to tell Ms. McAdams when they started pushing and shoving and she wouldn’t listen to me.”

I can see another tear threaten to fall from his thick lashes. “Well then, I’m going to make an appointment to speak with her and Baldwin about this.” His head whips up and his eyes are wide open in fear. “I’m not going to make it worse, Aiden. I’m just going to ask them to keep their eyes open a little more. To make sure that they do not allow the circumstances to arise for this to happen again. I’ll make sure that the other kids don’t know, Aiden, but I need to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”