On Giving Grief a Heartfelt Welcome

The school principal must have moonlighted as a ninja.

Terrence spotted him lurking by the front entrance of the school as he arrived onto the property. Making note of this, Terry made sure to walk around the far side of the school instead. He thought that by entering through the back door, he could continue to hold off the awkward conversation he knew was coming. 

Ever since his parents’ accident, people always wanted to talk. They often asked obvious, even stupid questions.

 How are you feeling? Do you miss them? Do you want to talk?

If Terrence had wanted to talk, he’d have answered the first two questions.

The school principal, Mr. Rosenborg, was no exception. Commonly known as “the Borg”, he was a stiff, awkward man who adhered to school rules and policy like his dress shirts did to his sweaty armpits. He was tall and boxily-broad, an uncanny build for a ninja, the young man mused.

And, as if to prove the point, Mr. Rosenborg leapt out at Terrance just as reached the back door of Alexandria County High.

“Terrence! Good morning!” the principal shouted mechanically, patting the teenager on the shoulder with a stiff hand. 

“Er…Hello. G-Good morning?” Terrence asked, shifting his shoulder a millimeter in the opposite direction. His fingers remained anchored on the cool rounded metal of the door handle.

“How’ve you been?! I heard the soccer team’s been having quite a good season! Congratulations!”

Terrance noted that today’s fit was a yellow sweater vest as the Borg propped himself between the teen and the door. Staring at his principal, Terrance wondered if he should respond with the standard responses he’d been giving most people, or shock him with the ugliest truth.

“I’m fine, thanks. And yeah, we have. Um… thanks for noticing.” Terrence replied.

Though he could care less about his soccer season or this man, he graciously chose to spare the Borg an early morning heart attack.

“Good to hear it, good to hear. I know you recently underwent quite a horrific loss. I’m very sorry to hear that. Anything I can do for you?” 

The large man looked down at the student as he shook his head like a cow shaking away a fly. His meaty hand was heavy on Terrence’s right shoulder, patting absentmindedly. Terrence shook his head no and swallowed bile. Counting breaths, his short fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm. The Borg perked up at the sound of Terrance’s teeth grinding, gnashing against each other to the tempo of the teen’s weakening restraint.

“Terrence, are you sure, son? Your face is red, I’m sorry to upset you. I know it must be hard.”

Terrence closed his eyes and nodded deliberately, willing the man away. Any discussions regarding him or his health were unwelcome. He was fine, completely fine: until people tried to pry, to discuss, to unveil his personal thoughts and emotions. It was healthy, they all said. It was as if he had to be sobbing hysterically on a daily basis and throwing tantrums to be considered normal.

“You’re shaking. You sure you’re okay?” Mr. Rosenborg pressed more deeply into Terrence’s shoulder, causing his chest to rise and fall rapidly. Terry just wanted to go to class.

I will not hit this man, I will not hit this man…

“You don’t look okay at all. Maybe you should consider going to the nurse. Terrence? Terrence? Good God, son, you’re turning purple!” 

Terrence’s head seemed to pound along to the pace of his breathing. He couldn’t seem to calm down; his legs shook and he so badly wanted to hit the stupid principal and run.

“That’s it— after lunch, I’m mandating you to go and see Sister Laura. I think you should actually stay with her until the end of the school day.”

“What?!” Terrence heard his own shocked voice. His eyes flew open and he let out the breath he had been holding, releasing it in a large exhale that sucked out all his anger as well.

“Yes, I think it’s quite necessary. You don’t seem well at all, so it’s settled. You’re excused from 5-8th period. During that time, go see Sister Laura. She’ll have you better in no time. None of that, don’t make that face, young man! She has quite a way with words…Now, hurry along! Don’t want to miss any of your other classes, isn’t that right?”

With a final heavy pat on the shoulder, Principal Rosenberg dislodged himself from the unnecessary closeness and strode toward the front of the school. Terrence watched him go weakly, unsure whether he should be more surprised that he’d just been involuntarily signed up to see the fake school shrink for half of the day, or that the Borg was allowing him to miss four whole class periods to do so.

A few hours later, Terrence realized that if he could make it through one more hour, he would be able to go home without any more incidents for the day.

He’d found a plate of cupcakes and three remorse cards in his locker during lunch. Much better than yesterday’s plate of cookies, bowl of brownies and 6 sympathy cards. Perhaps the infiltrations of his locker would stop in a week or so?

After all, it had already been almost a month since his parents’ murder.

…

• Story Snippet from Divide, a novella by Samantha Augustin about difference, determination and a shared desire for destruction.

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