Snapped – By Kasey Rogers

He reached up and pulled a star out of the painted night sky. He pushed the sharp point of the fluorescent plastic into his hand, wishing he could fall asleep. Instead, Kyle’s mind raced. Thoughts of tomorrow flooded his brain, making sleep impossible. He yanked another of the once comforting luminaries above his head off the ceiling, twisting the pointed tip until it cracked.  

The easy reach from the top bunk made them a tempting target for his preteen angst. When his mother saw he had all but destroyed her artistic handiwork, she grew angry and tried to convince him to move to the bottom bunk. Kyle stood up to her, which shocked his mother. He couldn’t rationalize his reasoning, but Kyle refused. How could he explain that sometimes when his dog Harley slept on the bottom bunk, Kyle pretended the soft sound of his breathing was coming from his older brother Chad who had taken his last breath years ago?  

Kyle rolled over and focused on thoughts of tomorrow. He was excited and nervous about what would happen on his final day of school before winter break. He imagined each and every step of his prank over and over again. He put everything in his backpack before bed, making sure things were within reach when he went to his locker. He’d have to move quickly before the start of class for the timing to be just right. He congratulated himself for thinking up the simple gag he planned to play on his 6th Grade home base teacher, Mr. Grant. He smiled, imagining the expression on the faces of all his snooty classmates! They would be talking about it for weeks. He wished he had someone to share his secret. That would have made his planned mischief even more enjoyable. He longed for a time when he had someone to share both his joys and sorrows. 

Kyle pulled the Minecraft comforter he got for Christmas up over his shoulders, and he laid his curly blond head into his pillow. His thoughts turned again to Chad. He couldn’t recall what Chad looked like anymore. His mother had erased him from her life long ago.  

“Mommy, that’s mine!” Kyle yelled at his mother just days after his funeral when she came into his room and tossed everything, including pictures of Chad in the large trash bag she was carrying. 

“You’re too young to understand,” his mother shouted, continuing on her rampage. Maybe he didn’t understand everything that was happening at that time. But it felt wrong to remove Chad from their lives altogether. Eventually, the fine details of Chad’s face began to fade from Kyle’s memory. But he could never forget how Chad made him feel. Even in the days before he took his own life, Chad made Kyle feel safe and loved. Nothing could erase that. 

“Let’s go, Squirt!” Chad would tell him hoisting Kyle on his shoulders. Kyle loved being up where he could see a world that was foreign to him. He hated being smaller than the other kids his age. He waited endlessly for the growth spurt that never came.  

He recalled being brought to the office in first grade by his teacher Ms. Walker who had tears in her eyes. He was delivered up to the secretary and sat on the hard chairs, wondering what was happening. He nervously swung his feet because he thought he was in trouble. Kyle had never been in trouble before. Chad teased Kyle about that when he got off the bus each morning before Chad headed to the middle school. 

“Don’t get in trouble like me; you hear Squirt? Kyle didn’t know what trouble Chad got in, but he assured his charismatic brother he’d do his best.  

For most of his life, Kyle did just that. Unlike most of his classmates, he never got sent to student support. “Things change,” he thought, turning over on his side. Maybe they would notice Kyle again. He dug the jagged edge of the star deeper into his palm, scarcely noticing the pain as he broke through his skin.  

~~~ 

On the other end of town, Jim Grant, too, had a hard time sleeping. But unlike Kyle, he wasn’t thinking about school for a change. As he drove to the 7-11 a few blocks from his house, he thought about his mother, hoping she didn’t wake up while he was gone. 

He debated for some time before he decided to pick-up some half-n-half for his morning coffee. He rarely left the house if it meant leaving his mother was alone, fearing she might try and get out of bed to relieve herself. She had recently moved in with him after breaking her hip. All he needed now was for her to have yet another accident.  

The cost of having someone come in each day had wiped out her meager savings, and Jim was now tapping into his retirement account to pay for help. He avoided discussing it with her because she already felt like a burden. Jim just had to make it one more day before February vacation, and he would have a bit of a reprieve from the stresses work and home had heaped on his shoulders. Even with all the assessments and reports that had to be completed over the break, he hoped not having to face his dysfunctional sixth-grade class for a week would be enough to get him through the rest of the school year.  

He put the half-n-half into his basket and decided to treat himself to some cookies. He stood in the small aisle trying to choose which Pepperidge Farm cookie to select: the mint or orange Milano variety. He recalled his dad had loved the mint, but his mother was partial to the orange. He was so lost in thought; he didn’t hear someone coming up beside him. The tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned so quickly the young manager of the store stumbled backward, trying to avoid being hit. 

      “Hey, chill, man! I just wanted to let you know we close in five,” he snapped, walking away perturbed. 

Jim was embarrassed at his over-reaction.   

“Might be best not to startle someone in a store that’s been held-up three times this year,” Jim called out to the young man. 

“Sure thing,” he shouted back, adding ‘asshole’ under his breath. 

Jim left the half-n-half and the cookies in the basket and left the store. He decided he would have his coffee black before having one more pimply-faced teenager humiliate him. 

~~~ 

Mornings in the MacKay household were the worst. Kyle woke up early, anticipating his day. He made his way downstairs quietly, hoping to avoid his mother. Like most days, it was impossible. 

“There you are,” Tracy MacKay called to him, putting a cigarette out in the ashtray on the kitchen table. “There’s some cereal in the pantry, or I left a chocolate glazed for you,” she added. 

Kyle looked at the doughnut with a thumbprint and a sprinkling of cigarette ash across the chocolate glaze that covered the doughnut.   

“I’m not that hungry. I’m just going to get a juice box,” Kyle told her, hurrying to the fridge. 

“I bought these for you. Aren’t doughnuts your favorite?” Kyle’s mother asked. 

“I’m just not hungry right now but, thanks, mom,” Kyle assured her. “Can I have it after school?” he asked, hoping to appease her. 

“Well, of course, dip shit. It’s your doughnut. I don’t care what you do with it,” she barked, lighting another cigarette. 

Even with the smoke swirling around her, Kyle could smell the alcohol on her breath from across the room. He knew better than to argue, so he tried a different tactic. 

“Would it be okay if I put it in my lunch box? I’m always hungrier after recess.” 

       “Take the god damn doughnut and do anything you want with the fucking thing. I told you, it’s your doughnut.”  

Kyle grabbed the doughnut and stuck it in his lunch box before heading out the door for the bus. 

~~~ 

Jim sat, having breakfast with his mother before leaving for school. She read the local newspaper while he checked the email on his laptop. 

“You spend too much time on that thing,” Carole Grant told her son. She knew how hard he worked at being a good teacher like her late husband. The job was no longer the same, so she quickly changed the subject.  

“Hey, did you read that Mr. Applebee is retiring?” 

Jim looked up from his computer. 

“What’s that, mom? Sorry, I was reading an email from the Dean about one of my students,” he told her.  

The subject of the email had Jim’s full attention. It was about one of his most troubled students, a girl whose name was Miranda. She was one of his ‘popcorns.’ That was what he privately called students who couldn’t keep quiet and started a chain reaction that disrupted their classmates. The entire class would soon react to her comments, popping off their mouths until the whole class erupted. Yesterday, however, Miranda came up behind him in class and sprayed perfume on his back. The students devolved into a verbal melee when he confronted her. She not only denied doing it but insisted he apologize to her for the accusation. Some students began defending her while others took Jim’s side. He ended up calling student support and having her escorted out of the room, but she was back in no time, shattering the few moments he had to focus on his lesson plan.  

He sent an email to Mr. Brooks, the Dean of Students, requesting a conference with her parents—again. If this were an isolated incident, he could have easily coped. But recently, she was out of control. He spent more time confronting her outbursts than he did teaching. The situation frustrated him endlessly. Miranda wasn’t his only troublemaker. He had two more students like Miranda shouted comments across the room, made snorting and other animal noises, and continuously found ways to disrupt the class to provoke him. Their antics meant those students trying to learn were always put on hold while he dealt with his popcorns.  

Reading the Dean’s lackluster response to his email was equally frustrating. Mr. Brooks provided the same list of steps he always did, suggesting Jim initiate them before establishing communication with her parents. The time and energy spent following the guidelines absorbed more time than Jim had available. And because Miranda’s parents believe her teachers were always the problem, it seemed like a waste of time.  

All Jim wanted was to know someone had his back. Instead, he felt these problems were ignored, and the students knew there would be no consequences for their actions. The lack of support he and other teachers got when addressing the behaviors made it almost impossible to teach. He knew their actions impacted more than just themselves, and he was at a loss to assist the kids that needed his help when he spent his days trying to manage the unmanageable.  

“Hey, did you hear me? Mr. Applebee is retiring this year,” Carol called across the table. 

Jim looked up from his computer, looking past her. Outside on the patio, a squirrel was perched on the bird feeder. It rubbed its front paws together, victoriously munching on the birdseed meant for the finches, sparrows, and cardinals that visited his backyard. Jim noticed a tail swishing just off to the left as a giant orange tabby balanced itself quietly on the patio deck’s railing. Perhaps the crunching of the seeds between its rodent-like teeth obliterated the noise of the tabby creeping up close enough to strike. But the squirrel didn’t seem to notice the other occupant of Jim’s morning musings.  

“Sorry, mom. I was reading an email about one of my students,” he told her with a tiny grin as the swiftly moving cat claim its fluffy gray prize.   

Jim half-listened to his mother recall the retiring principal’s career at the high school while he poured coffee in his travel mug, wishing he had some half-n-half.  

           “I have to go, Mom,” he said, leaning over to kiss her good-bye. He let the caregiver in on his way out the door, hoping today would be better than the last few. 

~~~ 

When Kyle got to school, everything happened so fast. Right before the morning announcements, he asked to go to the restroom. Jim thought nothing of it. He always let students like Kyle leave his class when they asked. There was never a reason not to. He was recording attendance on the school website and realized two of his biggest trouble-makers, Miranda and Connor, appeared to be absent. He bent over the desk, feeling relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with their nonsense all day. 

After a quick visit to his locker, Kyle went to the boy’s room. In the stall, he carefully blew up three small balloons and placed them in the front pocket of his oversized sweatshirt. Soon he was walking down the hall approaching his homeroom, ready for his prank. 

In the moments before Kyle reentered the room, Jim was content. Most mornings, he was emotionally exhausted before the day began. Intellectually, he could reason that a student’s bad behavior often stemmed from their home environments. He knew many of his students experienced trauma daily. He stood in front of the classroom with his back towards the door, making notes on the whiteboard, feeling inspired for a change. 

Kyle quietly entered the classroom almost unnoticed. He crossed the room and took his place among the other students. But instead of placing his hand over his heart, he inched his way the short distance between his desk and where Mr. Grant stood, facing the flag.  

As he recited the pledge, Jim was lost in thought, ruminating of life far beyond this 6th Grade class. No matter how often he performed this ritual, it always made him think of his father, and about the first time, he went to see his dad teach on career day in high school. The ordinarily quiet man was so animated and engaged in the classroom. It was so obvious his dad loved teaching.  

When Jim first started teaching, he loved it too. But now, he wondered how much longer he could endure the daily battles. He wished he could ask his father what to do. He longed for his dad to still be alive. Jim thought about the day his senior officer called to him as he stood on a porch and looked off in the distance to the Iraqi green zone.  

“Grant, get your gear together. Your old man died. Sorry, son. They’re sending you home.”  

A few days later, he was back home, trying to console his mother. As students, teachers, and friends of his parents filed past his father’s casket, he decided wanted to do something to honor his father. He decided once he left the service, he too would become a teacher. 

He stood mouthing the words of the pledge, thinking about his mother and how she still cried at night because she missed her husband of forty years. Even after two tours in Iraq, he realized more than at any time before how fragile life could be.   

He was thinking about a lot of things as he held his hand over his heart. Suddenly a noise shattered his reverie as Jim heard a loud, “pop, pop, pop,” directly behind him. Kyle’s classmates turned to watch as Kyle popped the balloons behind Mr. Grant. 

The frequent lockdown drills had Jim leaping into action. His inability to comprehend the sound within his classroom context had him wheeling around to face the class intruder blindly. His instincts took over, and he pummeled the source of the gun-like noise that filled his brain. Swinging his fists violently, he unleashed his fury, shattering the unknown enemy behind him.  

In the seconds it took his mind to clear, he looked to see what had made the stealth attack. What laid on the floor brought him momentarily back to reality. The tiny heap was a boy lying motionless with blood seeping from his mouth and nose. 

         The stunned students looked at him, backing away to huddle in the corner. In seconds, the teacher’s aide was calling the front office, reporting the incident. She stood between Jim and the students trying to protect them from the man she’d work with for years. 

          Jim wasn’t sure what had just happened. For a split second, he thought someone had shot Kyle. Then he looked down at his throbbing fists. He bent down and gently picked up the fallen boy and began carrying him down the hall.  

           “Why is the boy was so much lighter?” Jim wondered. “He hardly weighs anything at all.”  

The blond hair and hoodie didn’t register either as Jim carried the injured youngster up the stairs to the ground floor. Instead, the whirling blades of a helicopter filled his ears. The brilliant winter sun was now over Iraq as he relived his last day in an embattled Iraqi city. Before boarding the copter, he saw a small group of civilians gunned down by ISIS sniper fire on the other side of the complex. His Sargent barked at him to pull back, but his colleagues gave cover as he rushed towards the young man who struggled to free himself from the bodies that surrounded him. Jim carried him to safety only to see the gaping wound in his side. He never knew what happened to the boy who was whisked off by the medics.   

Jim carried Kyle towards the ambulance as it pulled up to school. The EMTs quickly unloaded a stretcher.  

“What the bloody hell happened,” Jim heard someone ask him as he laid him down on the stretcher.  

Jim watched as an oxygen mask was place over the boy’s face, and another EMT looked for vital signs. Reality took hold, bringing him out of his daze. 

       “Hey, pal?” the EMT said. “Can you hear me? I asked if anyone knew what happened in there?” he asked him. 

       Jim shook his head as tears slipped down his cheek.  

       Kyle opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, looking at Jim. 

       “It’s okay,” Jim said, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. Kyle squeezed his hand, and mercifully slipped back into unconsciousness.  

In the school’s vestibule, a small group had gathered and watched as the ambulance pulled away. 

“Somebody has to call his mother and let her know her son won’t be coming home,” suggested to one of Jim’s colleagues. 

     “I’ll call her. I know her well. I’ll break the news to Mrs. Grant.”