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Description
Wonder Child

He was... Magical, to the least. One of the most confusing yet amusing students I've ever worked with. I am Dr. Sherman, counselor for a school that I'm not going to name. He came to me with a note from his teacher, saying that he had a fist fight with one of the school bullies, one that I'd personally written a suspension note for. I was particularly excited to expel him. The boy, who I've been told by the teachers his name was Damien Millows, was sort of like Napoleon Dynamite in a way: looks like the stereotypical nerd, actually not very smart at all.. And like Napoleon Dynamite, he was bullied. I guess that Damien had the courage to stand up for himself. Either that, or he just wanted to pick a fight. Heaven knows I'd make people mad just to get into a good fight when I was a kid. But I was actually strong, not scrawny like him. Damien walked into my office with a slight limp that could not possibly be him faking an injury.
"Please sit down." I said.
Damien sat down and I took out a list of appointments, to put up the "I'm a busy man and you'd better not waste my time" thing that goes on with all of the "student helping" staff of the school- nurses, a security guard who, in fact, doesn't do anything but help around with the pledge and other intercom announcements(doesn't even have a gun), ect. ect. ect.
"You're Damien Millows, right?'' I said as if I didn't know. "My... Two- o'clock?" I added for that extra professional therapist effect.
"Yes sir, I am."
"I understand that you've got a problem with a Mister Henry Persson?''
Damien only whispered something, I think a vulgarity, and I saw a cut on his forearm that was still bleeding. He probably sopped up the blood with a tissue to keep me from noticing. Though the tissue would cling to the open wound and stick. "Care to tell me what happened?"
"I just decided to fight back", he said with a certain tone of voice, tough to tell if he was being honest or not. He was probably lying, but I never held it against him.
I asked him if he went to the school nurse.
"I got sent down there.. She didn't look up from her book and only told me to put ice on the bruise. Most kids come in with bruises from gym class. She thought I was from gym class."
Ha. Wonderful, wonderful Mrs. Pierra. A woman around my age, too bored by life to care about her job anymore. I'm sure that when she was young and fertile she did. Who knows. Years ago, I got sent to her office with a kid who was too scared for a dental check up. (The school was offering free dental check ups at that time. The kid's parent made her sign up.) Mrs. Pierra thought I was a student who, yet again, had a bruise from a miss-thrown basketball.. Without me saying anything, she greeted like a student, said. "You have a bump on your head?"She was sleeping with her eyes open, barking the question like a trained animal driven by routine... She's amazing. Truly, amazing... Anyways, I said, "No, I have a student from yesterday's dental service.".She immediatly gave the little girl, who stared at me with a look of hatred the whole time, her dental check up. I thought, it was some of the first real work she's done in years. But then again, she herself had to check on the teeth of over 400 children the other day.
"Want to go there now?''
"Sure, I guess."
I took Damien to the nurse's office, where Mrs. Pierra was sleeping. Again. For the first time I noticed her glass eye. The last time I saw her, her left eye was brown, like the other. Now it was just... White. I took a closer look and saw that it was a glass eye. Poor woman. I tried to imagine how she lost her eye. I couldn't help but think that she was walking down the streets, a young woman in her 20's, thoughts of her dreams and aspirations soon to be lost clouding her mind, when she got jumped and stabbed in the eye. Of course, if I asked her about it she would kill me.
"I'm not a student, Mrs. Pierra, but Damien Millows here is."
"Alright, you've got my attention."
"I need you to look at him, see if there's any signs of broken bones or ruptured nerves." The last time I took a beat up kid to Mrs. Pierra, I didn't care... It's always the same. Alex fell down the stairs. Isaac got beat up by a big bad playground bully. Well, Damien was beat up by a big bad playground bully. But Damien fought back. Damien possibly initiated the fight. Damien is somebody I care about. Damien reminds me of myself as a kid.
"It's not that bad.", said Damien.
"Get on the table"- I pointed to the cot where kids who were actually sick or injured got layed down- "and I'll convince the principal not to tell anyone." It was stupid. Damien probably would have gotten on the table anyways. I probably would have convinced the principal to forget this whole thing anyways. I may be old, but I still remember the fear injected into your bloodstream, pumping into your heart when you heard the words, "Your parents will be contacted". Whether it was the police being called or your parents, you were frozen stiff.
Damien got on the cot and while Mrs. Pierra took a look at him, I took a look at the posters on the wall- almost like a real doctor's office. Posters with information on diseases with horrifying graphics. To be specific, genital warts and harlequin ichthyosis . Two tiny chairs, a box where waste vaccines are placed. Two trashcans, one white, the other red with the "radioactive" symbol printed in black and a note on the lid saying "Do not put diapers here". We're in a school, I thought, who has diapers here? Maybe it was stolen from an actual medical center... Heh.
I saw that Mrs. Pierra was poking and prodding Damien, like he was a cat and she was a vet. I saw that she made him take his shirt off. Good move. Damien had a large purple bruise on his left rib... Really, a lot of bruises. Really visible too, the kid was bone thin. I thought it was broken. When I asked Mrs. Pierra, she said the bone was bruised. Talk about nostalgia.. When the word "bruised" pased through her lips, I immediatly felt a strong pressure in my own rib... The own feeling of smashing into a metal pole... It hurt like the devil's touch. But in the office... Bittersweet. That was the only way to describe it. Mrs. Pierra began to dial the hospital. Oh joy! The ambulance is coming!, I thought. Maybe I'll be able to go inside myself! The blood pumped in and out of my heart even faster, giving me a sort of happiness that I haven't felt in years. I walked over to the cot and asked Damien how he felt. He said "Fine. Why's Mrs. Pierra on the phone?"
"She's going to call an ambulance. Your ribs are bruised and you have a large cut on your arm. I'm coming along with you." Of course, I didn't know that. But I was too estatic to think clearly.
"Are they gonna put an X-ray on me?"
"Yeah', I spat out. I excitedly put my hands on the cot and leaned forward, like a small child wanting to get a better view of a sports game. "Yeah! And also they're gonna-"
I caught myself, speaking as I would have spoken as a teenager, 40 years ago.
"Just- nevermind." I took my hands off of the cot and stood up straight. Mrs. Pierra told us to grab our things and go outside. Damien was starting to look a little pale- the blood loss from his cut and the pain from his ribs...
I was 16. Rough housing with one of my best friends. We were in the basement of my house, my parents were upstairs. I didn't know what they were doing, but I heard jazz music. My friend- I don't remember his name so I'll just call him Bobby. Me and Bobby were rough housing, like I said. He accidentally pushed me into one of the metal poles supporting the ceiling and I crashed into it- chest first, but I made myself fall back quickly enough to avoid getting my head smashed in. It hurt like the hell- it was heartburn, all over, intensified hundreds of times. Bobby called my parents down and I got yelled at the whole way to the hospital. I was almost passed out at that point, and I still wonder the logic in screaming at a half conscious person...
Then I realized, the hospital would call Damien's parents anyways. He'd be subjected to the same "why can't you be more careful?! I can't believe you stooped so low!" blab like I was. Oh well. They'd find out eventually.
About a half hour later, the ambulance came around with it's loud ear-shattering horns honking so that other cars would get out of the way. Mrs. Pierra led Damien outside, supporting his shoulders and back because he was quckly bleeding out, and his breathing was ragged and slow.
I looked at Damien's pile of clothes. He and Mrs. Pierra were in too much of a rush to bother picking them up. And I thought that only dead people could get reincarnated.

Description
Wonder Child

He was... Magical, to the least. One of the most confusing yet amusing students I've ever worked with. I am Dr. Sherman, counselor for a school that I'm not going to name. He came to me with a note from his teacher, saying that he had a fist fight with one of the school bullies, one that I'd personally written a suspension note for. I was particularly excited to expel him. The boy, who I've been told by the teachers his name was Damien Millows, was sort of like Napoleon Dynamite in a way: looks like the stereotypical nerd, actually not very smart at all.. And like Napoleon Dynamite, he was bullied. I guess that Damien had the courage to stand up for himself. Either that, or he just wanted to pick a fight. Heaven knows I'd make people mad just to get into a good fight when I was a kid. But I was actually strong, not scrawny like him. Damien walked into my office with a slight limp that could not possibly be him faking an injury.
"Please sit down." I said.
Damien sat down and I took out a list of appointments, to put up the "I'm a busy man and you'd better not waste my time" thing that goes on with all of the "student helping" staff of the school- nurses, a security guard who, in fact, doesn't do anything but help around with the pledge and other intercom announcements(doesn't even have a gun), ect. ect. ect.
"You're Damien Millows, right?'' I said as if I didn't know. "My... Two- o'clock?" I added for that extra professional therapist effect.
"Yes sir, I am."
"I understand that you've got a problem with a Mister Henry Persson?''
Damien only whispered something, I think a vulgarity, and I saw a cut on his forearm that was still bleeding. He probably sopped up the blood with a tissue to keep me from noticing. Though the tissue would cling to the open wound and stick. "Care to tell me what happened?"
"I just decided to fight back", he said with a certain tone of voice, tough to tell if he was being honest or not. He was probably lying, but I never held it against him.
I asked him if he went to the school nurse.
"I got sent down there.. She didn't look up from her book and only told me to put ice on the bruise. Most kids come in with bruises from gym class. She thought I was from gym class."
Ha. Wonderful, wonderful Mrs. Pierra. A woman around my age, too bored by life to care about her job anymore. I'm sure that when she was young and fertile she did. Who knows. Years ago, I got sent to her office with a kid who was too scared for a dental check up. (The school was offering free dental check ups at that time. The kid's parent made her sign up.) Mrs. Pierra thought I was a student who, yet again, had a bruise from a miss-thrown basketball.. Without me saying anything, she greeted like a student, said. "You have a bump on your head?"She was sleeping with her eyes open, barking the question like a trained animal driven by routine... She's amazing. Truly, amazing... Anyways, I said, "No, I have a student from yesterday's dental service.".She immediatly gave the little girl, who stared at me with a look of hatred the whole time, her dental check up. I thought, it was some of the first real work she's done in years. But then again, she herself had to check on the teeth of over 400 children the other day.
"Want to go there now?''
"Sure, I guess."
I took Damien to the nurse's office, where Mrs. Pierra was sleeping. Again. For the first time I noticed her glass eye. The last time I saw her, her left eye was brown, like the other. Now it was just... White. I took a closer look and saw that it was a glass eye. Poor woman. I tried to imagine how she lost her eye. I couldn't help but think that she was walking down the streets, a young woman in her 20's, thoughts of her dreams and aspirations soon to be lost clouding her mind, when she got jumped and stabbed in the eye. Of course, if I asked her about it she would kill me.
"I'm not a student, Mrs. Pierra, but Damien Millows here is."
"Alright, you've got my attention."
"I need you to look at him, see if there's any signs of broken bones or ruptured nerves." The last time I took a beat up kid to Mrs. Pierra, I didn't care... It's always the same. Alex fell down the stairs. Isaac got beat up by a big bad playground bully. Well, Damien was beat up by a big bad playground bully. But Damien fought back. Damien possibly initiated the fight. Damien is somebody I care about. Damien reminds me of myself as a kid.
"It's not that bad.", said Damien.
"Get on the table"- I pointed to the cot where kids who were actually sick or injured got layed down- "and I'll convince the principal not to tell anyone." It was stupid. Damien probably would have gotten on the table anyways. I probably would have convinced the principal to forget this whole thing anyways. I may be old, but I still remember the fear injected into your bloodstream, pumping into your heart when you heard the words, "Your parents will be contacted". Whether it was the police being called or your parents, you were frozen stiff.
Damien got on the cot and while Mrs. Pierra took a look at him, I took a look at the posters on the wall- almost like a real doctor's office. Posters with information on diseases with horrifying graphics. To be specific, genital warts and harlequin ichthyosis . Two tiny chairs, a box where waste vaccines are placed. Two trashcans, one white, the other red with the "radioactive" symbol printed in black and a note on the lid saying "Do not put diapers here". We're in a school, I thought, who has diapers here? Maybe it was stolen from an actual medical center... Heh.
I saw that Mrs. Pierra was poking and prodding Damien, like he was a cat and she was a vet. I saw that she made him take his shirt off. Good move. Damien had a large purple bruise on his left rib... Really, a lot of bruises. Really visible too, the kid was bone thin. I thought it was broken. When I asked Mrs. Pierra, she said the bone was bruised. Talk about nostalgia.. When the word "bruised" pased through her lips, I immediatly felt a strong pressure in my own rib... The own feeling of smashing into a metal pole... It hurt like the devil's touch. But in the office... Bittersweet. That was the only way to describe it. Mrs. Pierra began to dial the hospital. Oh joy! The ambulance is coming!, I thought. Maybe I'll be able to go inside myself! The blood pumped in and out of my heart even faster, giving me a sort of happiness that I haven't felt in years. I walked over to the cot and asked Damien how he felt. He said "Fine. Why's Mrs. Pierra on the phone?"
"She's going to call an ambulance. Your ribs are bruised and you have a large cut on your arm. I'm coming along with you." Of course, I didn't know that. But I was too estatic to think clearly.
"Are they gonna put an X-ray on me?"
"Yeah', I spat out. I excitedly put my hands on the cot and leaned forward, like a small child wanting to get a better view of a sports game. "Yeah! And also they're gonna-"
I caught myself, speaking as I would have spoken as a teenager, 40 years ago.
"Just- nevermind." I took my hands off of the cot and stood up straight. Mrs. Pierra told us to grab our things and go outside. Damien was starting to look a little pale- the blood loss from his cut and the pain from his ribs...
I was 16. Rough housing with one of my best friends. We were in the basement of my house, my parents were upstairs. I didn't know what they were doing, but I heard jazz music. My friend- I don't remember his name so I'll just call him Bobby. Me and Bobby were rough housing, like I said. He accidentally pushed me into one of the metal poles supporting the ceiling and I crashed into it- chest first, but I made myself fall back quickly enough to avoid getting my head smashed in. It hurt like the hell- it was heartburn, all over, intensified hundreds of times. Bobby called my parents down and I got yelled at the whole way to the hospital. I was almost passed out at that point, and I still wonder the logic in screaming at a half conscious person...
Then I realized, the hospital would call Damien's parents anyways. He'd be subjected to the same "why can't you be more careful?! I can't believe you stooped so low!" blab like I was. Oh well. They'd find out eventually.
About a half hour later, the ambulance came around with it's loud ear-shattering horns honking so that other cars would get out of the way. Mrs. Pierra led Damien outside, supporting his shoulders and back because he was quckly bleeding out, and his breathing was ragged and slow.
I looked at Damien's pile of clothes. He and Mrs. Pierra were in too much of a rush to bother picking them up. And I thought that only dead people could get reincarnated.