He came to school with bruises again. I recognized them. They were the bruises that covered my skin like tattoos in my youth. Every time my father hit me I’d receive another emblem to showcase my life at home. I didn’t want to ask him about them, I wouldn’t have wanted my teachers to ask, but I felt obligated to do so. He seemed different than usual, which was my second clue that something suspicious was occurring. He was quiet, and solitary. He went to the nurse seven times over the course of the day, and came back with ice packs every time. This wasn’t the first time, but it was worse today than it ever has been. I approached him after all the students had left the room at the end of the day, “Markus,” I said, he stopped dead in his tracks and kept his eyes locked on
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In January. In Pittsburgh. Okay,” I gave up and let him leave. I knew he didn’t want to tell me. It may be best just to stay out of it. I wouldn’t have wanted my teachers involved. He clearly didn’t want me to get involved, so I won’t.
The next day he came to school with a giant cut on his forehead and his skin was more black and blue then it’s natural chocolatey brown. A lot of the students questioned him about his injuries, but he told them the same he told me, he fell out of a tree.
I could see the pain lurking in his eyes every time someone addressed the abrasions on his skin. At that moment I realized that sitting and watching when someone is hurt is just as bad as hurting someone, because you’re only instigating the pain. I had to find out what was wrong.
I didn’t want to talk to him again because that’d get me nowhere, so I called up the guidance counselor, Anna Davis. Anna and I have been good friends ever since I started working here, so I knew I could trust her to talk to
In January. In Pittsburgh. Okay,” I gave up and let him leave. I knew he didn’t want to tell me. It may be best just to stay out of it. I wouldn’t have wanted my teachers involved. He clearly didn’t want me to get involved, so I won’t.
The next day he came to school with a giant cut on his forehead and his skin was more black and blue then it’s natural chocolatey brown. A lot of the students questioned him about his injuries, but he told them the same he told me, he fell out of a tree.
I could see the pain lurking in his eyes every time someone addressed the abrasions on his skin. At that moment I realized that sitting and watching when someone is hurt is just as bad as hurting someone, because you’re only instigating the pain. I had to find out what was wrong.
I didn’t want to talk to him again because that’d get me nowhere, so I called up the guidance counselor, Anna Davis. Anna and I have been good friends ever since I started working here, so I knew I could trust her to talk to