A door shuts behind me with emphasis. I do not sit until an indication has been made for me. I land across from two men of two completely different proportions. I saw my friend in the hallway. I know what's coming. Without a pause I'm accused and guilty due to association.
The smaller one gives a sympathetic look as I try to find words. Being glared at by the other elicits a stuttering response. As if he were a machine gun he fires question after question at me. When my story "doesn't add up." I'm offered twice as many days of suspension. I begin to cry. When I timidly repeat I wasn't the fourth culprit, an awkward silence fills the room.
Staring at me does nothing for him and after what feels like an eternity, I'm demanded to go back to class. I must wait there for my punishment if no one else comes forward.
A six hour bus drive. One boys varsity soccer game and my own. A meal with teammates I called friends. Two weeks of ignorance later, an authority figure has lost my respect.
This does what what always works for me in vignettes: it sets the thing in motion but it doesn't try to do too much; it leaves a certain amount (but not too much) for the reader to figure out; it's more interested in its own art than in conveying who/what/when/where/why information.
ReplyDeleteThese are good things!