Tightly Wound, And Then...

Whispers grew, formed a wave, and threatened to overtake Spring Valley High with sheer force of momentum; the wave rose up because Jonathan Salzberg had come back to school. He was tall, though you wouldn't know it by the slump; he wore a turtleneck. People pointed at this and chuckled, or added their voices to the onslaught. His face was flushed red with the realization.

"Maybe," he thought, "I shouldn't have come today."

--

Classes were not interrupted; the natural herky-jerk pace of high school life continued unabated, Jonathan Salzberg or no, and the young man quickly found himself caught up in it all again. The same stupid hoops to jump through stood in quiet monument to the inefficacies of the modern education system. The only notebook he took out of his bag in any of these classes was his art book. The teachers made no comment, instead averting their eyes; the teenagers being teenagers were not so gracious.

A loud slam interrupted 7th period English; those who had been listening to Ms. Engelbart discuss the merits of Aldous Huxley spun instinctively towards the source like wolves hearing a sudden branch snap. What they saw was this: a large spiral-bound notebook of heavy paper laying on the ground next to a broken pencil; Jonathan very quickly trying to get out of his seat to pick it up; and David Jones's Puma firmly planted to prevent Jonathan from doing so. The image opposite the shoe was a drawing of two men; one on his knees with a dagger out in the traditional Harakiri pose; and behind him, a samurai, leaning on his sword like it were a cane and looking casually at his fingernails.

It wasn't the quality that hushed the room, it was the content.

Ms. Engelbart stormed to the center of the room; there was the squeaking of moving chair-desks. David stumbled back, suddenly shy, unable to make eye contact. "Mr. Jones," she said, "Do you have a problem with Jonathan?"

"No ma'am, I just think... uhm... that, even guys like him should pay attention in class, is all."

"Guys like him?"

Jonathan whispered something; nobody made any sign of having heard him. "Yeah," said David. "Emo guys. Whiny losers who can't just deal with life like the rest of us." Those nearest the altercation crowed their agreement or displeasure; here was a man standing up to a teacher! Not only that, but about Jonathan!

"It's not so easy for some people, Mr. Jones. You think about that when you're in detention."

For a second time, Jonathan whispered, this time just a little bit louder. For a second time he was ignored. "Detention? What for? I didn't do anything wrong, he's the one that --"

"DETENTION, young man. You need to think about treating others with respect -- for instance, your shoe is ruining Jonathan's drawing." Ms. Engelbart crossed her arms and stared sternly; she was unable to do more because she was a teacher, and touching students was very, very wrong. But she had to get David Jones to understand that he was harming a poor innocent young boy...

"You don't have to defend me."

Jessica spun on her heels, responding before she knew what she was doing. "Excuse me?"

"Don't. Fucking. Defend me." All the students stood still and silent. There was the sound of rustling paper, mostly as a nervous habit from one of the more educationally-minded students. Their teacher looked genuinely hurt, but Jonathan continued unabated. "Get the fuck away from me. All of you, just, just, just give me some time, okay?"

Jonathan stormed out of the room; after the door was slammed shut, David broke into nervous, forced laughter. "Wow. What a douche."

For a second time, the room was filled with the resounding sound of a crack; this time, it was Jessica Engelbart's hand against a young boy's face. Then she excused herself and left the room, leaving the students to their own devices. The talking and rumors began almost instantly.

--

The halls mid-class were mostly empty, as expected. A few people who had the period off but also had clubs were loitering around the cafeterias, but otherwise little fuss was made about the boy in tears stomping angrily past. Jonathan rubbed his eyes against his forearm and continued down. Mr. Bradley; he had to see Mr. Bradley. He had to see Mr. Bradley now.

Mr. Bradley, the school's guidance counselor, was in his office when Jonathan swung the door open. The middle-aged man remained seated and calm. He had dealt with troublemakers before. Only when he actually looked up from his work and saw Jonathan's reddened eyes and distraught face did he stop shuffling papers. "Is there--"

"There have been a lot of rumors. A lot of a lot of a lot of rumors." Jonathan collapsed in a chair and cleared his throat with a sick hacking cough.

The door was shut; Mr. Bradley returned to his desk. "Would you like to tell me about those? I don't get out much, so I don't really know..."

"Shut up," said Jonathan. "Let me talk. Just... let me do that, okay? Okay. So. Alright... I was in the hospital most of last week. I tried to kill myself. I tried to kill myself because I was in love, and you do stupid things in love, that's just how things are. I tried to kill myself because I hated the way my life was going and couldn't see a future; if you don't see a future, there isn't one. I haven't talked to anyone about it but still everyone found out that I tried it. They figured it out and I didn't even tell anyone, I had nobody to tell, because human beings are are are fucking scum. I couldn't stand it." He was sobbing now, and tugging at the collar of his turtleneck.

This was not the kind of situation that Mr. Bradley frequently had to deal with, but he adapted as best he could. "I'm sorry to hear that; I know what that feels like. I've had that kind of urge before too. It's why I became a guidance counselor, actually. But... a lot of people are good at heart. They want the best, and hope for the best; it's in the action, the translation, that things get all jumbled up, that good intentions become cruel actions. Especially amongst teenagers like yourself."

"I know. I didn't love someone like myself, though. And when she said no, I couldn't... I snapped. I guess that's what it is. I felt broken. Like someone had thrown me down the stairs." The boy was still fidgeting, adjusting and readjusting his collar; Mr. Bradley offered him some water, and Jonathan accepted. After he took a sip, he continued. "So I tried to hang myself."

"Ah. That explains the turtleneck. I thought you had just finally gotten a sense of style." Mr. Bradley chuckled; the joke did not go over so well with Jonathan. "Go on."

Jonathan stood up. "The rope broke." Then he left, leaving Mr. Bradley to contemplate in silence what that meant.

--

"Why did you come back? You still need more time, don't you?"

Jonathan was the only member of the table tennis club present; that was because tennis club was on thursdays, not tuesdays. He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm done with this. yeah... I'm not ready to deal with it."

"I could tell."

He laughed, the laughter turning to coughs, and held tight the tiny plastic ball. It was bright orange and shone like the sun between his fingers. "Sorry... what I mean is... I'm here, physically, but I can't really be here mentally. I'm still a little... shattered."

"Well, when you're ready, again, I apologize... if that's okay, maybe we could..."

"No." Jonathan was very careful to avoid looking at her; she might have started crying. "You broke it off, so now it has to stay broken. I already tried to end it, but... but it's like..." he held the ping-pong ball up to her face. Yes, she was doing a very poor job of hiding her tears. "This is empty, and vapid, and full of air. It is light and fragile. But it can take a lot of fucking force, y'know, a real lot. That's humans. We're all like that."

"Some are more fragile than others... Jonathan, I know you're upset about what happened --"

"Upset?" He slammed his paddle on the table; she jumped in surprise. "Of course I'm fucking upset! But I realized something. That noose... a fuckin' noose... it broke because sometimes things need to break. I need to leave the pieces where they are. Just let me do that, okay? Just fucking let it go; let me let go. I've got nowhere else to go but up now, right?"

She sighed. "Alright."