Perfect Vision

“Did you watch that episode of Dancing with the Stars last night? Man, those judges really cut into Cheryl. She’s always been my favorite. I mean, she can really move those legs.”1

Mr. Wilson picked slivers of lettuce out of his pimento sandwich and sipped from his iced tea. 2

“I just love Carrie Ann. She is just so fair, and her talent really transcends into her judging ability, you know what I mean, Coach?”3

Coach Thorp blinked at Mr. Wilson. He said nothing.4

Mr. Wilson let out a nervous laugh, suddenly very aware of the loud crunching his pretzels were making. He swallowed, “What about you, Coach? Do you watch any reality TV? It’s an addiction for me, really.”5

Coach Thorp silently got up and left the room.6

Mr. Wilson sighed to himself and looked around the small teacher’s lounge. The mint green walls were covered with memos and advertisements; the only free space was covered with graffiti damning “the man”, written by students who had found a way into the lounge over the years. The coffee pot in the corner slowly dripped a thick brown sludge, the pot cracked and dingy. The few other teachers in the room ate silently, looking around the room at things Mr. Wilson could not yet see. It was the first week of the school year. It was his first year out of college. He attempted conversation with a woman two tables away.7

“Mrs. Saunders, how are your cucumbers coming along? I ride past them every day on my way here, and they seem to be popping up pretty well,” he said.8

Mrs. Saunders stared at a crack on the wall across from her. Mr. Wilson tried again.9

“Mr. Douglas, how are your classes going this semester? The students really seem to be connecting with you.”10

Mr. Douglas chewed absently, his eyes fixed on the brown tile floor. 11

Mr. Wilson cleared his throat and got up from the table. He threw his brown paper bag into the trashcan and walked out of the door, leaving his colleagues in the lounge, their eyes glazed, staring at things that he could not yet see. 12

He walked down the hallway. The student population was large and diverse, the hallways narrow and crowded. Mr. Wilson waved at a few of his pupils, his smile bright. He smiled at Carrie, from second period. She put her head down. He waved to Fredrick, from Algebra II. He seemed to look right through him. Eventually, Mr. Wilson got to his room.13

His room was small, but he had done the best that he could to make it his own. The walls seemed to vibrate with color, every square inch covered with motivation: “Our attitude with life determines life’s attitude with us!”, “Persistence powers progress!”, “When I help others, I help myself!” The back of the room was covered with helpful websites for math assistance, reference books stacked on a table. At the front of the room, Mr. Wilson had put his personal favorite, the “Box of Wisdom” on the corner of his desk. Inside the box, he had placed strips of paper filled with his own math tips and tricks that he read every day to each of his classes. The bell rang. Fifth period started.14

“Good afternoon, class! Now, I know the material that we went over yesterday was a little confusing, so if there was any confusion or questions that need answering, feel free.” 15

He paused as twenty-seven pairs of blank eyes stared around the room.16

“Well. All right then, let’s move on to the tip of the day,” he cleared his throat. “To multiply by four quickly, double the number and then double it again. Often this can be done in your head.” He smiled hopefully at his class as they absorbed the information. The class was silent.17

Mr. Wilson frowned. “Class? What do you think of the multiplication tip I just shared with you? It can be very useful on the quiz we have planned for next Tuesday” 18

No one answered.19

“Students…your thoughts?” he said.20

He could have been in the room alone. 21

“Come on, guys. I’m sure someone has something to offer. We’ve been together for almost a week now; there is nothing to be nervous about.”22

The class didn’t flinch, even as Mr. Wilson started to cry. 23

“I don’t understand.” He thought back to his student teaching sessions at West Elementary. His teacher, Mrs. Adams, had full class participation, the students eager and willing to learn. He taught with confidence, his coworkers congratulating him on the start of a bright future. When West had no positions open, he transferred to another neighborhood and to an older high school, bringing only his confidence and peppiness with him. His fresh-faced eagerness no longer earned him an A and a diploma, only contempt and indifference. 24

His breathing was uneven. The class stared on. 25

“Please, someone just say something. Someone just look at me,” he sobbed.26

Mr. Wilson stood in front of his class and cried. His sobs filled the entire room with their intensity. His body shook and his cries reverberated off of the cement walls. He stood and cried for almost the entire class period. Then he went to the back of the room, sat at his desk, and stared off into the distance, at something that he, too, could finally see. 27