The Boy With the Funky Glasses | Teen Ink

The Boy With the Funky Glasses

January 30, 2016
By PiaOliviaAntoinette BRONZE, Princeton Junction, New Jersey
PiaOliviaAntoinette BRONZE, Princeton Junction, New Jersey
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

The boy with the funky glasses is in my class.

His staple attire consists of button up shirts - polos if you must. There's a stain on the lower corner, and a few minor tears here and there. The thread from his shirt is frayed; the denim from his jeans is exhausted, too. His shoes look worn in. I wonder how they give any support. Of course, you can't forget his signature funky glasses; framing his eyes, but unable to shield the worst of the world.

The boy with the funky glasses is in my class.

He sits at the far end of the room. He's reclusive, keeping to himself most of the time. He sits quietly and does as instructed: stand up. Sit down. Read this and read that. Whether the room is silent or animated, his mind is elsewhere. His eyes can't hide his thoughts. Engaged in a fist fight, his demons and angels are caught in an ever constant battle.

The boy with the funky glasses is in my class.

He forgot his homework in class - a two-thousand word essay with citations. the teacher gave a grand lecture about his incompetence. His head was down, eyes focused on his old shoes. He slumped in his chair as if it were a shell, protecting him from the harassment.

At lunch, he sat alone. He had only peanut butter and jelly sandwich to subside his appetite. Even in the booming lunch room, you could hear his stomach growling.

The boy with the funky glasses is in my class.

He came to school today with a busted lip and and a black eye. Dried blood still sat on his chin. His excuse was that he ran into a pole. But what about the three large bruises on his arms? Was the pole to blame for those as well?

I saw the boy rush to his father's pick up truck after school. He hesitated before opening the door. "What took you so long you slow ass kid?! Get in the truck you f***ing idiot!" I heard his father say. The father looked dangerously menacing, and the boy looked alarmingly terrified. The boy with the funky glasses looked out the window. His glasses couldn't hide his eyes. As if his eyes had claws of their own, they desperately clung to the surroundings outside of that old pick up truck.  They sped off only seconds later.

The boy with the funky glasses is in my class, but he wasn't here today.


The author's comments:

Even the most subtle details provide a glance into the lives some kids may endure. 


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