Punching Bag

 

            The house was eerily quiet as Margaret sat reading on the living room couch working through "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," possibly the tenth time through her favorite series. The only sound she could hear was that of her brother breathing and occasionally shifting in his seat by the fireplace, which for some reason preferring the stone bench across its front instead of the couch or a chair. She loved her brother dearly, as he was by far the kindest and most thoughtful person she had ever known. But for some reason unknown to her, the little boy, small even for his age, was the brunt of much verbal and occasional physical abuse at school.

              She had confronted him about this on many occasions and his answer was always the same, "They don't understand, they probably have something bad going on at home, I don't let it bother me," which always stirred up anger within her, knowing that there was no legitimate excuse for such cruelty upon such a wonderful little person. After hearing this response too many times, she finally gave up and did her best to intervene on his behalf without making him appear weak.

              She, her brother, and her parents sat in relative silence during dinner that evening, and Margaret made every effort to stimulate conversation among the four of them, an effort that bore fruit every few minutes, to be replaced by more silence until she tried again and again. With little Walter in her peripheral vision, she watched him choosing very small portions to delicately nibble at them, deliberately timing the finishing of his meal with the rest of his family, and they, as a singular unit rose from their seats to place their dirty dishes in the sink.

              The following morning after a ridiculously small breakfast on Walter's part, he and Margaret stood at the bus stop, she under the ample plexiglass shelter, while Walter stood in the rain, seemingly undeterred by the fact that he was becoming more and more damp by the moment. As the bus stopped in front of them, Margaret hurried in first to pause and direct Walter to the empty seat directly behind the driver, knowing full well that any attempt by him to blend in with the other students would only result in additional bullying.

              Halfway through the day as the period just preceding lunch ended, Margaret entered the hallway to see Walter surrounded by three very large older children as he tried to access his locker, to only have it slammed time and again with each attempted opening. Silently approaching from behind, she drove her knee into the groin of the closest bully, dropping him to his knees, giving Walter a moment to finish his locker transition and escape to the lunchroom. She and her closest friends surrounded the small boy sitting alone in a corner table, with the goal of providing a barrier of protection.

              The knot in her stomach slowly dissipated as lunch continued on without incident, allowing her to finish the highly processed and rather bland meal, something remotely like spaghetti but more like noodles and ketchup. As a group, the six girls and one little boy left the cafeteria and went their separate ways, but Margaret kept one eye on Walter until the bell rang moving them to different classes. Fourth, then fifth then sixth periods passed, and she hurried down the hall with the hope of walking him to his locker and finally to the bus. But the distance was too great, and she watched with horror as a fellow classmate punched Walter so hard that he folded in half, forcing him to sit down, and lean against the wall.

              Sliding to the floor next to him, she pulled his head onto her shoulder and eventually helped him to his feet, to reach the just closing bus door for a hopefully uneventful ride home. Once again, she directed him to the seat directly behind the bus driver, providing a direct line of vision from her seat about halfway back, sad as she watched him slowly lean against the window to remain motionless for the remainder of the ride.

              As the bus stopped, Walter and Margaret glided onto the sidewalk and across the threshold into the warm bliss of their home. She dropped her bag next to her shoes and Walter immediately crossed the living room to sit upon the stone ledge facing the fireplace, an unsurprising routine that always left her baffled, wondering why someone would choose discomfort over ease, or like his meals, choosing want over plenty.

              As dinner was called, Walter remained in his place, slowly rocking himself, explaining in as few words as possible his lack of desire for sustenance. "Did something happen as school today?" their mother asked, and Margaret quickly spoke up with the usual answer. "Yes, something happened at school today like it always does. I don't know why the kids are so mean to him." True to form, Margaret scoured her mind for topics to discuss as they sat in near silence, her mind constantly returning to the terrible blow that Walter received earlier, an image she could not erase from her mind.

              After clearing her cup and plate she returned her gaze to the fireplace to see only an empty room, curious how Walter had moved so quickly and silently. She hurried up the stairs and could hear the muffled voice of Walter coming from his room, to pause at the door, feeling a little self-conscious at eavesdropping but terribly interested in what he was saying. Most of the words were unintelligible but she was able to pick up the names of many of her classmates. Sitting on the floor immediately in front of his door, she pressed her ear close and realized that he was praying for those who were constantly and only mean to him.

              The following three days were a depressing repetition of the former, as little Walter lived on the receiving end of punches, shoves, trips, and name calling but each event was a non-event to him, his response always the same, indifference and forgiveness. The last day of the week finally arrived and Margaret entered the cafeteria with her friends to see Walter sitting at a table in the center of the room surrounded by five older classmates with whom he traded each item of his lunch, a cookie for an apple, a juice box for an apple, a piece of pizza for an apple, until he sat with six apples on his tray, clearly content with his culinary exchanges.

              Having interacted with Walter for everyday of his life, Margaret was not surprised to see this next step in his development, which she suspected was part of a carefully crafted plan and approach for dealing with his opponents, though he didn't speak of them in this way. Entirely unnoticed, she watched him fill is pockets with the apples, rise from the table and leave the cafeteria, undisturbed by anyone and seemingly oblivious anything that went on around him. She and her friends followed him to his locker, agreeing among themselves to acknowledge what had just taken place.

              As the day drew to an end, Margaret watched him drift through the hallway, eating an apple, untouched and unhindered by anyone, to follow him to the bus, which upon entering alone, he descended to the far back to take an entire row to himself with a look of absolute peace and contentment across his face.

              At dinner that evening, Margaret, Walter, and their parents sat together in their usual semi-silence. As Walter finished his meal, surprisingly earlier than everyone else, to stand from his seat, clear his throat, and say, "It was only a matter of time. Good always wins."