Better Left Unsaid
He sits across from me, acutely aware of my scrutiny, yet too afraid to meet my gaze. He tugs at the hem of his polo tee which is faded at the collar and greying in the sleeves. Behind his glasses, his eyes dart from the Madam to me tentatively. He is scared, but not unwilling.
I cannot bring myself to look at him for too long, I am frightened of what he will think of me, what his mother will conclude. I know that he is not an animal in a cage, not meant to be subject to a rude and unwavering perusal, but I can’t look away, his smile is so white, so shy, so sad.
“Why did you do it?” the Madam asks him, a practised edge to her voice.
When he speaks, he is soft and unsure, mumbling and tripping over his words. He tries to tell her that he didn’t really do it, that he was subject to a temporary frivolity, but his words are swallowed by the silence of disapproval.
I cannot help myself, I feel bad for him. I feel bad because he has to work two jobs and his mother was recently diagnosed with cancer, because he has no father to speak of and no joy to fill his days, and bad because he made one mistake and will be punished for it for all life to come.
His mother is so gentle with him, and I can’t help but feel that he is just a soft, quiet child, misguided by hours of idlenes whiled away in boisterous company.
He is just 19.
He doesn’t want my pity, and pity isn’t what I feel for him anyway.
Rather, it’s the thought that but for circumstance and chance, it could have been me. The line between being a precocious, questioning child and a defiant one that challenges authority runs so fine; who’s to say where anyone might end up? And if it had been me, would I have been as calm, as apologetic, as ready to cooperate?
Something is wrong with the system when a person who has committed a small offence in which he did not play an active role is made to wait nearly two years for an evaluation. Something has to be done when families that fall apart are not provided with the resources to protect and educate their children before further harm can be done. Something has to be said about the amount of fucking red tape that leads to the slowing of processes and the loss of concern shown to people who need it the most.
I know, surely, that someone has to take action against all the crap that’s piling up before it comes tumbling down around their ears, but it was not the time, nor the place for me to say it. I simply couldn’t speak. Besides, I wondered as I tried to deflect my vision from them, what must they think of me, creamy and officious in my straight-backed chair, taking notes as if they were a science experiment in action?
Who was I to waltz in and tell anybody how to do their job or run their lives?
Instead, I watched as his mother gently placed a hand on his shoulder, watched as the Madam probed deeper into his confused, troubled history and watched his smile waver and pitch as he tried to maintain his equanimity.
“I am good boy now,” he pleaded, eyes bright.
And I wanted to believe him.
But right then and there, it just wasn’t enough.
I cannot bring myself to look at him for too long, I am frightened of what he will think of me, what his mother will conclude. I know that he is not an animal in a cage, not meant to be subject to a rude and unwavering perusal, but I can’t look away, his smile is so white, so shy, so sad.
“Why did you do it?” the Madam asks him, a practised edge to her voice.
When he speaks, he is soft and unsure, mumbling and tripping over his words. He tries to tell her that he didn’t really do it, that he was subject to a temporary frivolity, but his words are swallowed by the silence of disapproval.
I cannot help myself, I feel bad for him. I feel bad because he has to work two jobs and his mother was recently diagnosed with cancer, because he has no father to speak of and no joy to fill his days, and bad because he made one mistake and will be punished for it for all life to come.
His mother is so gentle with him, and I can’t help but feel that he is just a soft, quiet child, misguided by hours of idlenes whiled away in boisterous company.
He is just 19.
He doesn’t want my pity, and pity isn’t what I feel for him anyway.
Rather, it’s the thought that but for circumstance and chance, it could have been me. The line between being a precocious, questioning child and a defiant one that challenges authority runs so fine; who’s to say where anyone might end up? And if it had been me, would I have been as calm, as apologetic, as ready to cooperate?
Something is wrong with the system when a person who has committed a small offence in which he did not play an active role is made to wait nearly two years for an evaluation. Something has to be done when families that fall apart are not provided with the resources to protect and educate their children before further harm can be done. Something has to be said about the amount of fucking red tape that leads to the slowing of processes and the loss of concern shown to people who need it the most.
I know, surely, that someone has to take action against all the crap that’s piling up before it comes tumbling down around their ears, but it was not the time, nor the place for me to say it. I simply couldn’t speak. Besides, I wondered as I tried to deflect my vision from them, what must they think of me, creamy and officious in my straight-backed chair, taking notes as if they were a science experiment in action?
Who was I to waltz in and tell anybody how to do their job or run their lives?
Instead, I watched as his mother gently placed a hand on his shoulder, watched as the Madam probed deeper into his confused, troubled history and watched his smile waver and pitch as he tried to maintain his equanimity.
“I am good boy now,” he pleaded, eyes bright.
And I wanted to believe him.
But right then and there, it just wasn’t enough.
She said, she said at 11:50 pm
2 Comments:
yeah i think govt agencies are quite screwed up. too much bureacratic politics and too many rules. Sometimes u wonder if they are really helping ppl who needs help...
:P
Heh... I don't doubt that they want to help and that what they do is a worthy cause... but you're absolutely right! There's just too much red tape and paper work and so many things you have to consider at the policy level before you can get right down to helping those in need...
They want to cut it down, but how can they ever do that when that's how they work in the first place? I mean, they thrive on power play and on deferring to big shots, so it's difficult to work things out from the bottom up perspective.
Haha... I better not mention any names :P
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