Benson and Mr. Boyer

A photograph of the construction of the original Winters Bridge adorned the wall behind his desk. I liked it that he'd chosen that particular photograph for his office, because if you stood at the place where the original Winters Bridge had been, you'd have a perfect view of Alban-Harrison Middle, and if you stood where original school house was, you'd have a perfect view of the new Winters Bridge. The symmetry of it struck me like music. I doubt Principal Boyer had thought it through like that, though, or would care if I brought it up. He hardly cared that I was in the room, I could tell that from the hunched form and shiny pate that greeted me when I entered.

"Mr. Boyer?"

He was annoyed already; the writing hand paused, everything in his body language spoke of an inward cringing at my presence. To hell with you, I thought.

"Do you have a moment?"

"Is it good news or bad news?"

"I wanted to ask about Johnny. I understand you had him in here earlier today? What happened?"

He took great pains to illustrate to me through the slow blinking of his eyes and the slight downward tilt of his head that it took a lot out of him to put down his pen and look at me. Fuck you, I thought.

"The Benson boy? Fist fight. Nothing unusual."

"But Johnny Benson's never been in a fight."

"He's a growing boy, and I'd say that Bronson kid provoked him something awful. About time somebody knocked that delinquent's block off. Now, please, did you have something urgent to tell me?"

I made my excuses and departed from Boyer's office. The kids were filtering out of the gates already and neither Johnny nor Charlie were anywhere to be found. I returned to my own office to gather my things, designing to speak to one or the other of the boys next day about the incident.