1 - (Fiyaz/The simple truth/)

¨Okay,¨-Mr. Bitt sighs and leans back in his chair-¨You know I love you, right?¨

¨Is it because I gave you my last Snicker at lunch today?¨

¨Maybe, but I really do need to speak with you about something.¨

¨Do you…not like Snickers?¨

He stands up and shuts his laptop shut ¨Just come into my office with me.¨

I shut my mouth and follow him out of the room. Mr. Britt is our robotics sponsor and is the computer teacher as well. So in other words, he´s a middle-aged man who is obsessed with Marvel and stayed in the education industry for some unknown reason.

He leads me out of the robotics room and into the dim-lit hallway. The chipped ceiling tiles, the scruffed walls, and the white titled floors were still there from when I walked this same hallway during the day in school. But, walking through them after school was just…different, in the most surreal way. It feels like you own the school, in a sense. The only kids still here after school are the robotics kids(upstairs, where we are), the theatre kids(in the cafeteria), and some random kids(here for tutoring or clubs).

But my favorite time to be after school is on Saturdays. We typically have extra meetings for 4 hours on Saturdays in the fall because of how close the competition is (November/January). Because of course, by the time these weekends are already freezing cold while the weeks are burning hot; since we live in North Texas.

I don´t know, there´s just something about bundling your laptop close to your chest and fucking dashing to the front entrance because you feel you could freeze to death. Just around this time as well, the theatre kids are staying on Saturdays as well due to their play coming up. The lights are all off in the school, with the exception of some small desk lamps or illuminated ¨safe spots¨. So you grab your friend, and you fall back into crazy kids and run up and down the darkened, freezing hallways. But in the end, we come back to our rooms, with warm cheeks, and wobbly fingers; just to attempt at getting some work finished. I think we all know how much work was actually completed.

Mr. Britt twists the rusty handle of his classroom door and holds it open for me. I don´t think I could ever get bored of a room like this. It always smelt faintly of gasoline and pubescent stink. It was decorated with geeky movie posters and those tacky ¨teacher posters¨(all about success). There were three long rows of small grey desks, each with a clunky computer upon it. He leads me to his desk in the furthest corner of the room. He huffs and leans back on his swivel chair, while I awkwardly sit on a chair on the other side of his desk. It was now that I noticed that his casual smile wasn’t on his lips as it typically was.

He was looking directly at me, back hunched, lips in a curved line, eyebrows furrowed. Looking like he just couldn’t find the words for what he had to tell me. Now I realize what all of this was. Well, not entirely. I didn’t know what would happen, or why. I just knew what it was. I grind my teeth on the inside of my cheek, trying to subside the feeling of my nerves nesting in my gut.

But, I don´t show panic. No, I sit up straighter, cross my arms and look Mr. Britt right back in the eyes. He notices this, and cocks an eyebrow ¨I know you´re freaking out, I´m not here to kill you¨

¨Well, I don’t know that, do I?¨

Mr. Britt straightens his back, just like me ¨You´re right about that.¨

¨Is this about…¨

¨Yes, yes it is. Look, with this…thing with Mrs. Blackley, the counselor-¨

I cut him off ¨I know you think I´m crazy. I´m used to that, sir.¨

¨I know you as a stupidly sarcastic,¨-I chuckle-¨yet driven young boy.¨

¨That´s the point.¨

¨Pardon?¨

¨You´re right, I am driven, and that makes my sanity only worse.¨

¨Look, I know what happened with the whole counseling thing was crazy and…I just…¨-he pauses-¨I think it would be best if you looked into therapy.¨

And that´s exactly where I broke.

¨No.¨

¨Excuse me?¨

¨I said, no. When others see people like me-they assume therapy is what I need. They look at me and see a monster. And this….shit show with Mrs. Blackley-please excuse my language-only worsened that.¨

¨Fiyaz, this isn’t about others, this is about you. Do you want therapy?¨

¨Sir, that’s the thing. People are selfish, especially these ones. No matter what, it will never be about me, before it is ever about them.¨

He sighs ¨Fiyaz…¨

¨No. I´ll say it again, I am not going into therapy.¨

¨Therapy is a perfectly valid way to cope with what´s going on.¨

¨With-with what’s going on? This isn’t a tragedy. This is my life. Who I am is not a result of tragedy. I don’t need help. And I am so, so tired of being seen as a disease, a-a sickness. Sir, do you think I´m a sickness, do you truly think I´m sick?¨

Mr. Britt places both hands on the table between us, with his palms facing up. He raises his eyebrows. I sigh and bring both of my own clammy hands to hold his. Something that had become an unspoken ritual between the both of us over the years.

¨Dude, I know you´re not crazy. I don´t think you’re…insane in the membrane,¨

I groan, ¨Please never do that again.¨

He laughs ¨Anywho, seriously. I know that this isn’t fair. I can see that you´re being treated as if you aren’t 14 years old. You´re still a kid. You´re a writer, you have a natural knack for art, you make others feel included, you´re electric, and I know that you don´t deserve the kind of judgment that is being placed on your shoulders.¨

¨But, I-well, I knew that this path wasn’t an easy one. But, I also knew that before all of this, whether it’s a hard, judgemental path or not, if it means I can get somewhere. I´ll do it. So, yeah, I´m 14, I had and still don´t know what I´ve gotten myself into.¨

¨But, Fiyaz, therapy really could help.¨

¨Mr. Britt-¨

¨No. I want you to figure out what you want. So, if you do go to therapy, I want you to want that for yourself. I want you to reach for it, for you. Not because Mrs. Blackley said you need to. This is your life, not hers.¨

I take my hands away from his ¨Can I ask you something, sir?¨

¨No, of course not, why else would I here?¨

¨Food supply.¨

¨True that. Now, what is it?¨

¨Do you ever wish you were born differently?¨

¨Yeah…of course I do. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t born in the home I was born in, or when I was a little boy, I didn´t want any of this fat on me. What do you think about wanting to be born differently, Fiyaz? Is there truly any simple truth between any of that?¨

¨Well, yeah, I have definitely wanted to be born different. Like, if I were, I think all of this could’ve been avoided. That´s a simple truth. But I also think it's stupid. If we could choose how we were born, then we are basically stripping all of humanity from our bones. That´s a simple truth.¨

¨But what about you? If you were to choose to be born differently, would there be no humanity left?¨

¨Yeah. I think I would be an empty, shallow porcelain doll. I am only here today because of what I was born as. That’s humanity. Well, that’s mine at least. Humanity is ugly. That´s a simple truth. But, people are only beautiful because they take their ugly humanity and sculpt something worthy out of it. Something that is one of the hardest things in the world. That´s a simple truth.¨

¨How is that a simple truth? Doesn’t sound…that simple.¨

¨Well, saying something is a simple truth is just cramming an entire trifecta of accomplishments and a whole lot of sucky realizations into just one explanation. So, a simple truth is a truth that´s too…not-simple to be able to explain in only one sitting.¨

Mr. Britt takes a sip of some soda can that he acquired at some point and smiles for the first time in this whole…meeting ¨Damn Fiyaz, I think you really are insane.¨