brown hair, glasses clouded by the sweat on his forehead, and the feeling of wanting to die. He
hadn't heard the alarm on his phone and woke up an hour later than he should have. He had
tried to rush to get dressed, comb his hair, eat breakfast, and be on time to catch the bus to
school; but he barely managed to finish dressing, not buckle up properly, pick out shoes that
weren't clean, eat a single apple, and run a comb through his hair once or twice. Miraculously,
he didn't forget his glasses. He needed them for everything, so normally no one would forget
them, but with his luck he wouldn't be surprised if that happened to him.
high-pitched voice due to his nerves and headed for the first bathroom he saw. There, as best as
he could, he tried to fix his appearance in a way that was just as clumsy and hasty as when he
was at home. It wasn't right for him to be late for the first day of high school. Especially when
he was the teacher.
that the first days were always the best, since the students would still be suspicious of a new
teacher like him, that it was his best opportunity to impose his authority as a teacher so that
order would be maintained in the classroom for the rest of the semester. It was his first time
teaching, so everything that happened now would be a valuable experience that would make him
a better teacher in the future. He had to be sure of himself and his knowledge so that he could
properly guide his new students. He would be kind and understanding with them, but not too
much; he’d also need to be strict when necessary.
composure and get some faith in himself. But when he was in front of the classroom door, all
that confidence was gone. He felt his breathing heavy and thought that he sure looked terrible.
The night before he’d barely been able to sleep because of his nerves, the same ones that now
paralyzed his legs and made him clench his fists. Soon his mind began to fill with pessimistic
thoughts:
teacher? It would be terrible if they did whatever they wanted during class and didn't pay attention... What will I
do if they notice how nervous I am? Will they make fun of me behind my back and call me names? Being mocked
by your students would be pathetic…>>
was supposed to start. Inside the room, youthful, happy, and carefree voices were heard, which
contrasted with his state of mind. Roberto sighed heavily.
“I'm pathetic,” he said to himself quietly. He rubbed his eyes a couple of times and
straightened up after taking a deep breath once. “Okay. Let's do it.” With a still shaky but
determined hand, he opened the door of the room and tried to greet them with a “good
morning” that sounded natural.
He was a World History teacher for the second grade of high school. The school was not
very far from downtown, so the noises of the city could always be heard, overflowing with people
because it was in the center of the country. As with many other high schools in Mexico, the day
began at 7 a.m. and lasted until 2 p.m., sometimes longer, depending on what extracurricular
activities the students had. As it was the beginning of August and thus summertime, at that hour
of the morning the sun was just beginning to rise.
course —from the topics to be covered to the evaluation form— he made the roll call, noting
each student's preferred name or nickname and asking them to share something about
themselves: Samantha liked gymnastics; Daniel, the paranormal; Citlali, astronomy.
After a few days he noticed that his predictions, while not entirely accurate, were not off by
much. The students paid attention from time to time, but still did what they wanted whenever
they could. At least they didn't talk too loudly or leave the classroom. There were some who,
however, tried hard to be good students within that group. Roberto soon discovered that he
lacked the backbone to be the strict teacher that he’d set himself to be, so many of his students
began to get too casual with him since he was too permissive with them. His coworkers talked
to him about it several times, but even though Roberto understood, he didn't know how to
change. At least they were all good guys.
He sighed tiredly. It was lunchtime, and he went to the classroom for his next group after
finishing his meal. He sat at the desk to review papers and assignments as the break ended. His
work style was the type that at the beginning of the class he had everything neatly arranged on
the desk, but as the minutes went by, more and more things piled up until everything was a mess.
Between papers, books, and notebooks, he tried to put everything in order while he continued
reviewing the tasks of the group he had just been with. When he finally arranged everything in a
way that he felt comfortable with, he threw himself entirely into his work, until he came to the
work of a certain student.
<<Joel Bautista… Speaking of the devil>>, he thought. <<He's not a bad boy, but he's often late for
class, falls asleep all the time, and sometimes leaves the room without saying anything or responding when I call
him. I’ve never seen him talking or interacting with his classmates, nor does he participate in class. If I think
about it, have I ever heard his voice? I think that on some occasion he said “good morning” to me ... but I don't
remember well.>>
Roberto kept reviewing the papers while he thought about it. When he started teaching at
that school, the other teachers gave him a small, very modest welcome party, in which some had
told him about Joel Bautista, the openly transgender boy at the school. The previous year he had
caused a lot of problems with his attitude, in addition to the fact that the students said they’d
seen him throwing things at nothing, like bottles, water and stones, and that he used to get lost
staring into space and talking to himself. Several times they’d tried to contact his parents about
it, but they’d never responded. Certain teachers wanted to help him and see if he had any
problems at home or at school, and one even offered to take him to the doctor, thinking he was suffering from some kind of stress or other psychological problem. But all had been rejected
and pushed away in a sharp and cold way, which some considered even rude.
This had earned him a couple of punishments, which he accepted without question. He’d
also gotten into fights with other students, which got him suspended from school for a while.
Near the end he was about to get expelled, but somehow managed to save himself and go onto
his second year. All those teachers had told Roberto that he should not get carried away by that
boy's rhythm, and that he should be very strict with him. Some even seemed to take advantage
of his bad attitude to make comments about him being trans, referring to him as “Joela” or
saying that he “should better start learning how to cook” behind his back. Roberto thought he
understood where his mistrust of the teachers came from, and as a fan of cooking himself he
felt slightly annoyed.
“I wonder what's wrong with him?”, he spoke to himself in a low voice. “If I knew, could I
help him…? I doubt it. I'm not into that ‘advisor teacher’ thing, I wouldn't know what to say to
him. Does he have problems at home? Because here at least it doesn't look like he's being
harassed by his peers. Rather the opposite; they ignore him as if he didn’t exist. Some teachers,
on the other hand… it's as if they scold him even for going to class.”
Engrossed in these meditations, he finished reviewing all the works. Joel's was a perfect fit
on the group's average.
“His work doesn't stand out, but he's never missed a single task. And although he’s late and
sometimes leaves without permission, he hasn’t missed a day of my class.”
It seemed that he had everything for success, but for some reason he didn’t take it. It was a
mystery.
The day ended without any major setback. Roberto got ready to go home, saying goodbye to
the students and teachers. He walked along the sidewalk, crossing several streets, until he caught
a glimpse of the bus stop. But then he realized that the bus he had to take to get home was
already there, about to leave. Roberto was still a good distance away, so he hurried and ran to
try to catch up with it. His suitcase, full of his work supplies, shook violently at the same pace
as he ran, constantly hitting him on the back and hindering his run as the bus began to pick up
speed.
Nearby and passing through that same street was a construction site, and heavy machinery
could be seen and heard lifting dirt and other materials. The street and the sidewalk were partially
closed to make it easier for the operators to maneuver, which caused a traffic jam in the area.
Roberto saw it and thought he could catch the bus there if he ran fast enough.
On one side of the street, where the work began, they had placed wooden boards as a wall to
separate the construction area, while there were some simple fluorescent bands where the
sidewalk was. Within that bounded space that cut through it, there was a huge unfinished hole
that yawned into the earth several meters deep, but for the moment the workers were focused
on other tasks and there was hardly anyone around.
Finally, the bus reached the traffic zone and stopped moving, so Roberto quickened his pace.
People walked by, each focusing on their own day. When he was close to the area where the
road ended and the hole began, he prepared to quickly cross the street between the cars to reach
his ride home.
So engrossed was he in this, that his mind and his eyes were not focused on anything other
than the street and the bus, so he forgot about the people around him. Suddenly, a person who
was not in his field of view before appeared out of nowhere, and Roberto was too slow to dodge.
His left shoulder collided with them, causing him to do a 180–degree turn and lose his balance.
The person, who was a young woman, fell on the ground. As for Roberto, the momentum he
was carrying from the race caused him to take several steps backwards, and he waved his arms
to regain his posture in an attempt to complete the full turn and continue running after the bus.
And he probably would have made it, if it weren't for the fact that he ran out of floor.
Where his foot expected to find firm ground, what he found was an immense amount of
nothingness that made it impossible for him to continue his horizontal course. Roberto felt a
slight pressure on his back, caused by the phosphorescent band of the construction zone that
had just broken under his weight. Then a shiver ran through his entire body as he felt his upright
position and center of gravity being lost. The sky, blue and with a few clouds, appeared in front
of his nose, which was no longer holding his glasses. He barely screamed. Felt as if his heart
stopped. In less than two seconds he was at the bottom of the hole in the construction site,
smacking his back and head squarely against the hard, uneven ground. He lost consciousness on
the spot.
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