His name is Beno and he was in my class for three days. His proof of residency was a one week paid receipt at a nearby motel, and he was a mess.
It was a Tuesday morning, and smiling I welcomed him in and introduced him to the class. I showed him to his seat, gave him a pencil and some paper, (he didn’t have anything) and went to find him a math textbook.
I wasn’t far away when a pencil sailed by my head and crashed into the wall across the room. Spinning around I asked,
“Okay, who threw that pencil?” At which point the entire class pointed at Beno. That’s when I heard the four words that would become Beno’s mantra for the next three days,
“I didn’t, they’re lying!” There were times I call him over and he’d repeat these words before I even said anything.
I got a sneak peak into Beno’s life that first afternoon when I walked him out of the building to meet his parents and discuss the day’s behavior. We stood there waiting for his parents and he pointed to an approaching car.
I’m the first one to argue that the car you drive is not a reflection of who you are. And I couldn’t car less if the parents of my student’s drive a Rolls Royce, or a Ford Pinto. However, the condition of Beno’s family car was a sad, yet quite accurate depiction of this poor boy’s life.
Except for the doors, the trunk lid and the hood, it was mostly kind of a faded, burnt orange. The trunk lid was white, the hood was primer gray, and the doors were different shades of blue. Any hints to the small, two-door car’s make or model had been removed by the miles, or quite possibly by little malicious hands.
As it pulled up, I stepped closer to the curb, strapped on a smile and stuck out my hand to meet Beno’s parents. The man behind the wheel never shook my hand. Pointing to the lady in the passenger’s seat he blurted out,
“I ain’t his daddy!” The lack of eye contact and the inflection in his voice screamed,
“We’ve heard it all before.” I stood there reporting on Beno’s behavior to his mom. I tried to start off positive, but there wasn’t much of anything positive that I could think of.
“I’m glad Beno’s in my class, here’s a list of a few supplies he could use. However, as for his behavior…”My words drifted in and out of the car like the smoke from her cigarette.
During our discussion I couldn’t help but notice the condition of the interior of the car. It reminded me of the inside of a destruction derby car. Everything that could be removed and sold for some quick cash was gone. The radio, the door panels, the rearview mirror, even the backseat was gone. As the driver pulled his seat forward so Beno could climb in and sit/lay on a pile of dirty towels and pillows that were a makeshift backseat, I noticed the lack of seat belts and the two-by-four holding the front passenger’s seat in an upright position.
That’s when the truth became all too clear. Beno wasn’t a student in my class. I was simply an easy free babysitter for a couple of people who were just trying find a way to make a few bucks, and possibly stay one step ahead of the law before moving on to the next motel.
After school on Thursday I told his mother that, because of his behavior, if he wanted to go on Friday’s field trip then she would have to go as well.
She said she’d go, and they drove off. As I watched the sad little car drive away, Beno's head popped up and he flipped me off through the back window. I couldn’t help but think that his mom had told him to do it.
Beno was absent on Friday, and I never saw him again. The office checked with the motel and they had split in the middle of the night, taking with them everything in the tiny motel room that wasn’t bolted down…TV and all.
That was six years ago, and Beno would be about 17 years old by now. I wonder what kind of life he’s having? I wonder if he’s ever been in jail? I wonder if he’s ever been abused? I wonder if he’s ever fallen completely and hopelessly in love with the girl of his dreams? I wonder if he ever wonders about a teacher he had for three short days back in 2000?
Beno, where are you?
I wonder…
