"Everyone has urges." The teacher continued. Her mind was set on making a point. Most like every other teacher in the world at the beginning of a new school year. Making a point was the job of a teacher. Their life set to bring the kids they are teaching to realize the exquisite point of their time. And at the moment for Mrs. Waltz, this would be the point of simply this: be nice to your fellow peers.
Most of the students here were too young to connect the dots at the moment, their minds lost in a space of doodles, baseball games, and what they would be wearing the next day. Some of them might have even been thinking of the boy they liked, already the first day and they found their "true love". Yes, the love of a first grader. They were so stuck in daydreaming a life with this boy; they could barely stay intact with the reality of their life.
Yes. Almost every little boy or girl in here was thinking of anything but respecting his or her "fellow peers". I don't know if they had listened or not would have helped him, but at this point in my lifetime, it doesn't matter in anyway. Yes. Little 9 year old Maxwell. Whose hair stood out from the rest of the little kids, whose personality wasn't as loud, or obnoxious as theirs. Maxwell was a calm child, who knew very little words. Only the ones that persisted from his parents' mouth.
Maxwell had bright orange hair with blue eyes. Blue bright eyes that seemed like an ocean engulfing you. I could be exaggerating just a bit, but when I see someone, the first things I judge are his or her eyes. They show most, the color, the vibrant marble that stops me. It shows the gloom, or the melancholy, or the happiness or the madness. You can see many things from a person's eyes, you can determine their point of view on life, and how they feel when they see you. And when I see this boy's eyes, I see someone lost. Someone oblivious to what is surrounding him. I couldn't blame the child, he has all the right in the world to be oblivious. Maybe he chooses to be oblivious, maybe he refuses to see what surrounds him and his life.
"But that doesn't mean you can do as you please. You need to know that everybody deserves respect. So, no pushing, shoving, verbal abuse, fights, or such things." Mrs. Waltz declared this with a quick check mark of the subject on the chalkboard. The flimsy ruffles hanging on her bright red blouse rubbing on the messy board and smudging some white chalk on it. Maxwell was the only one to notice, but he simply sat, his hand holding his head up, and his eyes droopily staring not intently at the green square that was to help him learn. Maxwell thought nothing of it at the time. His only focus was the fly in the corner of the board. It was crawling around, making a fuss that no one else could see. This was troublesome and entertaining to him yet at the same time. The child channeled all of his thoughts on the fly.
He could only think of what the fly was thinking of. Does he want to leave? Does he feel safe? Does he know he will die in less then 24 hours? The fly had no such intentions. The fly couldn't think. It had no opinion. Something the two of them had in common. Max jumped in his seat to the sound of a loud bell. " Remember respect, students. Leave your things in here during recess." Mrs. Waltz implored this to the young kids, but really she knew they couldn't hear her over their excitement.
Max waited for the other kids to leave the room before he did. He was cautious of them. The loud and rambunctious children never paid attention to anything, he knew someone was bound to get hurt, and he wanted to make sure it wasn't him. The kids weren't very nice to him either. They didn't treat him like Mrs. Waltz described they should. They pushed, shoved, use verbal abuse, and fights or such things. It started last year, kindergarten. Can you believe it? A streak of abuse and sadness from your supposed to be friends in kindergarten. Really, I have no clue as to why the kids treated him differently so early. Maxwell was different, didn't talk much, wasn't very social. His hair surely made some kids react in such a way that wasn't acceptable. But still, he was chosen as the one to abuse, to reiterate with sadness and shame.
At the time, Maxwell thought it was normal. "Every kid starts like this." He would tell himself as he cried to sleep each night. But after a while, he realized there were 2 groups in this.
GROUP 1: The Kids
GROUP 2: Maxwell
He was the leader of his one-man ship, and he found a way to control it correctly. Surely, crying and complaining wasn't going to help. Max has gone to a teacher and just like every other story in the book she didn't believe him. One of the kids cried because they were being interrogated so much by them, of course they were going to believe them. Max's parents didn't help much either. They didn't get his back, or contributed in any way. They never listen to him really. So telling them something like that was an impossible task at hand. Max didn't think it would help anyway. He knew they wouldn't care, and therefore, wouldn't try and solve his problem.
"What are you waiting for, Maxred?" a boy teased, while throwing a scrunched up sheet of paper at his head. And so, first grade began.