The Minor Character

"Jonathan." I reluctantly take my eyes off my notes. "Yes, Ms Williams?" "Jonathan, be so kind and show Arthur where Munich is." "Alright, Ms Williams," I say, shooting a glance at the lanky guy in the striped shirt standing in front of the world map like a martyr facing the chopping block. Ms Williams’ square lens-framed eyes are watching me attentively. As I pick up the pointer to show him where Munich is, she unconsciously licks a corner of her small, plump lips—sticky with raspberry-pink lipstick. Ms Williams is twenty-five and she teaches geography. She is only been teaching at our school for two weeks and ever since she arrived, for some reason, the students (mostly the female half) have completely lost interest in geography. "Thank you, Jonathan," Ms Williams says softly, making some notes in her personal notebook—one with lilac pages in a pink grid pattern. Forty-eight sheets, shiny cardboard cover, featuring a photo of a Siamese kitten. Retail price: no more than a dollar. I have walked past dozens of them in the stationery aisle. In the few seconds I spent studying her notebook, the classroom filled with a very audible rustling and whispering—rich in mystery and laced with deep scorn. Ms Williams sets the notebook aside and sweeps the classroom with a particular kind of look. The whispers vanish instantly. "Sit down, Jonathan," she says, flashing me a dazzling million-dollar smile. Minimum. I nod and quickly retreat to my desk in the very back row, second to last by the wall painted in peach with a pink border. The desks, of course, are a light beige. In my opinion, that's the most disgusting and impractical color scheme they could have possibly chosen for a geography classroom. But then again, there’s probably not a single person in this whole school who’d care to hear my opinion. Not that I am eager to share it. I shoot one last glance at Ms Williams and Arthur, who’s still mumbling something at the map, and then refocus all my attention on my economics notes—an exam I have to take in a week. I am planning to apply to the nearest university in my city. Working at the 24-hour store is familiar and convenient, but I have no intention of staying there for the rest of my life. I think, in the near future, it’d be pretty nice to become... "Your dreams will never come true, Jonny." The voice was cold and unfamiliar. I lift my head and see Ms Williams perched on the edge of the desk next to mine, staring at me with a puzzled expression. She looks… a little different. Her blue eyes seem much brighter, almost too big. Maybe it’s because she took her glasses off? Or maybe it’s the fact that the lights are off? Not surprising, really; everyone is already gone home. "Jonathan, why are you still here?" Ms Williams asks. "I don’t know," I shrug. "Guess I dozed off right at the end of class. Sorry, Ms Williams. It won’t happen again." I rise from my chair and begin packing my pens and notebooks into my bag, trying to move as calmly and deliberately as possible. Is it friday today? Great. That means the store owner won’t be stopping by, so I can afford to be a minute or two late. "…but I would have noticed," I hear Ms Williams whispering softly behind me. What is she talking about? It’s me. This is just how things are. Good thing they hadn’t locked the classroom yet. Otherwise, I’d have had to crawl out the window again. And that’s the second floor, no less. Still, not the worst outcome, all things considered. "Jonathan," the new geography teacher’s voice sounds... suspicious. I zip up my bag, sling it over my shoulder, draw a deep breath into my lungs and finally turn to look at her. "Yes, Ms Williams?" "How do your classmates treat you?" Why would she even care? "They don’t, Ms Williams," I reply aloud. "What do you mean?" "They treat me like a cat treats a moldy piece of cheese that’s rolled under the couch," I say. "To the cat, cheese technically exists; it takes up a little space between the floor crack and the dust—but at the same time, it’s like it never existed at all. Our cat isn’t French and he’s not a rat, so he couldn’t care less about cheese. Especially moldy cheese. I think you understand what I mean by this, Ms Williams, don't you." "I understand…" she says, a bit thrown off. Then, as if snapping out of it, blurts out; "But that’s not okay, Jonathan!" "Oh, it’s quite okay to me, Ms Williams. May I go now? "Yes, Jon," the young teacher sighs heavily, eyeing me with a touch of disappointment. Hmm… She called me Jon, not Jonathan. What’s that supposed to mean? Then again, I don’t care. "Goodbye, Ms Williams," I say and, without waiting for her to respond, I slip out the door. When I get to our store, I run into its owner, Mrs Jackson. She is standing by the back door, muttering something under her breath, alternately checking how tightly the door is locked and nonstop tugging at its sharp metal handle. I should note that our owner is a very cautious and prudent person, so it’s no surprise that every time she enters or leaves the store, she personally checks all the locks several times. I said hello, but she didn’t react at all. Bad sign. "Is something wrong, Mrs Jackson?" I ask, raising my voice a bit. No answer. Seems like she still doesn’t even realize I exist. Just another invisible guy named Jon story. I step closer and touch her plumpy shoulder. Mrs Jackson jumps in surprise and quickly spins her whole body toward me. Such a sharp maneuver looks threatening, so I hastily step back two paces, just in case. "Oh, it’s you, Jon!" she squeals in a bass falsetto, "You scared me, you wretch!" "Sorry, Mrs Jackson." She opens her oversized purse and pulls out a handkerchief trimmed with garish pink ruffles. She brings it to her face and starts wiping her heavily sweating forehead and neck. "So, something happened, ma’am?" I ask again. "I am afraid so, Jon. We’ve got electrical problems. Neither Ernie nor I understand a thing about it and the repairman just shrugged and said he’d come ‘to sort it out properly’ on monday." "That’s awful, Mrs Jackson." "Don’t even say it, Jon. Just losses, losses everywhere…" she sniffs and buries her nose in the handkerchief. "It'll all work out, Mrs Jackson," I reassure her with expected sympathy, secretly glad she’s not about to throw a tantrum yet. "God willing… go home, Jon. There’s no point now.” "When will we open?" I ask hopefully. "In about two weeks," she answers gloomily. That’s good, just enough time for some serious exam prep. Though on the other hand, it’s bad. Extra money never hurts, but I guess I’ll have plenty of free time. After saying goodbye to Mrs Jackson, I turn the corner and walk through the narrow alley leading to my house. On the go, I pull out my keys, wondering if everyone’s already home or not. Mom mentioned some kind of meeting, and my sister should be at either a dance club, a photography club, or the same meeting she mentioned. Well, things are shaping up quite nicely... When I finally stop in front of our house, fully intent on unlocking the door, I suddenly remember one small but very annoying detail. I managed to forget my economics notes in the classroom. I toss my keys back into my bag and, before that, kick the poor innocent door with all my might. I stub my pinky toe on my right foot, fill the neighborhood with a stream of curses, and immediately stub my left foot too, striking the same unfortunate door in revenge. Of course, I could have skipped all these ritualistic dances around the house, but I just can’t leave my notebook lying on the desk all weekend. There is a huge chance that when I come back for it on monday, it’ll be gone without a trace. By the way, I took those notes slowly, painstakingly, and carefully. So I am not about to part with them so stupidly. When I run back to the school, the sky outside slowly but inevitably darkens. Too early for March. Most likely it’s because of the clouds swallowing the sky and painting it a dull gray. Rain is about to start soon. I better hurry. Jumping over two steps, I rush up the stairs to the second floor and, running down the right corridor, I slow down by the door of room number thirteen; the geography classroom. Catching my breath a little, I turn the door handle, without much hope, though still hoping it might be unlocked. The door creaked and obediently swung open. Strange. "Excuse me, Ms Williams. May I…?" I hesitantly throw into the darkness of the classroom. Silence. Well, suit yourself. I step over the threshold and make the biggest mistake in my wonderful, calm, but very short gray life. I turn on the lights.