The Disregarded

By Jason A. Wendleton

Gently drifting high in the heavens, a fluffy gray cloud obscured the late afternoon sun. Far below, the college campus was bathed in premature darkness. Classes were in session, leaving only a few students milling about the concrete paths snaking across the grounds. The sun became visible again, the warmth of the sun striking the cool grass. A strong breeze blew in from the west, lifting a bright blue plastic bag off the ground. Dancing in the rapidly moving air, the bag catches the eye of Martin Thompson.

Martin is an adult child; his face is boyish and shines with an inner youth. He unceremoniously marches towards the floating bag. Snatching it quickly, he crams it into the trash sack tied to one of his belt loops. After disposing of the bag, he continues hunting the grounds for trash. He heads for the Campus Center, a large gray building, in search of cigarette butts. Many of the faculty and students like to smoke near the Center. By the end of the day there is an entire mountain of bent and twisted cigarette ends.

Reaching the benches near the front doors he spies his quarry. Using a long metal rod with a pair of claws at the end, he gingerly removes every single butt. Each bit of trash is given the same care, as though they were made of precious glass. Soon his trash sack feels heavy, usually the sign that his shift is almost over. Voices begin to percolate slowly into the warm air; classes are now beginning to let out. As the campus roars back to life, Martin patrols the campus paths one last time.

Many see him, day after day. Few, if any ever gave him a second thought. Martin was just another part of the scenery—like the timed hedges or the trees. No one tired to talk to him, he was regarded a non-person. Martin tired to reach out, usually to the girls on campus, but their conversations were always short lived. He wound his way back to the maintenance shed, stopping only once to pluck a wad of gum off the pavement.

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The yellow school bus grinded to a halt. After making sure that traffic had stopped, the bus driver turned to the children behind him. The children were relieved to be headed home, they laughed and chatted quietly. Everyone one of them but little Charlie Johnson. The bus driver could see him, sitting alone at the back of the bus.

Must be Thursday, the bus driver thought. Only time this kid gives me trouble is on Thursdays.

“Hey Charlie, quit pretending like this isn’t your stop,” the driver said. “Get up here!” Very slowly, and with great trepidation, Charlie climbed his way towards the front of the bus. “Watch your step, son.”

The bus doors savagely bit the air as they snapped shut behind the little boy. Shuffling down the sidewalk, he headed for home. Charlie was short; in fact, he was the shortest boy in his class. He wore thick prescription glasses and always carried a yellow thermos. Many of the boys and girls in Mrs. Chestnut’s fifth grade class wondered about the thermos. Very rarely did anyone see Charlie use it, but he was never without it. Today was no exception, as he made his way home he cradled it under his left arm.

Charlie reached the fifth house on the left, 1883 Sycamore Drive. Dark blue paint chips collected underneath the front window like lead tears. Yellow and white dandelions dotted the front yard; they kissed the ground as the breeze blew by them. Approaching the yard, the little boy’s spirits picked up considerably when he noticed the driveway empty. Climbing the front steps, he could hear his mother already calling his name.

“Charlie? Is that you?” Her voice was young, but her inflection carried a weight beyond her years. “I’m in the kitchen, please come in here for a sec.”

After he’d carefully wiped his feet, and hung up his jacket, Charlie headed for the darkened kitchen. The house was always dimly lit; Charlie’s mother didn’t like using the electricity. Sunlight poured into the little kitchen through a small, square window. The light shined right into Charlie’s eyes as he entered the room.

“Honey, I have some bad news,” the silhouette of his mother said. “Clara is sick and can’t baby-sit you tonight. I can’t miss class tonight, so mommy still has to go…”

“Does that mean I get the house to myself?”

“Now you know better than that! What kind of a mother would I be if I left you home all alone?” she sighed, her frustration nearly getting the better of her. “Get your stuff, the cabs going to be here any minute now.”

Charlie couldn’t have been happier. Clara wasn’t going to be watching him tonight—and now he was getting to go to school with his mother! Following her into the living room he smiled, grabbing his jacket and thermos. Together they walked out the front door and waited for the taxis to arrive.

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Now that his shift was over, Martin sat in the student lounge quietly drinking a soda. Because he wasn’t able to drive himself, he was forced to wait for his mother to pick him up after work. Martin didn’t care, he liked being on campus, it made him feel popular. Getting up to throw away his empty Coke can, he spotted the janitor, Delmar.

“Hi Delmar,” Martin said throwing his hands high over his head. “You need to clean up this mess!”

The gray haired janitor chuckled at Martin’s impression of their boss, Mr. Nelvin.

“I tell ya Marty, old Nelvins’ in a bad mood tonight, you best be careful son.”

“Aww, I will Delmar,” Martin smiled. “I’m going home soon anyways, momma gonna be here soon.”

Delmar smiled and nodded, then returned to his mop. Martin watched the sopping mop squirm over the emerald tiles. Grunting, Delmar hefted the mop back into the bucket of water.

“Gee that looks awfully heavy…”

Smiling at Martin’s interest in the mop, Delmar stopped working and said, “You know what? This sure is hard work, mopping this floor all by myself…”

“Oh! Oh! Let me help, please!”

Delmar squinted, “You sure? After all, you are off the clock.”

Martin nodded enthusiastically, forcing Delmar to relinquish the mop to him. Sitting down, the old janitor watched the younger man do his work. It never ceased to amaze Delmar how much pleasure Martin got out of simple, everyday things. This love for the common place gave many the false impression that Martin was an imbecile. Delmar knew better, though.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a harsh voice boomed. It belonged to their supervisor, Mr. Nelvin. “Boy, how many times do I have to tell you—when you aren’t on the clock don’t work!”
Mr. Nelvin was a thick man who always wore brown overalls. His muscular arms sunk into the wooden mop handle, Martin gave it up without a fight.

“It’s not Marty’s fault, Mr. Nelvin,” Delmar said, jumping to his feet. “I asked him to help me. See, my arthritis been acting up again...”

Nelvin silenced him by raising a thick and calloused hand close to Delmar’s craggy face.

“Don’t make excuses, just don’t let this happen again,” he turned to Martin. “Your caseworker don’t like it when she finds out we’ve been working you without pay.”

While this was true, Nelvin was really just angry to be angry. He didn’t really care who mopped the lunchroom floor, just that it was done. Mr. Nelvin hated Martin. Hated him to his very core. Not because he was a slow worker, or that he spoke like a child—it was Marvin’s endless smile that bothered him. The innocent happiness plastered across his slightly crooked lips, that was what Nelvin loathed.

“I’m sorry mister Nevlins,” Martin said.

Delmar stifled a laugh, Martin always seemed to forget how to say Nelvin’s name. Rather than correct him, however, Nelvin handed Delmar the mop and walked away. Delmar stood up and got back to work.

“See you tomorrow Delmar.”

“Night kid, see you tomorrow.”

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Charlie’s mother was in Business Economics 203 at six-thirty; she was only ten minutes late tonight. The class was taught by a wiry, blue haired lady named Jenkins. Mrs. Jenkins conducted class in the same fashion many paint a house—slowly and in broad strokes. Watching her teacher’s arm slowly sweep across the chalk board, Charlie’s mother prayed her son was staying out of trouble. He wasn’t allowed in the classroom, so she’d been forced to leave him in the library next door to the Business building. One of the friendlier librarians had agreed to keep an eye on him. School was important to her, but going to class always left her feeling guilty. Perhaps her time should be spent trying to find a better job, or finding a dad for Charlie. These dark thoughts swam through her restless mind, while outside, even darker clouds gathered.

Jet black clouds clung to the sky above the campus commons. The day’s warm breeze had turned into a cool gale. A student in a windbreaker hurriedly flung open the library’s doors, just as a few sprinkles began to fall onto the ground. The heavy steel and glass door slowly began to swing shut, but before it could close all the way—Charlie pushed it back open.

Unlike many his age, Charlie adored thunderstorms. When he was younger, he and his grandfather would often switch off the TV and simply admire the rain. Charlie spread his arms and face into the wind, hugging the fierce storm. Inside, the librarian who’d agreed to watch him discovered he was not at the table near the middle aisle. Lightning cracked overhead, causing her to jump. Surely the child was somewhere in the library. After all, what little boy would go outside in such nasty weather? Instead of panicking, she decided to check the bathrooms.

Meanwhile, outside the storm shook the common’s withering oak. Charlie was sitting on a bench, underneath the tall tree. He was watching the coeds trying to beat the rain to their cars. Humming a song he’d learned in music class earlier that day, Charlie wondered how much longer his mother would be in class. He hoped she’d take her time; he certainly wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

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Martin shivered as the wind cut into the pale skin of his face. The weather made him uneasy; he rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting for his mother to pick him up. Standing on the east side of the Commons, Martin squinted, hoping to see the familiar green Volvo roaring up to the curbside. A pretty girl carrying an armload of books marched past him, her face contorted by the wind. For an instant he considered helping her carry her books, but he stopped himself. Most of the time people pretended like they didn’t see or hear him when he offered to help. They usually just kept walking. Besides, he didn’t want to make his mother have to wait. She’d surely pull up for him any minute now.

The wind gushed; then slowly tapered off into silence. A few large droplets of water fell onto the dry asphalt. Martin’s nostrils filled with the smell of warm summer rain. A loud crash of thunder soaked through the night air, ending just as the white hot flash of lightening erupted across the night sky. For a brief instant night became day. Then there was only silence. Despite his fear, Martin’s feet were cemented to the ground. He couldn’t leave; his momma would be upset if he wasn’t waiting for her when she showed up.

The occasional droplets transformed into a blinding crescendo of hard rain. Despite the downpour, Martin stood on the curb—waiting for his mother.

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The window panes in Mrs. Jenkins classroom quaked; rain streaked violently down the vibrating glass. Charlie’s mother stared out the window, unmoving and unthinking.

“Ms. Johnson…Ms. Johnson…” the voice of her teacher pierced through the water’s hypnotic spell.

“Yes? I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Frowning, the old woman crossed her arms and repeated her question about business theory. Before Ms. Johnson could reply a bolt of lightening lit up the sky outside. There was a loud bang and the classroom lights winked out. Anxiety and confusion blanketed the room. Several of the younger students uttered a few whispered curses. A majority, however, were relieved to have the monotony of the class broken.

Mrs. Jenkins brought the class to order, “Everyone please settle down! I’m sure the power will be back on anytime now…”

A red emergency light flickered on in the hallway, the ruby light made the room’s doorway glow demonically. Thunder rumbled overhead, and then quieted. Rain splattered and sloshed against the thick roof overhead. Suddenly, Ms. Johnson thought of her son. Would he be worried about her? Charlie did like to watch the rain, but would he be scared being in a strange place? With no lights?

A loud wailing interrupted her thoughts.

“That sounds like a tornado siren!” Mrs. Jenkins said.

The other students quickly crawled under their desks, but not Charlie’s mother. Instead of cowering, she ran out the door.

“Ms. Johnson! What are you doing? Come back here!”

“I’ve got to get to my son!”

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Sloshing through the mud, Martin made his way up the path towards the Camps Commons. The charcoal colored sky swirled and churned above him. As he ran, he worried about getting in trouble with his mother. He’d wanted to keep waiting for her at the curb, but the siren had sacred him too much. As he walked, ragged chunks of hail peppered the ground. A particularly heavy piece of ice hit him on his left shoulder. Martin fell to his knees, in shock and pain. Sinking into the foaming earth, Martin began to cry. He wanted his mother, now more than he’d ever wanted her in his entire life. Hands shaking, he got back onto his feet. Taking a few hesitant steps, he slipped in the mud and landed hard on his back. Pain flared along his spine and echoed throughout his body. Twitching in the slimy ground, he found it impossible to even cry. He was about to sit up, when he heard a strange noise. Above the howling wind, rain, and thunder—Martin heard someone. Ignoring his own discomfort, he strained to make out what the person was saying.

“…help me! Please!”

Someone was in trouble! Martin rolled over onto his right side, despite the pain he managed to pick himself back up. Oblivious to the sirens, the storm, and his mud drenched clothes—he began to search for the person in trouble. His breath was hoarse and labored as he made his way to the Commons.

The old oak tree in the center of the Commons had snapped in half, it was lying over part of the concrete path leading up to the Campus Center. Splintered pieces of wood flew across the open area. The tree had fallen near a bench where Martin liked to rest his feet.

“…Mommy! Help!”

The voice was faint, but also very frantic. A normal person might not have been able to hear it, the storm drowned out all the smaller sounds. But Martin had always seemed to see and hear things a little differently that most people. His mother always told him that everyone had strengths as well as weaknesses. Whereas some people hurried through life, Martin took his time. He admired the clouds, and listened to the birds. While not perfect, his sense of hearing was tuned to the world a little differently than most. And it was this difference that saved Charlie Johnson.

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Pinned under splintered wood and soaking, mottled leaves, Charlie groaned. Unable to move or feel his right leg, the boy whimpered in the mud.

“Help me! Please!” his screams seemingly drowned out by the storm. Time seemed to move both fast and slow. The lightening zipped across the night sky at double speed; while the pounding rain dripped slowly to the ground. He should have stayed in the library, where he was warm and safe.

Am I going to die here? Is this tree going to kill me?

Screaming in pain, the boy pounded his fists on the sopping ground. A bolt of pulsing light tore across the dark sky. For an instant, Charlie swore he saw someone walking towards him. Gnashing his teeth, the boy fought to remove the titanic tree from his lower half. After a few seconds, though, he passed out with exhaustion.

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Panting and shaking, Ms. Johnson entered the library. All of the lights were still off, except for a handful of emergency lights. Wringing out her hair and t-shirt, she called out for her son. Frantic, she hurriedly approached the information desk. Peering down behind the desk, she saw the kindly librarian and most of her staff.

“Ms. Johnson, you need to get down!”

“Where’s my son?”

“We looked and looked, but we couldn’t find him. We thought maybe he’d run off and found you.”

Ms. Johnson called out for her son again, “Charlie! Charlie, can you hear me?”

Only the siren outside responded to her cries. One of the students who worked part-time shelving books got up and tried to calm the worried mother down.

“I’m sure he’s fine, probably just scared and hiding somewhere…I’ll help you look for him…”

She didn’t hear him, only the pouring rain, thunder, and the siren. Hot tears rolled down her cold cheeks. This was all her fault. Charlie didn’t belong here. Guilt painted her face with regret.
Why didn’t I get another damn babysitter?

Outside the downpour continued, but the siren’s call slowly dissipated. Slowly, the library staff got to their feet. Everyone jumped as the main doors slowly inched open. Illuminated only by the lightening outside, Martin carried Charlie’s limp body into the library foyer. As the childish man lowered him onto the wet tile, the lights flickered to life.

Charlie’s mother covered her mouth and sobbed. Gathering her composure, she walked to where her son lay on the ground. Standing over the two, she studied her son first—then the man who had found him. Her tired eyes vaguely recognized him, but she wasn’t exactly sure where or when she’d seen him before.

“He’s real hurt…”

Charlie was only semiconscious, his bloody leg quivering in the halogen light. The kindly librarian huffed and puffed over to Charlie’s mother.

“I called Campus security, they said an ambulance will be here any minute.”

Ms. Johnson uttered an almost inaudible “thank you,” then cradled her boy. Stroking her son’s head, she smiled at Martin.

Nervously, Martin backed away from the happy reunion.

“I was…he got real hurt under the tree, it fell down in the rain. That wind was real mean…”

“Thank you,” Charlie’s mother said, “thank you for saving him.”

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A week later everything was back to normal on the campus. The students and teachers fell back into their normal routine. Few, if any gave the terrible storm a second thought. Martin however, thought about that night everyday. While he emptied trash cans, and picked up the trash strewn across the school’s concrete paths—he thought about that night. Delmar had called him a hero. So had Ms. Johnson and the librarian. Once the boy got out of the hospital, however, nobody seemed to say anything about it to him. Martin was once again part of the scenery.

Once he finished his shift, he went to the maintenance shed and punched out. On his way to the parking lot where his mother picked him up, he passed Ms. Johnson. She was in a hurry, on her way to class—but she stopped and said hello.