Voices from the Moon

“As long as this exists,” I thought, “and I may live to see it, this sunshine, the cloudless skies, while this lasts, I cannot be unhappy.” The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature, and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As long as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.

-Anne Frank

(photos from last weekend in Uruguay)

I caught a boy cheating yesterday. On a test for a Human Rights class I assist in once a week. Before I could think of what I was doing, I was walking towards him, watching as he felt my presence and began to shuffle the papers in the pocket of his desk, and then more frantically, trying to push my arm away as I reached in to find it. And then he realized exactly what this was and he just started repeating no. I had the paper in my hand and I looked squarely at him and said yes. He began to cry, to jump when his voice hit a higher note, the action mirroring the sound. I recognized the desperation. Soy un boludo, he said in Spanish. (Like I’m an idiot, but in this context harsher). But I’m a good kid, in English. Then more no’s. He would not calm down and looking at him, his desperation, my face straight, the paper still in my hand, I thought my God what life can do. We hate ourselves, can’t help ourselves, want to be better, want for it to mean nothing. He went through it all— in front of thirty other 14-year-olds, a fact that I imagine won’t get very far away from him in the next four years, or possibly ever. He then looked at the other teacher, suddenly calm, and said I couldn’t see it, I wasn’t looking, I was just moving papers around. I stepped closer, into his line of vision, questioned him with my look. The fit began again.

It was good to see, even as I grew increasingly sorry for him. I thought of my nieces. The stakes are still so high. Like him, they still have an exact idea of what’s required of them. There’s black and white, at least in some things. Life hasn’t gotten so messy yet. They don’t yet have all the gray. 

I told him after, don’t lie again. You did what you did. You’re a good kid. You’re bright. You messed up. Don’t lie again.

When did this happen, I thought. Who am I to say these things to this boy? He was worried of what I would think of him. I, who still long for the black and white. Who’ve had the moment of desperation before— please just let’s go back to the moment just before this one when what just happened, or what I just heard, or said, or did, hadn’t yet happened.

Most of the kids failed the test. They play games on their computers every class and I watch and think— is it best that they’re at least quiet? So the ones who give a damn can hear what needs to be heard? I take phones every now and then. Say sshhh… until I remember how much I’ve always hated that sound. Though it’s necessary. But overall, I’ve been relatively patient, or unsure, waiting for a moment in which I actually see a way to say something that might mean anything to them. 

When the test was over, a few came to the front. They said that was so hard, too hard— they were complaining, of course, a professional sport around here, but there was also something else, a touch of shame, subtle.

I smile and they ask what. I say, you’ve spent the  last six weeks talking/playing games/staring at the door. And they say me? No, you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t think so, I say. And? they ask. And now you’ve failed. Then there’s a breakdown. They ask, What do we do? How? Shut up, I say. Sit at the front. Choose something else, to pay attention, to do the right thing.

Then they walk away and again I think, when did this happen?

It’s a strange thing, being human.