By: Auria Araghi

Apparently Woodward was impressed after I declogged their Lost-and-Found because they later called asking to hire me full-time.  The offer struck me as unexciting, but money was tight; an aging detective isn’t attractive in a market bloated with spry youths, no matter how famed and world-classical I may be.  They say time weathers all, ‘they’ long buried under. I guess they had a point.  In hindsight, as I’m sitting here stuck in a cramped classroom site to nothing but an empty desk and a flimsy chair, I think I may have been the unlucky choice of a surplus stretched thin, and now I lean back in my seat stuck between a rock and a hard place, but really between a desk and nothing at all; it’s always the metaphorical rocks that cramp you the most.

My ID labels me as a “Conflict Mediator,” though this room is giving me some conflicts of my own… Really, I doubt I’ll have to do much.  Third parties aren’t terrifically apt at mediating problems, just settling them.  They store pent-up feelings in a box out of sight, in a landfill of harsh misunderstandings, just so they can grapple back out again.  Garbage men dump out all that trash somewhere, but it’s still trash.  The school hired me as a garbage man.  At least the room doesn’t smell bad.  Regardless, I’ve zero experience contemplating my own issues.  They come and go, like a garbage truck, and I don’t think about them much.  Detectives aren’t egocentrics, after all.

The only silver lining to each day is my lunch break.  The bell rings true the end of class for other, unluckier faculty, and it signals but another lumbering minute for me, except for when those last ten minutes drag away from noon, bold and heroic. Each right-afternoon, I never fail to prepare a parisienne ham sandwich with American cheese — a culinary melting pot — and I set my chair facing the window behind me.  They stuck me up on the second floor, so the view’s decent, but I mostly just look up at the sky, thinking about whatever world-class detectives think about.  There’s probably some profound stuff up there, in my mind, in the sky. Sometimes, though, I look down, and I see students hungry or full or eating, and they move funnily.  From up here, they’re clumps of ants huddled in pods, carrying food less than ten times their weight, and they march out away from the windowpane like they’re being pushed along by a conveyor belt, like they aren’t really marching.  It seems pleasant.  They must be comfortable.  I try to think back, back a long ways off, and I try to remember which clump I belonged to.  I can’t remember.  Maybe time really weathers all.

“Oh,” A boy was at the door, carrying a lunch bag.

I nodded, “Hello.”  

The student took a few steps back, “Sorry,” and he was gone.

Strange.

“Actually,” the boy was back at the doorside. “Can I eat my lunch here?”  

I drew my legs from the table and sat straight.  The room would be less cramped with another person.

“I don’t see why not.  Let me get another seat, then.”

“No, it’s fine.  I usually sit over there.” The boy walked over and set his lunch by the corner of the doorside wall, sitting cross-legged and straight, leaning far up against the wall.  Youths’ backs and their girderish endurance: that’s what time goes after first.  

“Thank you,” he said, and he started for his food.

“I seem to have taken your room,” I said. “My apologies.”

“It’s fine.”

The boy was staring off out the window, chewing on his sandwich and swallowing, and he stared off some more before going for another bite.  Dangerous thoughts…

“What’s your name, son?”

“Lucas.”

“That’s a fine name.  I knew a Lucas once, back when I was working full time as a detective.  Wily criminal, he was.  I wonder if he’s on parole by now.” I must’ve said something strange, because Lucas was giving me some kind of look.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked.

“No, it’s not that.  You were a detective?”

Oh-ho.  Someone’s asking the right questions.  I leaned forward in my seat.

“Son, do you know who Aster Athens is?”

Lucas shook his head.

“Oh!” He pointed at my ID. “You’re Aster Athens?”

“Brilliantly deducted.  Indeed, I am.”

“So what did that criminal do?”

“Confidential.”

“Oh…” He looked at me for a little longer, then went back to his sandwich.  He seemed disappointed.  I was not one to disappoint.

“But seeing as how the statute of limitations has long passed, I’d be more than willing to share.”

“I don’t think that’s how that–”

“Mr. Athens.” Outside the door, a teacher stood with two students.  None of them looked very happy, but the teacher was the most fed-up by far.  Her glasses were on crooked and her eyebrows seemed permanently scrunched, like two paper clips were pinning them to her eyelids.  I’d be angry if I had paperclips pinning my eyebrows.

“Mr. Athens, I think these two could do well with some conflict mediation.”

“Really?” One of the boys asked.

“Yeah, really?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” Her scowl deepened, right to the edges of her chin.  It was a dreadful scowl.

“I-I mean, yes, they really could do well with some.  Come here, boys.  Thank you, ma’am.”

“Right.” She nodded and left, and now Lucas and I stared at the two misfits.  They looked identical.  Someone must’ve cut them out as paper snowflakes because, standing side-by-side, they exercised perfect symmetry, down to the way they stood on their feet.  Even their shoelaces were tied the same, knots and all.

I sighed.  “Let’s make this quick.  What are your names?”

“Drew.”

“I’m Andrew.”  

Lucas snorted.

“Your parents weren’t very creative, were they?” I asked.

They looked at each other, then back at me.

“We’re not related.”

“Oh. What are you here for?”

Andrew stepped forward.  He was holding two sheets of paper, and he held them out to me.

“We cheated,” he said. “But that’s not the problem.”

“The problem is we don’t know who cheated off who.”

“Well, I know.  Drew just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Drew scoffed. 

“Shut up, Andrew.”

“Shut up, Drew.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Ye-oh, you almost got me.”

They went on like that, like two bulls without horns.  In their crossfires, I managed to grab the papers out of Andrew’s flailing hand.  Really, I planned to let them be, but the situation intrigued me, though I think anything could intrigue me now.  I think it amused Lucas, too.  So diligently staring out the window, he couldn’t hide the wrinkles pricking around his eyes.  I kicked back in my seat and held the papers above my head.

“I’m hungry, Drew.”

“Me too, Andrew.”

“Hey, Mr. Athens, what’s your lunch bag looking like?”

“Empty,” I said.

“He said it was empty, Andrew.”

“I heard.  Hey, kid, what about you?”

They turned to Lucas. 

“Sorry?”

“That sandwich looks pretty big.  You’ll be stuffed for sure.”

“And that lunch bag looks pretty full.  No way you can eat all that.”

Lucas paused, and he looked at his lunch bag.  After a moment, he grabbed it and dumped its contents on the floor.  

“Empty,” he said. “Help yourselves.”

And so Drew & Drew scrambled for first dibs on the Cheetos, then the bagel, but Drew had to eat it plain because Andrew got the cream cheese, and the banana was left untouched.  They sat huddled with Lucas in their corner.  I don’t think Lucas was really full, but he looked happier than he did staring out the window.

*

The next day, coming back from whatever staff meeting I slept off to, I found Lucas and the two boys waiting by the door.  So was Ms. Paperclip, in the company of a sullen-looking pair of students.

“Mr. Athens,” she said. “I trust you’ll be able to straighten these two out.”  I reached for my keys to unlock the door.  

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Good…good.  And what about these two?” She nodded at the Drews.

“I’d say their conflict is just about mediated.  Only some…post-conflict reflections are necessary.”

“Very good.” She adjusted her glasses, but they still stayed crooked.  “I’ll hold them to it in class, then.  Good day, Mr. Athens.”  Ms. Paperclips walked away to a room a few doors down.  I didn’t realize her class was so nearby.

“Are we really doing those reflections?” Drew asked as I clicked open the door.

“Go look at a mirror if you want reflections.  Now come in, and stay in here today for good measure.  You two do the same.” I pointed with my keys to the boy and girl the teacher left.  They understood.

Inside the room, Lucas and the Drews went to the corner with their food.  The other two stood awkwardly in front of the desk.  They kept some space from each other.  I sat down.

“Reason for visit?” I asked.  I was enjoying playing as a professional; maybe I should get a notepad.  They didn’t say anything, though.  “Reason?”  They shuffled about, stalling.  The girl looked to the boy, and she started:

“Sir, do you think a bullet would pop a balloon?”  The corner went silent.  The other student covered his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry?”

“Like, if it was a really tightly-knotted ba-”

“It would! It would pop it!” the boy yelled. “Why in the world would you think-”

“But has anybody ever tried it before?”

Andrew piped in.  “Nobody’s tried flying to the sun, but we know that it’ll fry you.”

“Yeah, that was my other question.”

“Oh, my gosh…” The boy was having a real tough time of it.  He was pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering, “Oh, my gosh… Oh, my goodness…” while shaking his head, really overdoing it.  The girl flicked around from side to side, looking for an answer.  “Well?”

“Well,” I said. “A balloon’s made of latex.”

“Right.”

“And a bullet’s harder than latex.”

“Right.”

“So we can’t really tell.”

“Aw, really?”

“Oh, my god.”

“You, there, boy.” He lifted his head to me.  His nose was pink.  “What grade are you in?”

“I’m a junior,” he said.

“Then you’ve passed third grade science.  Have you ever heard of the scientific method?”

“Oh, my–”

I rose from my chair.

“Step number 5 of the scientific method: conduct an experiment!” I pumped my fist up into the air.  So did the girl, and the Drews, all four of us ready to crack a case.  Lucas looked confused, and that other boy had his fingers clawed in his hair, but true curiosity makes room for dissenters.

*

We did not conduct the experiment. We did pop the balloon with a Nerf gun, though, so I guess that boy was right.  I later learned that his name was Matthew, and he and Leila made a pentagon of the triangle that was occupying the corner of my room.  Matthew was there just to rub it in, though.

One day, in the middle of lunch, another student came by.  She had lopsided glasses teetering by the ear.

“Hello,” I said. “How can I help you?”  My notepad stayed in the drawer.  The others were talking in their clump.  The girl came through the door and said, “You’re the conflict mediation…er, right?”  Behind the glasses, I could see her eyes were red.

“I am the conflict mediationer,” I said.  “What’s wrong?”

“Well…” She looked at the others, off to their own cramped corner.  They were still talking.  She lowered her voice.  “Did nobody else come by?”

“No,” I said.  She paused.

“Right.” Her voice came out as a croak.  The others stopped talking.  All eyes were on her, except for Lucas’.  He gestured to the door, and they took their lunches and left.

“Was somebody supposed to come?” I asked.

“No.  Well, not really, but–” She took off her glasses.  Her sleeves were soggy after a while, before she collected herself.  “I hoped they would.”

“Hmm.”  I got up and went to the window.  Fog made the glass misty, but I could still see the clumps.  The student came up next to me, looking out.

“Some part of me was hoping…It’s stupid, really.  Conflict mediation, they wouldn’t come here… Who comes here? But I was still hoping…” She looked out the window longer.  Her eyes blanked.  “This window’s terrible.”

I laughed.

“I agree.  I’ve been meaning to get curtains installed, the view is so dreadful.”

“Absolutely terrible.”  Her mind was blank.  Blanked minds spill everywhere.  “We’re up way too high.  Nothing should look so… culminated.  Like clouds.  All clouds do is rain.”  She turned away and watched the corner.  “I don’t want to be a cloud.  I don’t want to be a droplet, either.”

“You’re walking a thin rope,” I said.  She thought for a moment.  Or maybe she didn’t.  Blanked minds drown everything.

“Good,” she said.  I could see the indents the glasses made under her eyes.

*

I quit my job as a conflict mediator that month, less than a month from when I started.  Even after hanging curtains, the unpleasantness slipped through.  I explained to Lucas that he and his friends couldn’t use the room anymore, and he understood.  He said he preferred to eat outside, anyway.  I think he and the girl became friends.  I think they’ll go on to make many more.

Myself, I called Ms. Paperclip, who’s real name is Madeleine, and asked her for a date.  She was glad to hear that.  For her, time weathered far too little, from when she didn’t want to remember.  For me, too.