"I'd love to know what you are thinking about right now" I said as yet another long expanse of silence had descended upon the room.
Silence was like snow as it blanketed everything in sight.
He shifted around again and again and again, as if in time with the ticking clock.
Nervously fidgeting, trying to get comfortable as the floor he had so quickly chosen almost 30 minutes ago wasn't at all cushioned or warm.
I am fighting off tiredness that often hits near the end of the day.
Trying to focus.
I take a small drink of water, move my chair closer, sit on my hands.
Encouraging him to speak, to share, to say anything at all in anyway just to get a conversation going so that I had something, anything to work with.
He looked up at me, as if to judge to me. He seemed to be telepathically asking if he could, in fact trust me, and I was emphatically responding "yes, yes you can!"
My voice had been the sole sound in the office, aside from an errant phone call that was probably a frustrated parent, an overworked social worker, an exhausted teacher.
Focussing was such a challenge today.
Blocking the thoughts, important ones and random alike, as they attacked and assaulted my brain.
Staying present, for him, for my own sanity, was so key to my work.
Yet so hard some days.
This was one of them.
My mind drifted to a conversation with my husband that morning that did not go well. Why was it so hard to take my own advice?
Work was providing an escape from the constant challenges outside this room.
"Here things were easy" I thought as I looked at this sad and angry young man who seemed to be going out of his way to make things not easy for himself.
"I can tell you have a lot going on in your head and I know how hard it is to let someone in, especially someone like me, who you barely know. But I also know how good it feels to share, once you have."
I had spoken words like this countless times to countless students similar to him in the past.
It was an excerpt from one of my many short speeches that I truly believed.
But did he?
I was playing the part of the used car salesperson, once again, trying to get him to buy the sedan with low mileage that I knew he'd love.
Could I crack his shell?
Refusing to look at me, he mumbled how life sucked.
It was a start.
"I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you want to tell me more about how life sucks for you?"
He quickly looked up to meet my eyes. Did I really care as much as I sounded, he must have been wondering? And why? Why would anyone care for me?
"I really care and I want to listen and to help. It doesn't have to be this way."
He opened his mouth and he was shaking slightly. He looked away. And then he spoke about being alone. A lot. Like all the time.
He spoke about not caring. About anything. At all.
He spoke about being alone in his room, in the school, in the world.
I fought the urge to tell him I knew how he felt, because did I?
And then just as it felt like we were finally starting, the bell to end the school day rang.
An odd half-smile crossed his lips and he looked at me as if wondering if he was allowed to leave.
"Well, I guess it is time to go home. I really hope you come see me again soon. Tomorrow?"
He shrugged his shoulders and rose off the floor shaking his leg. "Maybe"
And he left.
Silence.
