Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock(24)
Then she flipped me off and walked away.
That’s our valedictorian.
Our finest.
Trish MacArthur.
“How do you know what you would have done if you were forced by your government to commit crimes but you still wanted to be a good parent?” Herr Silverman says. “Were the Germans evil or were they responding to the social and political climate of their day?”
My classmates are mostly baffled.
As I listen to their whiny answers and attempts to place themselves on high moral pedestals, I realize the gap between them and me is widening as we get older.
The lies are so vivid, they’re beginning to burn out my retinas.
Today’s lecture pisses off the übermorons big-time, like the truth always does. And yet it makes me feel comforted somehow, not because Nazi officers did horrible things, but because Herr Silverman is trying to expose what everyone else in the world hides at all costs.
It’s a depressing reality, how my classmates make love to their ignorance, and I mostly tune out and wait for class to end so I can give Herr Silverman his present and be closer to the Leonard Peacock finish line.
NINETEEN
When the bell rings, I stay seated.
Herr Silverman dutifully stands by the door and says good-bye to each student as he or she leaves.
I can tell he cares about everyone—even the stupidest among us.
It’s like he’s a saint or something.
Most kids rush out without even making eye contact, although Herr Silverman tries to give everyone his or her own individual good-bye.
It makes a difference, let me tell you, even if the übermorons in my class don’t appreciate it.
There have been days when Herr Silverman was the only person to look me in the eye.
The only person all day long.
It’s a simple thing, but simple things matter.
“So,” Herr Silverman says as he closes the door.35 “You wanted to speak with me.”
“About that question I asked in class today,” I say.
He sits down at the desk next to mine and says, “Ah, what to do with the Nazi gun.”
“Yeah. Do you think it’s possible to turn an object with a negative, horrible connotation into something that has a positive connotation?”
“Sure,” he says.
I expect him to say more but he doesn’t, which makes me feel flustered and unsure of what I should say next, so I reach into my backpack and pull out a small box, wrapped in pink. “This is for you.”
Herr Silverman smiles and says, “Why do I get a present?”
“I’ll tell you after you open it.”
“Okay,” he says, and then begins to peel off the pink paper very carefully. He opens the little box, looks up, raises his eyebrows, and says, “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yeah, it’s the Bronze Star medal my grandfather was awarded for killing some high-ranking Nazi back in World War Two.”
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Well, for a lot of reasons. Most of which I can’t really explain properly. That’s why people give presents, right? Because they don’t know how to express themselves in words, so you give gifts to symbolically explain your feelings. I got to thinking that the world would be a better place if they gave medals to great teachers rather than just soldiers who kill their enemies in wars. And with all the talk of World War Two in here and trying to make sense of horrible things, well, I just thought that I could turn the negative aspect surrounding that medal to a positive by giving it to you. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know. But I want you to have it, okay? It’s important to me. Maybe you can keep it in your desk drawer and whenever you get to feeling like maybe teaching isn’t worth it anymore you can think of that crazy kid Leonard Peacock who loved your class and gave you his grandfather’s Bronze Star as a reward for being an excellent teacher. Maybe it will help you keep going. I don’t know.”
“I’m honored, Leonard—truly,” he says, looking me in the eyes all serious, like he does. “But why did you give this to me today?”
“No reason, I guess. Today seemed like a good enough day,” I lie, but my words sound shaky.
“Do you have your grandfather’s gun from World War Two?” he asks, which freaks me out.
“What?” I say, all surprised, and suddenly I realize I’m inking my name into the desk.
I wonder why I’m doing that.
Then I wonder why Herr Silverman isn’t telling me to stop graffitiing on school property.
“I’m just going to say this, Leonard, and I hope you won’t take offense. Sudden changes in appearance. You did cut your hair, right?”
I just keep inking my name into the desk over and over again.
“Giving away treasured possessions. These are clear signs. Suicidal people often do these things. I’m worried you might be at risk.”
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