I wanted to believe him, but belief is heavy when the world has always kept its foot on your chest. I simply nodded. He began guiding me, first gently, then deliberately. He let me eat lunch in his classroom and pretended he needed help grading. He printed practice tests without asking for payment. He spoke to me like I already belonged somewhere better.
Months passed. My grades climbed. Teachers noticed. Students noticed. Some congratulated me, more out of surprise than admiration. Others muttered excuses. “He has nothing else to do.” “Teachers feel bad for him.” “Anyone can get straight As if they never hang out.” They said these things like I could not hear them. They said these things like loneliness was a privilege.
At home, my mother’s back began to fail. She grunted softly as she bent to unlace her boots. She tried to hide it, but pain lived in her eyes. I applied muscle cream to her spine and prayed it worked. One night, while I rubbed the ointment into her skin, she whispered, “If I knew another way, I would take it. I am sorry.” I shook my head. “You do not owe me an apology.” She pressed her forehead to my shoulder. “Then let me believe that I do not.”