Victor

I stop at Victor’s table at lunch.

He’s eating an egg salad sandwich

and reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X.

He looks up at me,

chewing.

“Hi, Victor,” I say. “Do you want to sit with us?”

I turn to where Stacey’s sitting

so Victor can see who we are.

“Oh,” he says,

and shrugs. “Thanks.”

He looks at his book

but doesn’t close it.

I look at Stacey and shrug.

She shrugs back.

Then I say to Victor,

“Well, we want to tell you . . .

you should carry only the books you need

and keep the rest in your locker.”

I want him to look up

so he can see my smile,

and know I’m only trying to help.