One day, not long after I came back from suspension, after “Bomb Boy” took the place of my real name, I found a note slipped into my locker. I held my breath, afraid of what it could be. My fingers shook as I pulled out the flat cream-colored card from the blank envelope. I was so angry at myself for being scared. I didn’t want to cry, not at school. Not in front of everyone. That would have made it all so much worse.
But it wasn’t what I thought. It was a quote from a poet named Hafez:
I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness,
the astonishing light of your own being.
Even before I saw the signature, I knew it was from Ms. Ellis. It was exactly the kind of nice thing she’d do. Like how she could smile at you and nod her head in a way that felt like a hug when you needed it. Like she was the only one who saw you.
I slipped the note into the pages of my Global Studies textbook. I bet it’s still there. I wonder if someone found it—someone who needed those words, too. I wonder who’s using that textbook now, if they see my name on that This Book Is the Property of sticker. It’s right there, under Issued to. It’s a reminder that I had an everyday, boring old life. Like every other kid who hated Global Studies. Maybe they won’t recognize my name: Jawad Ali. But I bet they remember Bomb Boy.
More sticky residue that outlived me.