I use checks and zeros – as a matter of record keeping. A check fills a space – shows that something is complete. They tell us something about something. They tell us something has been done. Something is completed. Complete. Done. Checks fill spaces. They show attendance, chairs are filled when checks are checked. You are here. The check tells us so. A zero on the other hand shows empty seats. Something isn’t there. Something wasn’t done. Zeros show a need, a gap, an eternity of never ending potential. A check shows completion. A zero shows a want of something. Something needs to be added to it.
I made a zero under your name today where there should have been a check mark. For the past two weeks there have been check marks. You’ve been here every day. You’ve rarely missed. Not really ever without a reason. You’ve been in my class for months now. And in my mind for just as long; in my life. I’ve talked to my family about you; about your quiet, dismissive attitude. About your amazing intelligence and thoughtful discernment. Always seeing through my tricks and language and plans. Nothing fooled you. You saw me as I was. And I loved it. Few are as intelligent as you. Sitting quietly, making random and sometimes snide comments. Sitting back with your arms crossed. Laughing at me. I never felt so young while being around you. You always felt so old. Older than me. you knew what I was thinking, what I had planned, what my real intentions were. Potential is what I saw in you. Potential. The ability to become something more than you had been. To make something out of nothing. Not a zero. But a check.
But this morning, under your name, there is a zero. You have become a zero. And I always thought there would be a check. We never anticipate zeroes. We always anticipate checks. I always thought you would make something of yourself. Grow. Change. Rebel. And metamorphosis yourself into that amazing human that we could all see hiding inside that tough, sarcastic façade. I hoped my classroom would be your chrysalis. Emerging as something incredible and beautiful. You would become everything we saw in you. everything.
But this morning there is a zero. A simple mark to explain a pretty complex situation. Not as simple as a check mark. The zero communicates a world of possibilities. But it’s simple in its message. You’re not here. Not yesterday. Not today. Not ever. I will never get to see you become an adult. Never get to see you do the things I know you were capable of. Never get to see you become more than a check mark. Your life is gone. What used to be you is now just emptiness. My heart mostly.
I was going through my stuff the other day. Stacks of papers that seem to collect themselves in classrooms like cobwebs in an old house. I was shuffling through them, throwing away, grading, listening to music. And I found it. Something you had written. Something I hadn’t given back to you. Something I don’t think I had even read until that moment. The last thing you wrote for my class was an assignment. 20 questions. “Fill in the blanks.” I said. “Fill in this blank. I am… what? Fill in that blank. Twenty times. In five minutes. Go.” And this is what you wrote:
1. I am Travis Keasler
2. I am a drug addict.
3. I am irresponsible
4. I am skateboarding today
5. I am the youngest child
6. I am 18 years of age
7. I am a Genius
8. I am wearing a lot of black
9. I am original
10. I am different
11. I am unorthodox
12. I am getting my GED
13. I am happy today
14. I am excited about this class
15. I am Gentle
16. I am Kind
17. I am down to earth
18. I am unaffected by teenage drama
19. I am a prophet of some sort
20. I am destined to do great things
Twenty statements of incredible import. Twenty things that I could expound upon, talk about, prophecy about. Because even I am some kind of prophet. But I won’t. I will let your statement stand as they were written. Unexplained. Left to be read and wondered about. A destiny unfulfilled; a life unlived; items undone. I will leave it like my roll sheet. Without a check. Filled with emptiness. A zero. Potential never to be realized. I’ll miss you Travis.
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