Blue Day. Formerly B Day. Day 22.

What bitter dawn is darker than a dawn that brings the clouds of betrayal and veils even a half moon?

Heartbreak. Betrayal. A death that cannot be mourned for even to breathe a whisper of it is to feel shame. A death of the soul and the lost light of dream's torches, that light the night's path to morning. That is the heartbreak of betrayal.

I write of betrayal because today after lunch one of my students came back on time but did not enter the classroom. He stood outside in the hallway talking to a friend. How can one with such malice crouched inside have a friend? I would suspect the friendship will be fleeting for soon he, the friend, will also feel the broken dagger of trust forsaken.

A student. Late.

He stood in the hallway and he looked me directly in the eye and did not return to the classroom. He stared in to me and knew I stared back and a small smile of the eyes lit around his brow. Each eye a path into the darkest hollows of man's ability to break what was already broken and rebuilt into even smaller pieces again, and once more, again. He stared at me daring me to call him back. Daring me to go into the hallway and say "it's time. Come sit down." But did I do that? No I did not. I would use the quiet crushing weight of institutional education to bring him to heel. While he continued on in conversation I quietly opened Basis. I scrolled to the pull down bar for referrals. One quick click on disciplinary referrals and a new field appeared. He stared in and smiled. We were locked in bitter contest, his of willful tardiness, mine fifty-four years of suppressed bullying and heartache. Today I would break and he would break with me, and in one last act of defiance he would literally seal his own fate. For I had quietly typed in his student number and added consequence after consequence knowing full well how hungry the discipline machine of Cypress Bay had become and I knew it craved to feed. I would send it a morsel.

When my wayward student, a student I had hand chosen, and signed into my class, finally entered the room I invited him to my computer. "Push the enter button I said." He read the screen and knew he had lost. Our trust was gone so why not completely destroy what was left. The referral was written it just needed to be sent. "Push the enter button. Push the enter button that will send your soul to Saturday School." His hand shook. He pleaded. "Push the button or I add another day..." and with a small stroke of a key he finished his own referral. We were both broken, and I am still broken. But I will be home on Saturday watching cartoons. He will be in school by his own actions both in heart and in body probably picking up trash.

Don't. Come. Back. To. Class. Late.