“Christopher.”

“Christopher.”

Interesting. Isn’t it? That in so many instances, in our worlds many turns of fate – the very greatest of occurrences ‘may’ commence with even the most minuscule of beginnings. Much like the ripples in a pond, I suppose. Although it’s a mere discarded pebble at first, the ripples that it creates span far and vast, further than the pebble itself could have ever imagined. In truth, no one knows the limitations imposed upon a pebble’s imagination. Yet regardless the metaphor stands to reason. For in the obviousness of this analogy, there is ‘some’ truth. And the truth is that sometimes extraordinary things happen. You may not believe it, and they may pass you by. Never the less, they will arise without warning and they come with no introduction.

There is little time now, so with the above being stated – I think I’ll say what needs saying. You see I cannot begin to implore you understand the severity of the occurrences that began that ordinary day in Ironbark Grove. Nor would I attempt to give explanation on how this day was any more ordinary than any other. It just was. Even ordinary in the universal sense, for 100 years does not change people, buildings still stand steady and the rain will always fall on whom so ever wanders beneath the greyest of clouds. Children do not change. Children have always been the same, of course there are those that skip as cherubs and speak a language of laughter. And then there are others. Those that evoke a cruelty the adult morality cannot even perceive.

I know this because I was a teacher once. The sheer mob mentality of these miniature devils never ceased to fascinate and.. horrify me. I tried like many before me to appease the more wretched of children, the ‘pack leaders’. But to no avail, ironically great hatred can embody even the smallest of beings. I had seen ‘great hatred’ many times before, the cruelty they could bestow upon each other. But new meaning would be given to hatred, the day he arrived. I never understood ‘why’ they hated him so, a primal disgust, chemical repulsions, who knows. His name was Christopher.

I first met this lad in the corridors of St Margaret’s, it was my second term in Ironbark Grove. His first day at this school, and one of the boys had broken his nose during a disagreement as he’d gotten off of the bus. I remember saying “This doesn’t look like your lucky day” and having no idea how incredibly true that was going to be, after all. Christopher did die that day. Now you’re probably beginning to assume this recollection is going to be a report of woe, an account of juvenile misery. Where one of many social outcasts fall and the world spins on as his days had never begun in the first place.

Such an assumption could be no further from the truth. You see Christopher told me he had never been to a school before, nor had he been among other children. He said he were meant to come to Ironbark Grove, and meet his end of days. Now I had known some poetic and even the odd or be them rare melancholic children in my time, but never before had I witnessed a graver and deathly somber little chap. I wanted to inquire this lad, because he was frankly the strangest person I’d came to meet. The perils of education however beckoned, and the concluding assembly bells sounded for classes to begin. My class as always, were an unruly, yet entertaining bunch. But as the lesson progressed that morning, I heard unusual commotion from Mrs. Peterson’s classroom down the hall.

The cane was sounding heavily and without remorse, whoever were taking this beating were a notorious soul indeed. Or so I would have thought. Until I heard the old wench bitterly shriek a name. It was ‘Christopher’. Placing Sally, a meek young girl riddled with freckles in charge of my class, god help her. I made for Mrs. Peterson with haste. As I neared the entry to her classroom I noticed Christopher were being pushed by the boys near the front row as he attempted to complete his fool’s lap around the desks. The dunce cap peaking humiliatingly from his head. I must admit I was far more agitated than current protocol would have dictated.

Even more so when Billy Thomas emptied the contents of his ink well across young Christopher’s books nestled within the bag the boy were probably too terrified to part with. I had readily asked Mrs. Peterson whom were unaware Christopher were a new student, what crime he’d committed to reap such a beating to his knuckles. Unsatisfied that missing an assembly due to a broken nose was a just answer, I assumed I were doing the right thing in taking the lad to join my class down the hall.

I remember wandering aside him, literally lost for what I could say in the moment but looking back there are so many things I wish I had of asked in that instant of silence. As we neared my classroom I heard them saying even as Christopher grew closer to the door “What’s ‘he’ doing here!?” I frantically looked for a pair of kind eyes, someone, anyone that wasn’t captivated by this cruel madness sweeping across this accursed school. But my eyes met none, for little Sally Moore’s eyes were locked with Christopher’s. ‘Thank Christ’ I remember thinking, just one glimmer of kindness, a single friendship was all I hoped for this student.

Seating him aside Sally, a volley of paper balls, scrunched, rustling in their preparation began to bombard Christopher and even Sally aside him. I hated how powerless I felt, for even though these children feared me, I could not control what they were making this boy feel. “Sally, be a dear and take these books back to the Library” I sputtered, adding conclusively “Oh and Christopher, be a gentleman and carry them for her would you Lad?” The calls of jealously and anger began to grow louder as a smirk spread across my face. Sally walked with the aide of a cane; I knew this little outing would buy the pair some time out of this hell-hole and away from the devils that plague it.

So I blandly dabbled through reading, writing and arithmetic to a less than enthralled audience, until salvation finally appeared. In a schoolyard salvation comes with the ringing of bells, sounding as heavenly as though angels themselves were chiming them. Making my way through a round of hopscotch and a rather haphazard game of rugby I quickly approached the library. Swiftly scanning the desks, the isles, I could see neither Sally nor Christopher. Though the returned books, piled tidily on the return-desk caught my eye.

Casually strolling through the playground I continued my search for the children, as though I’d lost a pair of lambs among the wolves. Soon enough, on the bank I caught a glimpse of two wee forms seated peacefully in amidst the thickets. I sat down on one of the benches overlooking the playground, like a warden watching over arguably crazed inmates. I figured I wouldn’t near the pair because I thought the friendship they were unionizing was quite sweet. But as one would expect, their little time together was cut short as a rock that was meant for Christopher soars fiendishly toward them, thudding painfully against little Sally’s forehead.

Instantly, the water works were on full blast, I’d heard Sally’s howls of anguish before. She weren’t the most coordinated lass, and her track record with stair cases didn’t bode well. Hailing down upon the pair several more stones were flung as I let loose a few shouts of fury, it was that bloody Billy Thomas again. I remember shouting specifically “Billy Thomas if you lift one more stone I’ll cane the fingers off of you!” knowing quite well I’d never actually used the cane in my career. The little brat darting off, fleeing into the bush, followed closely by his loyal cronies as I struggled to chase after them.

Panting near the edge of the bank I noticed little Sally were still crying as she made her way unsteadily over to me, distraught, hobbling awkward as Christopher walk behind her gesturing her cane toward her to take. I couldn’t help but pick the little lass up to carry her indoors as Christopher trailed behind. Awkwardly trudging up the stairs, I plopped young Sally on a stool as Christopher had busied himself dipping one of the nurse’s bandages into the sink; then folding with preparation so it may lie easily over a forehead. I guided Sally to lay down on the hammock for the sick children and Christopher placed the moist cloth on her forehead, methodically.

I watched curious, as this little lad seemed unusually empathetic for someone of his age. It were in this instant I realized the boy was different, extraordinary from any other I would ever come across. His serious face started to ease as he smiled placing his hand over Sally’s forehead. Slowly sitting up, Sally started to look less daunted as I attempted to restrain her from wandering off too fast with some god awful concussion. I turned to look to Christopher and it seemed blood was trailing from his forehead, trickling down almost to his nose.

Swiftly I applied the moist cloth from Sally’s head to his unforeseen wound Christopher shoed my medical assistance away and held the cloth on his own accord. Sally and I looked to one another, for even so different and at so vast stages in our lives we knew something out of the ordinary were going on, something we may remember for the rest of our lives, and that Christopher was no ordinary boy. Our first initial assumptions, may have been discarded, there were many stones hailing upon this pair. But what happened next, neither Sally nor myself could ever explain. Christopher began to run his hands down Sally’s legs. Such a strange time for inappropriate behavior I was bewildered and slightly concerned for but a moment until something extraordinary happened.

Sally’s obvious deformities in her knees started to diminish before my eyes. Sally sat up frantically, running her hands over her little knees. Her eyes still red from weeping began to glaze with tears once more; she was no longer crippled with the bone disfigurement that had burdened her life. She started to weep with shock as she stretched her legs, then sliding her feet off of the hammock she unsteadily climbed up, standing several inches taller than she’d hobbled prior. Sally began to weep and cry as tears ran over her freckle riddled bonny face, running down to lips upturned in a smile I had not witnessed before. Sally’s life had been changed in the blink of an eye. I was captivated in this heart wrenching moment, I cannot recall even noticing a reaction out of Christopher for in truth I was so happy for little Sally I was nearly overwhelmed with tears of joy myself.

Sally stretched her arms for Christopher and hauled him toward her as she hugged him tightly. I remember watching as she whispered ‘thank you’ over and over again, but the boy’s face seemed grimaced as a sharp pain seemed to bother him. As sure as he’d ridden her of one burden he’d taken it on himself, I watched in horror as the boy struggled to stand, unsteadily wobbling just as little Sally use to. I was completely lost. Such a selfless unexplainable act leaves a man completely bewildered. How can this miniature miracle martyr exist? I wondered.

As any one would ask, instantaneously as this miracle and curse concluded I sputtered out, most solemnly curious “How did you do that Christopher?” And what he said has stuck with me all these long years, he looked me in the eye and told me “Sally was never meant for this, she’s alright now though” as though giving the girl the ability to walk was as remedial as putting the moist cloth on her forehead. I glared at the lad, he was a miracle worker, and yet they all hated him. My mind was flickering with questions; I knew this boy knew things I could only ever hope to learn.

This moment were already frantic enough as Sally broke embrace with Christopher to jump up and down, bouncing with joy as she laughs and giggles kicking her legs. Scratching my head I remember feeling so much doubt and a part of me wanted to just cast doubt into the wind, accept this boy was sent by god. Of course the bell for recess began to chime, the last thing I needed was a class full of children frantically charging about without my supervision. I wasn’t sure whether I should abandon my post with the little demons down the hall or try and learn Christopher’s true purpose here today.

My decision was drawing near, but before it could be made the Headmaster’s cloak was rustling as he flew hastily down the stairs impending upon us. He addressed me as he entered the room, demanding swiftly as he looked to teary eyed Sally and solemn Christopher “Best you two make your way to class before the cane make its way to you! Hmm!?” snapping spitefully to them, I grit my teeth remembering to bite my tongue I watched as Sally and Christopher made there was toward my classroom.

After a lecture of my disregard for the seriousness of monitoring the playgrounds, I was released to return to my classroom. The students chuckling and carrying on as Christopher struggles with extreme difficulty to maneuver himself into his seat. Walking over to him, I lift the wee lad up lowering him into his seat as I reframe from any emotion merely ruffling his hair as I return to my desk. I can still see the look on Sally’s face as she watched him from her seat. I laugh about it now, but I’m one of the only people who can say they witnessed a miracle then retired to a desk to spend two hours practicing cursive and Latin.

Christopher was such a serene, peaceful child. He merely sat there the entire lesson, undaunted by the children casting sneers and sly remarks despite my efforts to slew them. I am unsure what they saw, but I couldn’t help but think he’d come here from the beyond. As time drearily wound on in that class room, the midday lessons felt as though they lasted a life-time in themselves. For some reason I was so incredibly eager for the bells to chime once more, I wanted to ask Christopher about his faith and where his parents came from. Little did I know that had I known what would have arose that coming break I’d have dreaded it as much as my own demise.

As sure as the sun rises each day, the bells did chime. Only with them did not come the salvation they would usually bring, instead came chaos. George Jacobs came charging into the school yard, I saw him sprinting along the field from the classroom window as I drew cursive examples on the blackboard. Huffing and puffing, I could hear the panting of the young chubby rascal as he pounded through the hallway shouting for me as he neared the classroom as my students were only beginning to make there way out for lunch. George blasted into the doorway, dripping wet, his face so white, as though he’d seen a ghost “It’s Billy! It’s Billy he’s hurt!”

My heart sank with dread, I threatened the little beggar and now he’d ran off and injured himself. Looking to George I demanded “Where is he!? Take me to him!” also instructing the others to stay on the school grounds, George frantically wobbled as he jogged down the hall way. I followed hastily, George charged through the playground as some of the children from other classes caught up in the commotion began to follow us as I waved my hands demanding they stay in the playgrounds.

George was sobbing as he ran; I followed after him across the field from the playgrounds, down the bank where I saw Billy darting off into the bush last. Unsteadily making our way down a decline in the thickets a lump was building in my throat, I could tell something serious had happened to Billy. George was continually gasping for breath leaning against trees then fighting his exhaustion to carry on in his lead, he was usually a relentlessly lazy boy so this was making me grimly certain the severity of the matter was most dire. Collapsing to his knees George fell in a pile of leaves, as he tiresomely lifted his arm pointing ahead as I noticed a group of the boys huddled around the river bank.

The sound of rushing water was growing heavier as I continued on the boys frantically starting to move about, most probably assuming they were in some sort of trouble no doubt. Moving about enough for me to realise they were huddling over someone. A body was lying sprawled out on the stones. The lads must have decided to go for a dip in the river once they nicked off during recess as they were shouted at. Trudging through the river I climbed up the rocks, as the boys looks terrified to see me.

Kneeling aside Billy I looked down at the lad, the first time I’d ever seen the boy at peace. His lips were an icy blue and his eyes unfocused open, lifeless staring into the heavens. Some of the boys were sobbing as I closed Billy’s eyelids, none of them would speak or make eye-contact with me. I asked George, as he came over wailing trudging through the river, “What happened George!?” as he started to wail uncontrollably as he explained they were diving off of the rocks, and Billy failed to surface after a dive.

My heart was like an anvil of lead in my chest, if not for my threat, hollow or not Billy retreated to the river instead of the school grounds because of me. Cupping the boy with both arms, I picked up his lifeless body and slowly began trudging through the river. I neared the bank on the other side and laid his body down once more, I couldn’t go wandering through the school with the corpse of Billy Thomas for all the children to see.

It was in this moment of contemplation I saw Sally sliding down the slopes up ahead, leaning back bracing Christopher as the lad stumbles on the cane, losing his footing slipping down the decline, rolling through the thickets as Sally fumbles frantically attempting in vain to assist the falling lad. I began to shout “No! Don’t come any closer you two!” but I noticed Christopher awkwardly climbing up from the foliage as Sally scaled around to him, dusting him off while he continues onward.

I can remember tears streaming down my cheeks as I demanded “Turn around! Go back you two! NOW!” but they kept marching, Sally bracing Christopher by his arm. Sally’s little cane clutched tightly in Christopher’s grasp. The pair slowly nearing me as Christopher looks upon Billy’s lying corpse. Shaking my head, tears were dripping down my cheeks as I pleaded “No. It’s ok… It’s ok. You two, Go back” but Christopher just stepped toward me, he looked up at me. I knew he wanted to say something so I leaned down, I was at eye level with him and he told me “I came here today, so that this tragedy, wouldn’t ruin your life.”

My eyes were stinging with hot tears, I said swiftly “But if you help Billy, you’ll die? Won’t you?” At this point Sally probably feeling sad for her teacher in such a state wrapped her arms around me, hugging me. The others were all starting to look at Christopher differently as he nodded slowly, but smiling placed his hand on my shoulder and said “Just because you can’t see the pebble, after it sinks, doesn’t mean it ends with it’s ripples Sir.” Sally and I leaned forward to hug Christopher, he was completely at ease, even as he added “I have no other business in Ironbark Grove today”

I didn’t want to let loose of the lad, knowing full well what was to follow. Sally and I watched as Christopher backed away from us, hobbling through the mass of Billy’s friends, who all watched him as they sobbed and grimaced. Nearing Billy’s body Christopher slowly knelt looking over the corpse for a moment, Christopher calmly placed his hand on Billy’s chest and exhaled deeply. Taking his hand off of Billy’s chest he struggled to stand and unsteadily took a few steps forward, Sally weeping into my shoulder as I could only watch as Christopher nears the river bank.

Looking to Billy life seemed to wash over him, as his face seemed to ease with colour. Standing up slowly I watched as Billy began to cough and gasp for air as he friends swiftly began shouting and shaking him in bewildered relief. Sally and I however are quickly drawn to the sound of a splash into the river. Sally screamed with unbridled woe I leapt from the bank into the water, diving for Christopher. Searching through the water, I could see nothing. Some of Billy’s friends began leaping into the water calling “Christoper!” but to no avail. There was no sign of Christopher.

A day does not go by when I don’t think of that day, a day I thought was ordinary. Who was Christopher and why did he come to Ironbark Grove? I’ve been asking myself that question for 74 long years. I know in my heart, wherever Christopher is, or whatever he was he will be at peace, because that’s all there ever was of Christopher, peace. He knew no hatred, he didn’t understand their cruelty. I wanted answers before my time would come, but now it seems my time is nearly up. I needed to share the story of the boy called Christopher before I wasn’t around to tell it. Interesting. Isn’t it?