Flecks of Light

Jalen loved how the sunlight spilled through the doors and windows in the morning and onto the floors. He liked walking through it with his eyes closed, feeling its warmth on his cheeks. Every few steps, he’d open his eyes, wave his hands in the light, and catch the flecks that filled the air. Sometimes kids would stare as they walked down the hall, or a teacher would tell him to stop stimming. But he didn’t care. The morning light and the warmth of the sun were the parts of the day he enjoyed the most. Before everything became too much and all his efforts were spent trying to escape the noise. 

The bell rang, and he dragged his feet to his class. There was supposed to be a teacher by the red doors who walked him to his classes. But most days, there was no teacher there. It did not matter, though. He had been walking the same way to class since August. It was September now, and he was sure he knew the way. Start at the red doors, walk 20 steps to the blue double doors, turn right, walk 32 steps to the big stairs, turn left, and walk into the room with the yellow door and all the art on the walls. 

It was easier to find it after the bell rang, when the halls emptied and he could count the steps without messing up. When he messed up, he grew flustered and had to start over. One time, it took almost the entire first period to find the class. The teachers were upset. But he had found it on his own. Had he not done a good thing? 

When he made it to class, the door was already open. So, he walked in and took his regular seat by the door. 

“Jalen, remember? You have a new seat now.” Ms. Ramone was already walking toward him. She picked up his backpack before he could. “Come on.”

Two weeks since Ms. Ramone changed his seat. He hated it. He followed her to the corner by the windows. He sat down. The window whistled. He stuck his fingers in his ears.

“Hands down, Jalen. So you can listen.”

He kept them there. She reached over and took them out herself. He looked at the window. It whistled again. The seat change happened after the last time he walked out of school. But that was an accident. He did not mean for that to happen.

Today, he was looking forward to lunch. He was excited to sit down and eat his favorite sandwich, which his mom had packed. He knew where he wanted to sit. It was the same place he had sat since the first day of school; at the sun-drenched table tucked in the far back corner of the cafeteria, where it was a little quieter. He was almost at the cafeteria when something hit the window by the red doors.  

It was loud.

He stopped walking. No one else stopped. The kids kept moving around him, backpacks swinging, voices bouncing off the walls. He looked towards the red doors, then back at the hall, then at the doors again.

He went to see.

He pushed through the doors and stepped outside. It was sunny and warm, so he closed his eyes to take it all in. What a beautiful day. He walked the way he did in the halls every morning, with his eyes closed, waving his hands, and trying to catch as much light as he could. It was quiet here. He could hear the breeze and birds. He walked with joy, flapping his hands and, at times, running. But then it got loud again. There were cars. Lots of cars. Someone was honking loudly. He covered his ears and ran. He needed quiet and to go back to wherever he had left the sun. But all the streets looked the same, and all the noise grew louder. He looked both ways before he crossed the street, just like he practiced at home and at school, but the noise would not stop. The cars were honking some more, and some tried to drive around him. He froze and, in a panic, covered his head and crouched down to make himself small. 

He felt the ground vibrating. He looked up.

“Oh, look, a car.”