Joe

From 3rd through 8th grade, I attended a small Catholic school. It was comprised of about three hundred people, including the teachers, and this meant that the same people staring vacantly at you with their fists in their mouths on the first day of kindergarten would probably be the first people you ever made out with.

For the entirety of that time, there was this kid in my class named Joe.




No, I didn't forget to color him in. He was just that pale. His skin had literally no color except for these two permanent patches of flush on his cheeks.

This kid was the embodiment of every shy, awkward kid you sort of remember from elementary school, but don't quite, because they never said anything. For a long time me and Joe were pretty much in the same boat, as far as social awkwardness goes, and we were sort of friends, at least in that weird way that boys and girls who don't really talk to anyone at all can be friends. I remember him sticking up for me a couple times, and us joking around in detention together. He got sort of popular around seventh grade, when the other kids started figuring out that self-expression and weirdness were cool, but he was always really nice to me.

Joe had a couple problems, though, and because they were class-related, everyone knew about them.
First, Joe NEVER did his homework. I'm not exaggerating this at all. Joe did not do his homework once in that five years that I knew him. Whatever teacher we had would loudly despair of it, his parents were always called, and study plans were made, but still Joe just wouldn't do his homework. He somehow managed to pass every year, and he wasn't a stupid kid by any means, so I'm still not sure why that was, but it was, just the same.
Second, Joe had the messiest desk you have ever seen ever. This also never changed, despite even more notes to his mom and bi-monthly class-wide desk-cleaning blitzes designed purely for his benefit. You could see him working, and he was clearly trying very hard, but nothing ever happened. That desk just wanted to stay messy.

Our fifth grade teacher was kind of a bitch. There's not really any other way to say it. She was one of those people who always seem like they are having a bad day that has nothing to do with you. You know, the kind where the conversation goes like this:

"Hey, do you want to do something? Maybe we can go bowling."
"*long stare, drawn-out sigh* Yeah. Sure."
"I mean, is that okay? We don't have to."
"NOPE. BOWLING IS JUST FINE."

And you're not really sure how to react, except that you KNOW you can't say anything about it because then they will be an even bigger jerk. So you're just walking on eggshells around them and being very cautious about everything you say, while shooting them terrified glances to see if maybe they're in a better mood yet.

Yeah. That was most of fifth grade for me and the other thirty kids in my class.

One day in early spring, Joe and his, er, "problems" were the trigger for this teacher's complete psychotic breakdown.

It started off as a pretty normal day. Mrs. Teacher began the class by asking for our homework from the previous day. Papers rustled as everyone passed their sheets of looseleaf to their neighbor, then to the next, and so forth. Joe, as usual, didn't have anything to turn in, but by then we had learned not to think anything of it. The whole time, Teacher's eyes never left Joe.

When the papers finally all made their way to Teacher's desk, she asked, in a very loud voice, "Where's your homework, Joe?"

We all looked at Joe. He was utterly bewildered. I mean, everybody knew about it, and sure, the teachers got upset, but no one had ever gone so far as to assume that Joe would actually do his homework.



The whole class turned collectively to Teacher to see what she would do.

She walked very slowly to Joe's desk. She leaned down and looked him in the eye.

And then this happened.









She didn't come back to work after that.




**EDIT: Joe: The Sort-Of Sequel