Lunch With Mr. Peters
by Miranda Wiseman
“So,” Mr. Peters said. “How are we doing today?”
Jay shrugged.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
Jay shook his head.
“Ms. Raleigh told me you didn’ t bring a lunch today.”
“Forgot it.”
“Hm...” Mr. Peters surveyed him carefully.
“Want half of mine?” he offered.
Jay shook his head.
Mr. Peters reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.
“Turkey and cheese. No crust,” he said as he
unfolded the paper, revealing two slightly smushed pieces of white bread with ketchup staining the sides. Mr. Peters took a triangle
of the sandwich in his hands and pushed the remaining half towards the boy across from him. “If you change your mind...”
Jay eyed the sandwich, but made no move to take it. In fact, he hadn’ t even reached into the bowl of maple sugar candies that sat on the edge of the desk, unlike many other students who had passed through the office.
“You don’ t mind, do you? This is my lunch hour, too,” Mr. Peters said.
Jay shrugged and Mr. Peters took a bite of the sandwich. Jay’ s gaze darted back and forth
between Mr. Peters and the triangle that still lay
on the desk.
“This is your first year here, right?”
Jay nodded.
“Hate it yet?”
Jay shook his head.
“Read any good books lately?”
No.
“How about movies? Seen any good movies?”
No.
“What about TV shows? What’s that stuff you kids are watching...Stuff McDuckins?”
“Doc McStuffins,” Jay corrected, turning red.
“My sister watches it.”
He clamped his mouth shut and shrank back into his seat.
“I always liked Looney Toons. Kids still watch that, don’ t they? Saturday morning, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Elmer Fudd?”
Jay shrugged.
“Don’ t tell me you haven’ t seen the ‘ Duck
season, rabbit season’ episode.”
Jay cast his gaze to the floor, his lip twitching
at the corners.
“I like Road Runner.”
Mr. Peters nodded approvingly. “Good man.”
Jay almost smiled.
The bell for recess sounded and the boy looked at Mr. Peters expectantly.
“Go on, I won’t keep you. Gotta defend that tetherball title, eh?”
Without a word, the boy slid off his chair and lifted his backpack onto his shoulder. Unlike other kids in his grade, whose bags were covered with shiny plastic images of super heroes, princesses, robots, or dinosaurs, Jay’ s bag was plain and black, and was missing the bulge of a lunch bag. The boy cast a final longing glance at the leftover sandwich before rushing out the door.
George Peters sat back in his chair, pursing his lips. He lifted the phone off the receiver and scanned the school directory, calling Ms. Raleigh’ s class room to inquire more about the boy without a lunch.
The next day, ten minutes after the lunch bell rang, Jay appeared at Mr. Peters’ office door.
The principal looked up at him over the rim of
his reading glasses and offered a small smile.
“No lunch again?
Jay shook his head. Mr. Peters reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an egg salad sandwich, no crust. Just like the day before, he left one half sitting on the desk between them.
“Anything new to report?”
Jay shrugged.
“I saw you in the library the other day. You looked pretty focused. Good book?”
Jay shrugged. “It was ok. I didn’t like the ending.”
“Oh?”
“It was sad.”
“That’s always the worst.”
“No, not always. It just wasn’t good-sad.”
“What’s ‘good sad’?”
Jay shrugged and glanced at the sandwich.
“Can… can I…”
Mr. Peters pushed the wax paper towards the hunger pang face staring at him. Jay reached out a tentative hand, taking the half and bringing it to his lips. He nibbled on the corner, and eventually made it through half of half of the half.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
Jay shook his head. “My sister’s allergic to bananas.”
Mr. Peters nodded.
The recess bell rang and Jay carefully placed the sandwich back on the wax paper. He waited for Mr. Peters to dismiss him before making a beeline for the door.
The next day, Mr. Peters brought in PB&J, no crust.
“I know we’re a nut-free school, but I figured as long as we both wash our hands, we should be fine.”
“Peanuts are legumes.”
“Good point.”
Mr. Peters took half and slid the other across the table. Jay hesitated before picking up the sandwich and sinking his teeth into it. “Any news?”
Jay shook his head. He chewed, swallowed, stopped. “Mr. Peters, why does Ms. Raleigh keep sending me here?”
“You can’t very well sit in the lunchroom without a lunch, can you? Kind of defeats the purpose,” he reasoned.
Slowly, Jay nodded.
“How’s your sister?”
“Good. She got perfect on her spelling test.”
“What words did she have to spell?”
“Apple, boy, house, and friend,” Jay recited. “I helped her study.”
“That’s a good man.” Mr. Peters nodded.
Jay almost smiled and took another bite of the sandwich. He finished half of the half.
The next day was tuna salad, no crust. Jay only left two bites behind.
“Anything interesting happen yet today?”
“When we were walking to school, me and my sister saw a raccoon in the daytime.”
“That’s weird.”
“Really weird.”
The day after that was roast beef, no crust, and too-much mustard, but Jay finished the half anyway.
“Too much mustard.”
“I’ll give my wife your critique.”
Over the weekend, George Peters told his wife about the mustard. She raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe you want to make your own sandwiches from now on.”
“Hey, I help,” George protested.
“You cut off the crusts.”
When Monday rolled around and the lunch bell rang, Mr. Peters noticed a fresh hollow look on Jay’s face.
“PB&J today. No crust,” he said.
Jay stared blankly at his half.
“Do anything fun over the weekend?”
Jay shrugged. Mr. Peters frowned.
“How’s your sister?”
“Good.”
“…Is everything okay?”
By Tuesday, they were back to turkey and cheese, no crust.
“What’s your favourite sandwich?”
Jay shrugged. “I liked the roast beef.”
“I thought it had too much mustard.”
“It was still good.”
Wednesday, roast beef (“Not enough mustard,” Jay remarked), Thursday egg-salad Friday, cream cheese and smoked salmon, all without crust.
“Any plans for the weekend?”
Jay shook his head. “No.”
That afternoon, George Peters watched from his office window as two young children walked home alone, and he watched them walk back into the school the Monday morning after that while he placed his crust-less sandwich with corn beef in the top drawer of his desk.
“How long does it take you to walk to school in the morning?”
Jay shrugged.
Tuesday, PB&J, no crust.
“Is your mom or dad coming in for Parent-Teacher night?”
“My mom’s working.”
“That’s too bad…Someone overthrown you as Tetherball King yet?”
“Not even close.”
“Good man.”
Jay smiled.
Wednesday, bologna, no crust.
“Can I ask you something?”
Mr. Peters straightened up and nodded. “Fire away.”
Jay paused and swished the words around in his mouth. “Do you have kids?”
“This school is my kid.”
“Why do people have kids?”
“To love, I guess. To care for them,” Mr. Peters said.
“Do we cost a lot of money to take care of?”
“Well, it’s a whole other person for parents to buy things for."
“Right… Like clothes and food and toys.”
“You’re not thinking of having kids, are you?”
Jay smiled. “No.”
“Good. You’re still a little young for that. I’d wait a few years,” Mr. Peters joked.
Jay laughed.
Thursday, leftover-meatball sub, Friday, turkey and cheese.
“How’s your sister?”
“She had ‘show and tell’ today.”
“I know. I sat in on Mr. Xing’s class. She brought in your dad’s medal.”
Jay shook his head. “No, that wasn’t her. She said she was bringing in her baby blanket.”
“Maybe she changed her mind,” Mr. Peters suggested. “She said it makes your mom feel ‘sad, but good-sad’.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“I think so,” Mr. Peters said. “She said your mom works really hard.”
“There’s another Sophie in her class. Are you sure it wasn’t the other Sophie?”
“I thought it was your sister.” Jay frowned. “But, I could be wrong.”
“I think you are.”
Mr. Peters chuckled. “Does your sister have two lunch bags?”
Jay shook his head. “No, just one.”
Mr. Peters nodded. “Must’ve been the other Sophie.”
“Probably.”
George spotted Sophie in the hall later that day. He watched her skip out of Mr. Xing’s classroom at the end of the day.
“Sweet girl. Absolutely adores her brother,” Arthur Xing told him.
“Jay, yes. Great kid. Does she eat at lunch?”
“It’s funny you ask that. She does the strangest little thing. She takes half a sandwich from one lunch bag, and half from a second one.”
“Very strange.”
Another weekend came and went and the bleak Monday sky promised an ordinary week. George watched Jay and Sophie standing by the gate just beyond the schoolyard. He watched as Jay pushed a lunch bag into his sister’s hands. Both of them ran the rest of the way to the school, Sophie with one lunch bag in her hand and a second clipped to her bag, and Jay with none.
When the lunch bell rang through the halls, Mr. Peters took his and Jay’s lunch out of his drawer. When the boy walked in, his eyes landed on two whole sandwiches on beds of wax paper.
“I told my wife I’ve been having a lunch guest,” Mr. Peters explained. Jay stared at the whole sandwich, frozen to the spot. “Half a sandwich isn’t enough for anyone,” he said softly.
Then, Jay cried.
His entire body shook. Floods of tears and choking sobs poured out of him. Mr. Peters watched with a sad smile. He hesitated before stepping around the desk to pat the boy on the shoulder. Jay sniffled, looked up, then fell forward, wrapping his arms around Mr. Peter’s torso. Mr. Peters froze. He looked down at the boy, then smiled and placed a hand on Jay’s head.
Aside from Jay’s occasional sniffle, the two of them ate in silence. Mr. Peters glimpsed a faint smile lingering on the boy’s face in between bites.
When the bell rang, Jay looked at Mr. Peters.
“Go on, defend your title.”
Jay walked to the door, reached for the doorknob, stopped.
“Thank you,” Jay whispered, and rushed out the door.