You’re a million miles away or floating in some other dimension.

Dear Dad,

You can’t do anything. You’re a million miles away or floating in some other dimension.

I went to school today. Kind of. It was actually after school. Mr. Anders, my homeroom teacher, called Mom and asked her if the three of us could meet. Mom got off work early and drove me up there in our Nissan wagon. She asked me if I knew what the meeting was about. I said I didn’t know, because I didn’t.

When Mom sat next to Mr. Anders, he looked about 16 years old. I’m not saying Mom looks old or anything. It’s just that she looks like a regular grown-up and Mr. Anders looks like a kid. He has rosy cheeks. I bet he couldn’t grow a beard if he tried.

Anyway, Mr. Anders avoided the subject for a while. He asked how I felt. He asked Mom about work and where we lived. He seemed kind of interested and surprised when Mom told him we lived on the water, because usually only rich people live on the water and we are definitely not rich.

Mom answered every question he asked, super politely. I think she secretly hoped Mr. Anders had just wanted to have a little chit-chat. She hoped he just wanted to talk about the weather for a while and then he’d send us on our way.

“Hello, Mrs. Griffiths. Lovely day we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Why yes, Mr. Anders, it is lovely. Such a warm fall. Unusual, don’t you think.”

“Indeed I do, Mrs. Griffiths. Well, nice to talk to you. Have a good day. Hope to see you at a basketball game this winter.”

That didn’t happen.

Mr. Anders finally pulled a folder out from under a history book. It had my name on it. He opened it up and showed Mom my midterm progress report. All my classes—even English—had i’s next to them.

“Is Trevor getting bad grades?” Mom asked.

“That’s the thing, Mrs. Griffiths. It’s hard for us to tell. None of Trevor’s teachers was able to assign him a grade, because he’s missed so much school.”

“What do the i’s stand for?”

“Incomplete.”

“Ah.” Mom just sort of looked at Mr. Anders then, waiting to see what he recommended.

“Trevor’s a bright kid…”

Mom nodded enthusiastically at that one.

“…but if he doesn’t start showing up for school every day, he’s going to get in some real trouble, academic-wise. Have you taken him to a doctor?”

“No. I don’t think it’s anything that serious.” Mom has some sort of natural aversion to doctors.

“I think you might want to take him,” Mr. Anders closed the folder, “because the farther behind he falls, the harder it’s going to be to catch up. OK? Are we good here?”

That last sentence really got on my nerves. It was like Mr. Anders figured he’d done his little bit and everything would somehow take care of itself. No one asked me what was wrong. No one asked me why I might be staying home from school. All we had to do was go to the doctor and everything would magically turn out right. Little Trevor would go back to school and Mr. Anders wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

Mom and me piled back into the Nissan. Mom called Dr. Bruell on her cell phone and made an appointment for the next morning. Thank the lord she listened to the radio on the way home so we didn’t have to talk about it.

Your son,

Trevor