Body, Boundaries & Safety
Why Do You Always Go In There
On Tuesdays after lunch, Rafi’s classroom stopped being a classroom. SCRAAAPE went the chairs. The tables got shoved into one long island. Every gym bag came out from under every chair at once. Tuesday loud. The loudest loud of the week.
Rafi’s bag was packed in order. Shorts on top. Then his shirt. Then socks. Sneakers at the bottom, where sneakers belong. He’d packed it on Monday night, door shut. His chair was nearest the door. Chair to hallway bathroom: eleven steps. He counted them once, in September. Never needed to again.
Behind him the room was half changed. Hollie was stuck in her sweater again, arms up, like a ghost asking a question. Owen had shin guards on his HANDS. Clap, clap. A sock sat on the whiteboard ledge. Whose? Nobody’s, apparently.
Mr. Prentice came in backwards, dragging the crate of hockey pinnies, holding the door with his foot. “Hurry up, please,” he said, to nobody. Then, to the crate: “Mm.” He didn’t look up. On Tuesdays he never looked up.
The hallway bathroom had three stalls. Rafi always took the middle one. Its bolt slid all the way across, clack, and stayed. Inside: cold, a pink-soap smell, and a hand dryer that went off by itself. VRRRM. For no reason. Four minutes. Door shut. Nobody else. That was all he needed.
So he stood up with his bag, same as every Tuesday. Not fast. Not slow. Bag held low, like he was going anywhere at all. Three steps. Four. Behind him two people argued about who had the ball last. Five. Six. Seven.
“Why do you ALWAYS go in the bathroom?” Owen. Volume all the way up, nothing much behind it. The arguing stopped. Hollie stopped mid-fold. Everyone who hadn’t been looking at Rafi was now looking at Rafi. And Rafi was at the door, hand on the handle.
The door was open a crack. The whole room had gone quiet behind him. Even the sock on the ledge seemed to be listening. Owen was waiting.
What does Rafi do?
Any of these is fine to talk about. If something feels unsafe, telling a grown-up is always allowed.
Go in, the same as always
He pushed the door. Thunk, shut behind him. Four more steps, the middle stall, and the bolt slid all the way across. Clack. The classroom noise got small. Rafi stood still for a second, bag in both hands. Then he changed. His order, his speed. VRRRM went the hand dryer. For no reason.
When he came out, half the class was already in the hallway in gym clothes. Not last. Not first. Two people looked up, looked away, said nothing. Owen was busy arguing about a penalty. The question stayed exactly where Owen had left it. Hanging there.
In the gym: floor hockey, with the plastic sticks that never quite work. Rafi was good at hockey. He was on the far side, waiting for a pass, when the question came back. In Owen’s exact voice. At Owen’s exact volume. The ball zipped straight past him. CRASH, into the wall.
Afterwards everyone had to change back. Rafi did his eleven steps, clothes bundled in his arms. The middle stall was shut. Somebody was in there! So he waited in the hallway until a fifth-grade boy came out. Then he went in. Clack. The bolt slid all the way across, and stayed.
Say why, then go in
Rafi turned around, hand still on the handle. “Because I like changing by myself.” The whole room heard. Every word. Hollie’s head popped out of her gym shirt. “Fair enough,” she said, and kept going. “Okay,” said Owen, and went back to his shin guards.
Then he went in. Clack, the bolt, same as always. But the four minutes weren’t the same. His ears were hot. He kept hearing it: his own voice, then Owen’s “Okay.” And from in here he couldn’t find out what the room was doing with it.
In the gym he kept waiting for it. Someone saying it again. Someone doing a silly voice. Nothing. Nobody. Shuttle runs, then the game where you sit down if you get caught. Rafi got caught early and sat on the cold floor at the edge, watching.
Changing back, Rafi picked up his bag. Owen looked over. “Going in there?” Not loud this time. Just asking. “Yep,” said Rafi, and went. Behind him the room kept arguing about whether the last goal counted.
Turn around and change at his chair
Rafi let go of the handle and came back. Bag on the chair. Thump. “I’m not,” he said, to nobody. “Oh,” said Owen, and went back to clapping his shin guards. The ball argument started up again. The question was gone. Just like that.
Then he actually had to do it. His bag was packed for the stall, and none of that order worked at a chair with people on either side. He got his sneakers out first. Why? No idea. Put them down. Picked them up. Eyes on the chair the whole time. He was last.
He came into the gym after everyone. Mr. Prentice was counting them into teams and didn’t stop counting. “Go ahead, then.” Blue pinnies. Rafi ran more than usual. He shouted for the ball. Twice! And Hollie, in goal, shouted back at everybody equally.
By the end of the day the room was a classroom again. Chairs in rows. Tables back where they live. Rafi packed his bag: shorts on top, then shirt, then socks, sneakers at the bottom. Bag on his shoulder. Out he went, past the crate of pinnies, still by the door where Mr. Prentice left it.