You Never Know What Someone Is Going Through

by Michael J. Gleason

It's a well-known adage that “You never know what someone is going through”, usually used to encourage people to be kind to everyone. It's not a bad cliché, but it's not completely accurate either, as I can attest to. I'm not always the nicest person, and I admit that freely and openly, but I've taken strides to become nicer, although not for a totally altruistic reason.

You see, I've been afflicted with a strange curse, after a stressful interaction with an old woman whose slow walking was making it so that I missed out on getting the closest parking spot to my office that I'd seen in weeks, in which I used some choice words that I slightly regret.

“Get out of the way, you old crone! If you can't make it across the street, you should be in a home!” I'd shouted from behind the wheel of my BMW as I tried to swerve around her.

She just glared at me and seemed to mumble a few words, but I didn't stick around long enough to really notice, nor did I care. Afterward, I found that I'd gained the ability to literally see through another person's eyes.

I first noticed it right after arriving at the office that day, after getting a spot in a lot two blocks away, and I noticed that my secretary, Janice, was late for work – again. This was the fourth time that week and probably the fifteenth time this month, and I was pretty annoyed with her.

“If she wants that raise she asked for, she'd better start showing up to work on time. What else could be more important?” I thought to myself as I unlocked the door to my office.

Almost immediately, I was hit with the strangest sense of whiplash, because when I walked through the door, I wasn't in my familiar office, I was in somebody's bedroom.

“What the hell?” I turned around, but saw only a hallway behind me, and not Janice's desk.

The room looked fairly normal, and as I looked down at my hand for my briefcase, I instead saw something disturbing. It wasn't my hand! My hand was usually large and hairy, this was small and dainty, with painted nails.

“Nail polish? But...” I inspected the hand closely and realized I recognized the bright red color.

I rushed across the room, nearly tripping and falling as I also realized I was wearing heels, towards a vanity and looked into the mirror. Gazing at my reflection, my fears were realized and I was staring back at Janice's face. Thankfully, she was fully dressed and seemed to be getting ready for work. My eyes dropped slowly towards my, or rather Janice's chest, and I hesitantly reached a hand towards her blouse.

But I was taken out of my shock as I heard a baby's scream and the bedroom door suddenly flew open, revealing a haggard-looking man with a disheveled beard carrying a screaming child, who couldn't have been more than two. That was right! Janice had been pregnant when we hired her, and she'd had the baby not too long afterward. She came back to work pretty quickly after her maternity leave so I never really thought about her home life after that, her performance in the office was all that matters to me.

Janice's husband definitely didn't look like he was getting ready for work, so that explained why she was bucking for that raise. I made enough money for my wife to be a stay-at-home mom by choice, but my kids are almost fully grown, a daughter in college and a son in high school, so my wife's day can't be nearly as stressful as Janice's husband's.

“He's crying again! What am I supposed to do to get him to calm down, again?” Janice's husband asked as he held the baby out to me.

“I... Uh,” I stuttered, I didn't know the first thing about calming down a baby, that was my wife's department, I hesitated to reach for it. Not to mention hearing Janice's voice coming out of my mouth was off-putting to say the least.

Suddenly, a dog rushed into the room, one of those small yappy ones, and started barking. The noises were incessant, the baby's crying, Janice's husband's whining, and the dog barking, it was driving me crazy. I clutched my hair with both hands, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, before shouting from the top of my lungs:

“PLEASE, EVERYONE JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!” I shouted, in my own voice, and noticed that everything went silent.

I opened my eyes to see my office in front of me, and murmurs started up from the other members of the office staff behind me. I quickly rushed into my office and shut the door behind me, slumping down in my chair as I tried to rationalize what had just happened to me. I felt so real, but it had to have been a hallucination, right?

I quickly sat down at my desk and tried to clear my head, but my mind kept playing back what I'd experienced. I started working on what I'd needed to get done that day, looking over expense reports, and before long, I heard a gentle knock on my door.

“Come in!” I shouted, looking up to see Janice sheepishly walking into my office. “Glad to see you've decided to grace us with your presence.”

I noticed that she was wearing the exact outfit that I'd seen in the hallucination, but that had to be a coincidence, right? She'd probably worn that exact outfit dozens of times, and that's why my subconscious chose it. I think that's how dreams work, anyway.

“I'm sorry, sir. I really tried to get here on time, but my husband was having trouble with the baby, he was being very fussy today, and things have been really tough juggling that, especially with me working,” Janice explained.

I remained stone-faced, but that was more because her explanation directly mirrored the experience I'd had. But she took my silence as a challenge, to her, I was silent because I was dissatisfied with her punctuality.

“I know that it isn't any of your concern, but if I got that raise I asked for, I could afford to hire a nanny and that would take some of the burden of childcare off of my husband and me, and I would be able to focus all my attention on my work here.” Janice declared. “It's not greed, and I really do love my job, but I can't be everywhere at once, and it seems like the universe needs me to be.”

After what I'd seen, I believed her, but I couldn't buckle to it immediately. I had a reputation to uphold, besides, a change of heart that drastic might cause people to question things and I don't want anyone to know I'd been in Janice's head.

“I'll consider it,” I said, flatly. “Now, get to work.”

“Yes, sir.” Janice turned on her heel in a way that shocked me, given I'd nearly killed myself simply walking in them, and walked out of my office, closing the door on her way out.

The rest of the morning passed without incident, and I thought that the entire experience was a one-time thing. By lunch, I'd figured out that it was probably tied into that old woman in the crosswalk, but assumed that I'd learned my lesson with Janice, and everything would be normal from then on out. And then later that afternoon, my phone rang, a call from my wife, Diane.

“Hey, honey! What's up?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“You bet there's something wrong, Clark! I got Nathan's report card in the mail today!” Diane replied.

“Oh, Christ...” I muttered. “How bad is it this time?”

“Nothing above a C- and most of it is D's and there's an F this time.”

I took a deep sigh and put my face in my hands.

“We are going to have a very long discussion about this when I get home. Is he home yet?”

“Not yet, he's at after-school tutoring, for all the good it's done...” Diane said.

“Make sure he knows he's grounded and won't be playing video games or watching T.V. until we figure out what to do about this,” I grumbled.

“Got it. See you when you get home,” Diane said. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, ending the call. “What the hell am I going to do with that boy? Can't he just apply himself?”

As I turned my attention back to my desk, I again found myself in another location entirely. Although this time I recognized the room, I'd been in there enough times for parent-teacher conferences to know that this was Nathan's math classroom. I looked down at the desk and could vaguely make out a reflection, one that I recognized as my son's face.

“Not again...” I whined, in Nathan's voice.

“What was that, Mr. Wilson?” I looked up to see Nathan's math teacher, Mrs. Snodgrass, standing over me.

She was an austere woman, a very old and traditional teacher, reminded me of some of the teachers I'd hated when I was in school, but as a parent, I liked her style. It kept the kids in line. Of course, I liked that personality a lot less when it was directed at me.

“Nothing, ma'am.” I looked back down at the desk and spotted a math worksheet sitting on it, half-filled in.

“Have you finished the assignment yet?” she asked.

“Not yet, I'm working on it.” I picked up a pencil and started to work on the problem.

Math was my best subject back in school, but the way they were teaching it now was... strange. I didn't understand what it wanted me to do! I did my best and finished the sheet, handing it to Mrs. Snodgrass. I was alone in the room, save for her, which made sense given that tutoring is usually only for those who are truly struggling.

I stood near the desk, waiting as she looked over the sheet. My face fell when she signed and rubbed her forehead with her wrinkled hand.

“Mr. Wilson, did you pay attention at all to today's lesson?” she asked.

“Well, I...” I started to reply. I didn't actually know if Nathan paid attention.

“I don't know what else I can do. I think we're kidding ourselves with the tutoring, it's clearly not doing anything, and I've exhausted all my methods. I'll discuss that with your parents at the next conference, but as for now, you may go.” Mrs. Snodgrass said.

She was giving up on my son like that? If he's not understanding the material, the teacher should be making damn sure she tries everything! Usually, I had the confidence and bravado to stand up to teachers like this, but in Nathan's body, my confidence evaporated, so all I managed to squeak out was a thank you, and I quickly collected his bag and headed home.

Already this experience had lasted longer than my time in Janice's body, and I was eagerly awaiting it to end. I figured it might end when I got to the front door, but it didn't. I walked into the house and found Diane standing, arms crossed, in the foyer. I knew why she was angry, and I averted my gaze.

“Your report card came in the mail today,” Diane said. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I know it looks bad, but...” I started. I wanted to tell her what I'd witnessed from the teacher, but she wouldn't let me speak.

“Wait for your father, he's on his way home now.” she pointed towards the living room.

I took Nathan's backpack off and sat on the couch, waiting for a few minutes until I heard my car pull into the driveway. I sat up, partly wondering if perhaps Nathan was in my body since I was occupying his, but one look at my face as I walked through the door, and I knew that it wasn't the case.

It's strange to see yourself from the outside, I don't think of myself as threatening, but clearly, Nathan did. His heart began racing as I took off my suit jacket and hung it up by the door. The other me, the me in my own body... “Clark”, he walked into the living room after greeting Diane and taking the report card. “Clark” sat down in my favorite chair, and Diane took her customary flank position next to me.

“What the hell are we going to do with you? Do you enjoy failing?” “Clark” asked. “I mean, look at this! Do you think you can get into a good college with grades like these?”

I couldn't believe it, would I really say something like that? Have I lost sight of empathizing with my son? Diane just stood by “Clark” and nodded along with what he said.

“The lessons are really hard, especially math!” I defended Nathan.

“If the lessons are hard, you've got to buckle down and study your butt off! I struggled in school too, you know what I did? I worked hard to not struggle! This is important, it's your future! Why can't you be more like your sister? She never had less than a B!” “Clark” shouted.

I was utterly speechless, not just because “Clark” wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise, but also because I could feel just how powerless Nathan felt, with his father, the person who's supposed to be on his side, chewing him out mercilessly. If this really was how I'd been treating him about his grades... that had to change.

“And don't even think you'll be seeing the outside of your room or a classroom until your grades improve. Now go to your room and hit the books!” “Clark” finished.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes and I stood up and ran toward Nathan's room. As I slammed the door, I felt myself crash back down to Earth as I rocked slightly in my chair. Diane put her hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay, Clark?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Yeah, I'm fine...” I replied.

“Are you sure you weren't too hard on him? I know his grades are bad, but...” Diane started.

“Yeah, I was a little too hard on him...” I sighed. “I'll handle it.”

I stood up and walked up the stairs, waiting outside Nathan's room. After a few minutes, I knocked on the door.

“Go away!” Nathan shouted.

“Nathan, I've... had some time to think, and I'm sorry. I just... I want you to succeed, but if you're struggling, I need to take the time to help you figure out the problem, not yell at you until it goes away.” I heard the door unlock.

I reached forward and opened the door, Nathan was sitting on his bed, wiping tears from his face.

“I guess I'm just stupid...” Nathan muttered.

“You're not stupid, we just have to figure out how you learn the best. If this tutoring isn't working, maybe we try something different. Say, I was pretty good at math when I was your age, maybe after dinner I can look over your homework with you. You'll just have to teach me whatever this “new” math they're teaching you is,” I chuckled, and Nathan laughed as well.

“I'd like that, Dad.” Nathan said.

It was a strange experience to be sure, but it taught me something, that I had to be more empathetic and kinder to those around me, particularly when it comes to things outside of their control.

In the weeks following, I've made a lot of strides into being more understanding. With Janice, my other employees, my kids, and even my wife. Seeing things through her eyes is an experience that I've gone to a lot of trouble to avoid. But the curse hasn't gone away, either, because sometimes I'll find myself running out of patience with a cashier or a barista and suddenly I'm seeing things from their perspective. I guess the moral of this story is, “Be kind. Because you never know what someone is going through”.

And trust me, you really don't want to find out.