When I was in the sixth grade, my middle school welcomed a new student.
He had moved from mainland China to our small town in New Jersey.
His English was so broken that he preferred to remain silent rather than speak to anyone. Fear and awkwardness kept him from approaching us.
It hurt to watch.
One day, I noticed him walking home from school towards a house down the road. I had passed it almost every day but never paid any attention.
It was small and only partially visible from the street. Fences surrounded it on all sides, but one could see chipped white siding and an overgrown garden in the front.
When he arrived, he shut a rickety wooden gate behind him and disappeared from sight.
I wondered whether his voice returned every night like a curse.
I wondered what I should’ve said.