DAVIES

Not Regarded

There’s a different kind of power associated with being invisible. Not the supernatural kind that allows you to slip out of sight into the shadows or nothing. I’m talking about the quieter breed. The one born from being painfully and wonderfully ordinary. The sort where people look through you without realizing it. Where their eyes slide past you because your existence doesn’t disturb the architecture of their world.

Most people fear this kind of existence. They call it insignificance. They call it loneliness. They call it a life without meaning. I call it access.

Because even with eyes on you, you get to slip past blind spots. And when no one is watching you, you get to watch them. In full, unfiltered detail.

Detective Cortez and Sergeant Asare questioned nearly everyone after Tony’s accident. Everyone except me and the principal. Gayfield is a brittle, grey-boned thing who only materializes on campus when disaster demands it. As for me, well… I am the kind of man whose name they forget even while looking at my ID. They even came up with their potential suspects. Among them were Ruby Macfredy, his girlfriend from grade 6 and his best friend Jesse Jones. Honestly, I’m not bothered by all these investigations because I keep seeing these fools looking away from the clues right before them. They don’t see me, they see right through me and I love it.

I remained unbothered for a month after the accident. Just when it seemed the investigations were over, sticky notes were found under Tony’s section of the table by Seargent Asare. They contained random observations made of almost everyone in the lecture hall.

The moment I heard Sergeant Asare mention the sticky notes, something inside me paused. Not fear, not guilt, not even irritation. Just… interest.

I didn’t hear the usual shuffle of papers or the bored sigh detectives make when they think they’ve found something useless. No. This time Asare inhaled sharply, the kind of breath that lifts the shoulders. And Cortez leaned forward; I could hear the faint tightening of the leather on his belt.

That told me everything.

Tony had written something important.

The next morning, they returned to the campus. Their footsteps carried a different sharpness, shorter strides, heavier landings. Purpose. Suspicion sharpening its claws. And yet, even with this renewed energy, their eyes still skimmed right past me. The ordinary math lecturer. The man with the calm face and the gentle smile.

The one man in the room they should have been terrified of.

I listened from outside of the principal’s office as Cortez read some of the notes out loud to Principal Gayfield. At first, it was harmless nonsense; observations about who cheated, who whispered too much, who slept during my lectures.

Then the tone of Cortez’s voice shifted.

“He writes here that Doctor Davies doesn’t look at the board when he’s teaching.”

A pause.

“Or at his laptop.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“He says… ‘I think he knows more than he lets on.’”

Interesting.

Principal Gayfield dismissed it, muttering something about imaginative teenagers. But Sergeant Asare’s “I see” carried a subtle weight. Footsteps headed toward the door … so I walked away, returning to the lecture hall, ready for their questions.

Except they never came.

Instead, they questioned the students: my little congregation of loyal faggots.

“Dr. Davies is a sweetheart… He buys me coffee every morning.”

“Oh, he’s so gentle, never gets angry.”

“I wish he was my dad. He has such a calm spirit.”

Their voices painted a picture so far from the truth I almost felt insulted. Almost.

Invisibility isn’t a curse. It’s a veil. And the world is full of men who never look beneath veils.

So I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and continued to pretend to read.

Just like they pretended to see.