Chapter 34 - Don't Hurt Me

In a conversation I had once with a close friend, we compared interesting lessons from high school.

Mine occurred sophomore year with a teacher who shall remain nameless. Mrs. Nameless positioned a series of baskets at the front of the room, gave everyone a paper ball, and told us to throw them at the baskets. Those that got in received a candy reward if they were at the front. If they didn't make their shot, those in the front were allowed to move closer to the basket for another throw. I didn't make any of my shots.

Before long, a lot of the people in the back complained this was dumb. That provided the launching point for Nameless's lecture. Apparently, those in front represented groups and people with more opportunities and wealth than those at the back. So, those at the back had to work harder and those at the front had to be conscious about those behind them and help them out. She continued on about class structures and Colonialism.

I didn't really get it, but it kinda stuck in my brain. I was told by others that it was really deep, so I did my best to think about it. I figured it was just one of those things I would understand better when I was older.

My friend took part in a different lesson around the same grade, but it didn't even have a lecture to go with it. Their teacher gave each student the same amount of monopoly money at the start of each week. They could spend it on anything in the class from little pencil toppers to candy or stickers. They could also save it to get an instant pass on the Friday quiz at the end of the week.

The majority used their money right away. Certain ones spent most of it and saved some for the test. A few waited. I expected my friend to say that all sorts of ‘gaming’ of the system emerged with people loaning money, borrowing it, or promising it. But it didn't turn out that way.

Those who spent all their money early on were begging and pressuring those with it at the end of the week. Those who saved were made fun of. The ones who made out best were those who budgeted for the week, spent for themselves and on the test, but also gave gifts to curry favor with their friends.

I sat and thought about that situation long after my friend told me.

Everyone had been given the same amount and full choice for what to do with it. But only certain people came out happy. The spendthrifts with friends came out happy. The generous planners came out happy. But plenty of others didn't. One would think if everyone received the same thing, then it would be a fair system.

My friend had his or her own ideas about what it meant.

For me, I resolved that the world doesn't make sense and even a good choice might be the wrong one. Sadly, I was soon to learn about that in the worst way.

But I was still a long way from that thought as I filed “Major Kerina” away for another day and entertained myself with half-realized story fragments from combinations of ones I knew.

Humanoid dinosaurs living in a post-apocalyptic world. A society of wizards who hung out at the local IHOP and did magic like street entertainers. A meeting of people from different eras in a single person’s time stream but one of them isn’t allowed to join the club for a reason she doesn’t know…a dark secret even her future selves won’t discuss…

Nah, I had my fill of secrets in my own life.  

A magic fountain of ponies…

Hmmm…I wasn’t really feeling it. It could just be the lateness of the day. Multiply all the regular stress and drama of a school day with everything that was happening to and around me and I couldn’t escape the desire to take a nap.

I couldn’t even watch the clock because the teacher had covered it up at the beginning of the semester with the block text message, “Don’t focus on the time. Focus on the task.” That was fine and all, but he still wore a wristwatch and had the clock open on the classroom computer, for his own use.

I didn't have more than fifty minutes left in my day. The opening lesson transitioned to a little chat about Mesopotamia from our last unit. Laws. What laws do we think are important in founding civilization? He actually had a book of state laws and quoted out a few notable and humorous ones. Next up was Egypt.

I’d read plenty of books about it. We had a Time-Life history series above the old Garfield collections on the wall of the front room. In my head, I could feel the substance of stories for all this stuff. But it was just like foam on the water, forms shifting, solidifying, and evaporating as my school-addled mind pondered them.

I raised my hand for some of the questions, and I accepted it quietly when I had to join and leave groups.

In my constant travels, I eventually made it over to Ben’s end of the room. I carefully tried to get close to him. He looked busy, but I called out his name during a lull. He gave me the barest glance with a dissolving, concerned smile. All the worst possibilities filled my thoughts after how animated and friendly he’d been in Biology. How he’d let me go all the…err…let me be around him till he completely changed.

Something had to have happened since. Or maybe it was another one of those ‘boy things’ like Kenny being distracted about getting his card box back and it wasn’t about me at all.

The world didn’t revolve around me, which was a relief some days. But right then I wanted clarity from Ben that he wasn’t upset at me for something I did or didn't do.

I couldn’t just ask him directly though. There weren’t a ton of boys in last period World History, but he was within one of the few masses of them. Not where I wanted to be to keep things discrete.

If only Summer, or anyone like her, was around. Even that lazy-eyed senior from my Reading for Pleasure class who looked like a drunk cat that’d been smacked in the face by a blunt object too many times.

There were nice people in this class but no one I’d gotten close to. I knew the teacher’s daughter was a student. Her name was Melissa or something. And Wendy had been in my group a couple times too, but there were not a lot of people I really knew. I tried to be friendly to everyone but really only trusted a few people. Still, I always loved that there were so many people around.

Like the random girl in the tan shirt with a special little braid in her hair towards the back of a nearby row. I knew she had her own little story and life and family and everything. And that’s what delighted me so much even if our steps never passed one another’s.

I was seated back enough from Ben and the boys that it shouldn’t have been an issue, but I still caught Ben checking where I was from time to time. I tried not to wear a particular look or worry but my stomach felt tense and it wasn’t because of any of the lousy food I’d had for lunch. The girls on the other side of me weren’t showing any effects yet, but it was probably just a matter of time.

The group rotation stopped but Mr. Tassinari still kept tabs on me as he presented the next part of the lecture. It really had nothing to do with what we were studying, but it was out of an info box in our textbook. It had to do with speeches.

As the unit project, we were supposed to present speeches. Well, that was one approach to it. We could contest speeches, create them, or paraphrase them in different ways. All that was still a ways off, but I fondly remembered the time I’d done the US History version of it.

It was probably one of the coolest but most stressful school days I’d ever had back then. I dressed up, and I wielded an old pro-Slavery speech by John C. Calhoun and presented it like a passionate Southern belle. I even pounded the lectern. 

In reflection, I probably sucked more than I was willing to admit while being terrified of the subject matter, but I got the biggest reaction for my commitment to the role. It should’ve been a stepping stone to something like comedy skits or acting or something. But when you’re just putting on some bullshit for a class you never know what the next step is, because no one tells you what it is and you’re already too set in whatever you are to change things.

I also had a lot of fun with the radio drama me and a couple other girls put on about Warren G. Harding for a unit project.  

It included the cringe-filled song, “I’m A Little Teapot Dome Scandal”. That memory doesn’t require suppression because I wasn’t the only one embarrassed by the whole thing.

I probably looked ridiculous right then as I remembered all those past projects and wore a random smile on my face. The speech example that the teacher gave was funny and a light distraction. I had no idea what I wanted to do this time, but all those projects were weeks off. I could procrastinate them for a while. Besides, with my current situation, just getting into a group where people didn’t ultimately run screaming from me was going to be the accomplishment of the afternoon.

After the presentation finished up, Tassinari sent us off to go look at stuff posted around the room related to speeches. I lingered, so I could talk to Ben a little bit. He’d stayed in his chair.

I scooted as close as I dared and inquired, “Is something wrong? You okay?”

Ben didn’t give an immediate answer. Instead, he made sure his notes from the speech and other stuff were completed before he looked over at me. He tried to keep a slip of a smile as he massaged his shoulder, but it plunged into a frown as he told me, “I’m fine. I just…”

Quietly, he flipped over to a blank side of a sheet of paper and quickly wrote to me, ‘I felt weird after it.’

Writing back and forth was going to be tough, especially with my handwriting. I wrote slowly with my left hand and tried to keep my palm high, so I didn’t smudge it.

I intended to communicate, ‘Physical? Mental? Side effects?”

Fortunately, Ben read it easily and then got to work on his response.

‘Like withdrawal. Like I want it again.’

Reading that made me feel an odd mix of emotions. Nervous but relieved. Concerned but curious. After tapping the paper thoughtfully, I jotted down, ‘Maybe after school?’

It wouldn’t be today because Gladis would be waiting for me, and I couldn’t stay late. His face tightened as he crossed out my last words and wrote underneath, ‘This SCARES me.’

Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist