11
Cries and Laughters
“Am I a Martian to turn into Jesus? Or travel across the multiverse and meet all the fictional characters?”
11.
The school, grown tall and fat overnight. Crowded hallways, students hurrying to their classes. The next class on the fifth floor. Take the stairs to the right.
“My, no shirt today?”
Supposed to wear shirts?
“Of course, I don’t mind but — ”
Giggle.
Shrug.
Oh, the teachers wouldn’t like that.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” Always people around to help.
“Heard someone was looking for you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but it didn’t sound good.”
“Figures.”
Fifth floor. Fifth floor? Since when was there a fifth floor? New floors popping up every day, this school’s going places. Room 512. That’s the one.
“You, you’re here!”
“Of course, I’m here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“But you can’t be here, you have to — ”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re after you. If you — ”
“They? Who’re you talking about?”
“There’s no time, come on!”
OK, if you say so.
“They’re here already!”
“Quick, half of you cover that hallway, don’t let them get through! And you, follow me!”
Whatever.
“You have to get out of here. Use the crowd, they’ll help you.”
What crowd?
Bell. Students pouring out of classrooms, filling the hallways already. Of course, students leave just as the class starts, makes sense.
What was I running from again? Oh, “them,” how can I forget?
Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road . . . Everyone heading outside, just to help me of course, so nice to be the center of the universe.
Hundreds of students pouring out at the same time, they surround me.
Quickly, around the corner.
Run! Across the street, past the post office, just a little longer, can’t let “them” get to me.
Trapped in a bizarre story, but what kind of story? Running from blackhats, sure, but that could be any story. Am I a Martian to turn into Jesus? Or travel across the multiverse and meet all the fictional characters? Do I get to kiss the girl?
Then instant transportation. A huge, crowded building. A mall? No, too many people here for that, maybe a mall of the future.
Ah, a bench, sit down, maybe this silliness is over.
A tap on the shoulder.
“There you are!”
“Stephanie?!”
“I’ve been looking for you!”
“Why, I thought — ”
A sudden kiss. Furious lips attacking relentlessly; urgent, confident. Then disengaging just as abruptly.
“We need to go, there isn’t much time.”
“What’s this about?”
“Come on, I’ll explain later.”
“OK.”
Of course, I find Stephanie here, where else? Don’t we all go to a big mall after we die?
“They’ve got this building almost surrounded, but I know a back exit. They shouldn’t be looking for us there.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
Well, I got to kiss the girl at least. Sort of.
“This way. Hurry!”
“I don’t see anyone following us.”
“Almost there . . . No!”
“What?”
“They’re coming in through the back exit. We have to go back.”
“That means — ”
“All the exits are covered.”
“Not good.”
“Not good. We can’t stay here. And we can’t use the exits.”
Ah, the moment of truth, the moment when the hero figures out a way, but where’s the hero? Oh, that’s me.
“So we use a non-exit to get out.”
“What?”
“I have an idea. This way.”
Looks sturdy enough.
“What’re you gonna do with that chair?”
“Why, make an exit out of that glass.”
“Yes!”
Clean smash. Not as much resistance as I thought.
“Be careful.”
What fools, allowing such an obvious escape. Get better villains next time.
“No, this way, I have a car waiting!”
“Right behind you.”
Looks of surprise, angry eyes, curious eyes; they see us from inside. Can barely make them out, shouting, cursing, men rushing out of the new exit. Superb acting, I must say.
“She’s not here!”
“Who?”
“Mother. She’s supposed to be here with the car.”
“Is that her driving up?”
“Yes!”
Just in time. Safely in the back seat and screeching away. Surely they can’t catch us now.
So what was this all about? Who were they and why were they after me?
Ah, forget the explanations, who cares about the plot? Just keep driving toward the horizon, into the wild colors of the night, the hero and the heroine riding off into the sunset to live happily ever after . . .
“Sorry, hon, I saw them approach the back exit and had to move the car. But I heard the commotion and thought it might be you.”
“It’s OK. Think we’re clear now.”
My Stephanie, same as always, exactly as I remember.
“Look at the sunset, isn’t it gorgeous?”
It is beautiful, almost as beautiful as you . . .
What is that sound? Loud ringing . . .
“Watch out!” No!
Alarm.
“Ugh!”
Stupid, silly dream.
7:00 A.M.
Shower. Get dressed. Grab the books and out the door.
Let’s see, what needs to be done? Geometry. I can do that later. English, a five-paragraph theme due in three days, better get started. What topic? Come on, think. Think, think, think!
The bus, right on time . . . Where was I? Yes, the topic . . . Now the thesis statement . . . something that covers the three main elements. What three elements? Yes, that, that . . . So the thesis has to be . . . Not bad. Now some examples to support the three points . . . OK, pretty good outline.
School grounds.
7:37 A.M.
A bit late this morning. What’s up? Locker, exchange books. Hey, did you get that report ready? Good, see ya in history. Quick, you’re gonna miss the bell.
7:45 A.M.
Typing.
Why did you take this class? You already had it in junior high.
It’s easy, useful, and there was nothing else to take for this hour anyway. Oh well, can’t work on homework, but at least she doesn’t assign any herself.
“Wanna buy a candy? It’s for a good cause.”
“Nah.”
“Aren’t you supposed to support this sort of thing? You’re the class president.”
Funny girl. Last year you wouldn’t even talk to me, now I’m your buddy?
“I don’t believe in good causes, but I’ll buy one if it’s for an evil cause.”
“You’re hilarious.”
Yeah, I’m a regular riot. Glad I amuse you.
“OK, let’s do that again. One more time.”
Wait a minute, think I have a flawless one here. No error that I see . . .
“Can I have the next sheet please?”
“Sure, which one?”
“One that starts with — ” Sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five, “Eighty words per minute.”
Gasp. Stares.
Yeah, pretty fast huh?
“Man, I have trouble typing thirty-five words per minute.”
Shrug.
End of the first period.
8:35 A.M.
Men’s choir.
One problem here, one problem there, between songs, frowns, and “Please put your books away.” She means me, but I don’t care, I have to get this done, there’s no time.
End of the second period.
9:35 A.M.
Chemistry.
Lab. We’re supposed to have read something. What? Maybe she read it.
“So what’re we doing?”
“I figured you’d know.”
“No, I didn’t read it.”
“Uh oh.”
“Don’t worry, how hard can it be? Let’s see here.” Where is that stupid sheet? Damn it. “Do you have the sheet?”
“Here.”
“Get these stuff. I’ll figure out what to do.”
“OK.”
Put this into the beaker. Mix it with that. Heat it until you see something . . . explode? . . . That wouldn’t be good . . . No, just standard, boring stuff . . .
Ahh, another one to the list. Lab report.
End of the third period.
10:35 A.M.
Student Council seminar/lunch.
Excellent, no pointless meeting today. Geometry, geometry, geometry.
Bisect this angle . . . Intercept that line at right angles . . . this equals this . . . that equals that . . . Magically proof! . . . This is child’s play . . . Done! Two more to go.
Still some time left before lunch. Go to the library and get that intro done. What was the thesis? Yes . . . What to write, what to write, what to write . . .
Bell. Five more minutes, lunch can wait . . . Almost there . . . Almost . . . Intro done! The rest should be easy.
Awesome, no waiting when you show up late. Take this, take that, some dessert for tooth decay . . . some meat for heart attack . . . to the checkout line in five seconds flat. There you go, thanks.
Hey guys. Yeah, I know, but fifteen minutes is plenty . . . I can finish that paper tomorrow, and that leaves just the lab report . . . Talk, talk, read, read . . . How am I doing them at the same time?
End of the fourth period.
11:35 A.M.
World history.
Alexander the Great? What arrogant fool calls himself ‘the Great’? Oh yeah, others called him that. Must be nice to be remembered that way. No, it wouldn’t matter to him since he’s dead.
Back to the report . . . We mixed this . . . with that . . . in the boring way the instructions told us to do . . . and the chemicals overreacted . . . producing a melodramatic goo pH balanced for women . . . Whatever. Close, very close. Going. Going. Gone.
What? What’s the problem? Yes, I was doing chemistry homework. Yes, I was paying attention. Yes, I was. What’s the big deal, why can’t I do both? Yeah, give me a mirror and I’ll watch my mouth you jerk.
Fine, be that way, you leave me no choice. Whenever your back’s turned, whenever you’re not looking, I’ll do my homework. I’m not going to waste my time just because you tell me to. Deceiving you should be easier than this so-called class.
End of the fifth period.
12:35 P.M.
Geometry.
“What’re you doing?”
“Today’s assignment.”
“But she hasn’t assigned anything yet!”
“I asked her before class.”
“Oh.”
Ahead of schedule except for the English paper, but that’ll have to wait till tomorrow. See if I can finish this before she assigns it.
“Advanced algebra next year is going to be murder. Hope you’re in my class so you can help me again.”
“Not taking that next year. Had it already.”
“You mean Algebra I?”
“No, Algebra II.”
“So what’re you taking?”
“Trigonometry/math analysis.”
“Aww.”
“But I’ll help you if you’re in any of my classes.”
“Great.”
End of the sixth period. Still ahead of schedule.
1:35 P.M.
English.
We can have the whole period to work on the paper? How nice. Way ahead of schedule, way ahead. Just type it and I’m done. Good day.
End of the seventh period. End of school.
2:35 P.M.
So much free time, I don’t know what to do with myself. Just staring out the window the entire way home. Why am I always in high gear like I’m running away from something?
Just busy, that’s all. Going to school, working full time, sometimes overtime.
No, I don’t have to work so much. I don’t have to work at all, not yet anyway. But I can’t get enough, I always ask for more. Well, work is better than home, so it’s just as well . . .
Oops, almost missed my stop. Quick, quick, things to do, things to do.
Eat. Then off to work. Fast food, minimum wage, but it’s work and it passes the time.
At work.
4:00 P.M.
“Dinner rush; get ready.”
Let the fun begin.
“I’ll have someone help you with drive-thru in a minute. We’re short of a few people tonight.”
“Don’t bother, put ’em somewhere else. I can handle drive-thru.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Don’t know what we’d do without ya.”
Empty praise. If you really felt that way, you’d give me a big raise. Of course, salary is never about fairness.
Headset on.
“You can go, I’m taking over.”
“Great! Have fun.”
“Yeah.” Fun, fun, fun. Come on, people, the more the merrier. Keep me busy, keep me moving, keep me from noticing life.
Cars pouring in as if on cue — must’ve read my mind. Here we go. Get the food and make the drinks as they order. Talk. Walk. Punch the order in, get the money, and hand out the food while talking on the headset. An efficient routine, doing several things at the same time, a perfect distraction . . . Fast forwarding to the future . . . This shift should be over in no time . . .
“Wanna go see a movie tonight?”
“What? We won’t get out until midnight at the earliest.”
“There’s a drive-in that starts at 12:30.”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, we’re all going, it’s Friday.”
“All right.”
Time slowing down again as it nears closing. Too slow, I can almost hear my thoughts.
The water bottle, grab it, and have some fun. Behind the food counter where she’s not looking. Spray some on her hair, duck, walk around, and act normal. Hah! She doesn’t even notice. Do it again . . . She notices it this time, but still not catching on . . . just glancing sideways . . . One more time . . .
“Oh, you’re gonna get it!”
“I don’t think so. I hid all the water bottles.”
“But I have this!”
“No, you wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.”
“Did you like the movie?”
“Yeah. But what happened to the others?”
“Guess they changed their minds.”
“Why’re we stopping at your place?”
“I gotta get something. You wanna come in? My parents aren’t home.”
“And do what?”
A wicked smile, very pretty in this moonlight. Some joke I don’t quite understand.
“You’re sweet.”
A serialized coming-of-age novel about a boy who must decide whether to live or die after surviving an abusive family and the death of his love: first.