Cynic
1
I walk into Mrs.Coffman’s class. I see the blue and black spotted carpet upon which the other children are running. The classroom is warm and filled with the slurred high-decimal, high-frequency voices of kindergardeners. I see the four special activities tables, and the masking tape marked circle that the whole class sits around during lessons. I hang up my coat and backpack in the cubby marked with my name, and I walk over to talk with the other kids.
“Where’s Mrs. Coffman?” I ask.
“She’s not here today,” one of the boys replies in a high pitched pre-pre-pubescent voice, “we have a Sub.”
The little boy turns his head and points to a woman busy organizing papers at the teacher’s desk. Almost instantaneously the Sub stands up and yells, “Class! Settle down. Everyone be quiet!”
The Sub is old. She is wearing small frameless glasses and she lets her greasy gray hair hang down by her ears. She conceals her overweight body with a one-piece denim dress and a collared white shirt underneath. The Sub walks to the front of the room, I can feel her footsteps through the reverberations in the floor.
“Class, Mrs. Coffman is absent today. I’m your sub, you can call me Mrs. White. -- Today we’ll be going into our activity groups first thing. The choices are, ‘arts and crafts,’ ‘sound,’ ‘library,’ and ‘writing.’ When I call your name tell me what activity you want to do. Only four students per group.” The sub begins the roll call. She calls my name, I say “arts and crafts.”
“That’s full!” the Sub shouts.
“Yes, but Mrs. Co-”
“No Buts!” she yells.
“But, I’m worki-”
“No Buts!” the Sub screams, “Your choices are ‘sound,’ ‘library,’ or ‘writing!’ Which one do you want?”
Blearily able to see out of my tear-filled eyes I exclaim, “None! Mrs. Coffman and I are working on a project she said I could fini-”
“How many times do I have to tell you! No exceptions!”
Sobbing, I say,“But-”
“No Buts! -- You’ve just earned yourself a ‘Time Out’, young man!”
I sit in the chair in front of the room. A few minutes pass. Chloe walks by, “Why did you do that?!” she asks me in a hostile tone.
“What?” I mutter, still trying to get my crying under control. I cannot understand. Why is she on the teacher’s side? How can she think that Sub is right? She walks away. What? She knows Mrs. Coffman always lets me do ‘arts and crafts.’ I don’t get it! I don’t get it!
2
“So what kind of guitar do you have then?” I ask.
“I’ve got an Epiphone les paul. You know, it’s sort of a Gibson knok-off.” Brendan replies.
“Oh yeah man, I know. There’re not bad though, at least not for four-hundred bucks.”
We approach the front of the lunch line.
“Yeah, I guess so. What kind do you have?” he asks as I’m about to order.
“I’ve got a Fender Powerhouse Strat - chicken nuggets please - it’s got powered pickups, I think its the best sounding Mexican Strat out there -- thanks.” I scan my card.
Brendan orders his food, “That sounds cool man.”
We go to sit down. Brendan sits next to a friend of his, there are no empty seats. Brendan talks with her. I stand there for a second, He is absolutely ignoring me, I think. I just switched into this school, no place to sit, ‘don’t know anyone. Goddamn it; phony bastard. The nerve of these kids. I’m gettin’ out of here. I walk out of the cafeteria, throw away my food, and I walk into town.
3
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, I pick it up. “Hi,” I say.
“Hey Sasha... It’s Jessie,” she says in a crackly sort of voice.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.
“Nothing, how was the game?”
“We lost. It was pretty fun to watch though, like, you know how the hockey games are,” I say, trying to sound as relaxed as possible.
“Yeah... So listen... First I just wana say that that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever made for me. Like, it was just so cool and nice and everything... But I’m sorta already going with Sam.”
“Sam?”I exclaim, “But he’s a Sophomore.”
“Yeah, but I already asked him... And it would be sorta weird to tell him that I don’t wana go with him anymore - I guess if I didn’t ask Sam I would say ‘yes,’ but...”
I interrupt, “So are you two still ‘going out’ or whatever?”
“No, no, it’s official on facebook” she says in a low volume voice, probably moving the phone away from her mouth.
“Oh... Well,” I say awkwardly. A second or two pass.
“I gota go,” she says, “it’s late.”
“Yeah,” I reply, “me too, see you in school I guess.”
“Bye.”
4
Charley and I are idling in my car, parked in the municipal parking lot. “Yo man, put on some tunes,” I say.
“Don’t worry man, I got it. How does Devendra Burnheart sound?” Charley asks as he opens the glove compartment in search of an iPod.
“That sounds great,” I say in a raspy relaxed tone.
Charley asks,“Hey... Um, where’s the wire?” I lean over and grab the ‘aux in’ wire and put it in the iPod. A few seconds later the music finally comes on. “Nice man,” Charley says.
We sit for just a second till this cop drives up. “Goddamn it man,” Charley says as cop shines its lights directly at us.
“Ugh, Authoritarian bastards,” I say, “let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah man,” Charley says.
I make a left out of the parking lot and stop at the red light by the train station.
“ Where do you wana go Charley?” I ask.
“ I dono man.”
“I don’t know either.”
We pause for a minute. The light turns green. I make a right and follow the railroad tracks out.
