My side

Chapter 9 Words on a wall on Angel street

   Tap tap tap. The chalk clicks across the black board. I stare across the room, not seeing anything.
  Mrs Pesci's heels click on the tile as she walks from one end of the board to the other, scribbling madly.
  A boy sharpens his pencil. I stare at the clock. Each second seems to last an hour, and each hour an eternity.
  I think about that. It's an interesting concept really. Eternities. A never ending span of time. Does such a thing really exist in this universe? Is such an idea even logical? And are all things that are logical even true?
"Katherine!!" I look up, startled out of my thoughts. Mrs. Pesci looks at me, an exasperated expression on her face. She raises her eyebrows at me, like she's expecting something. "May I help you?" I ask. The class laughs, and I see three girls in the back of the room begin to whisper between their giggles.
"I asked you what the answer to 5x multiplied by the sum of 1/4x and 14." She says. "Oh." I reply. "If that's all then..."
"It is not all! Answer the question!" She cries, her face turning red. The class laughs again. "I don't know the answer." I say. I'm confused. Should I know the answer? I look at her.
  The girls in the back of the class's whisper more urgently.
   Mad is an understatement for the way Mrs. Pesci looks right now. "I will not be made a fool of in my class!" She shouts. "You will learn to pay better attention while I am giving a lesson and keep all smart comments at home, is that clear?" She says, her eyes boring into me.
  It's all I can do to nod, since I have no idea what she's talking about. After a moment, Mrs Pesci continues tapping away at the black board. The class continues to snicker. One boy turns around and makes a rude gesture in my face.
   I look at the clock. The minute hand crawls closer to the 12, the hour hand set almost directly on 3. Almost over.
  I leave the school quickly, my head down, avoiding all eye contact.
Outside the school, the bright light hits me in a dazzling pink blare. I squint across the street, making out the figure cloaked in rags leaning against a lamppost, a cigarette between his fingers. "Cindy Lauper!" He calls across the street to me.
I join him. "What?" I ask. "Cindy Lauper." He repeats, smiling, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a drag.
Before I can respond, I hear a shout from across the street. "Hey slut, go screws yourself!" I don't have to turn to around to know it's the boy who teased me in algebra. Bernie seems unfazed, he just happily flips the kid off.
"C'mon kid." Bernie says, heading down the street. " I got something special planned for today." I find myself grinning as l follow him.
We walk for about a mile, heading downtown, past the shop rite market where we first met. The streets become narrower as we walk, the pavement cracked and peeling, like wallpaper.
  We've just turned onto Central ave, when Bernie takes a sharp right down a side street. I begin to hear the music even before we've come out on Angel street. Like the last, Angel is tightly packed and crowded. Young kids in slightly out of style 70s bell bottoms and colorful vests lean against buildings, smoking and laughing.
  One group of men have set up paint cans and drum rhythmically on them. A record store plays loud music from a stereo set up outside.
  Bernie does not look out of place here, almost half these people look homeless. Empty plastic bags scurry in the gutter, their contents long used. Two girls hand out flyers to passerby, things saying 'save the Eagles' and 'help the victims of Vietnam, they need you' and stuff like that.
  And music. There is music everywhere. Posters displaying popular 70s music, like the Beatles and led Zeppelin, are hung in store windows.
We cross the street, and head downhill. Where I expect us to cross back over, Bernie turns into a hard curve. I follow him, and realize that we stand in a tunnel off the freeway. On the other end I can see the other side of Angel.
Bernie stops in the center of the tunnel, and bends down to examine the contents of a black bag he brought with us. "Well this is exciting." I can't help but say as I lean against the concrete side of the tunnel. "Here, take this you little smart ass." Bernie says, handing me and aluminum can. I take it and read the label. It's spray paint.
Bernie stands, holding another can. "Look, woulda?" He commands, gesturing to the wall. I turn, and am not surprised to see that it's covered in graffiti. Shaking his spray can, he writes on the wall in big swooping letters. He stands back, satisfied. "Cindy Lauper." He says proudly, as if this explains everything. I look to see what he's written. 'GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN' is written in sloppy handwriting in blue paint.
I take my can, and chose a spot over a faded 'u make me wet' written in green paint. I carefully spray the words 'TRUE COLORS' in bright red paint.
Bernie grins. "I knew there was hope for you." He says, shaking his can again.
In the next 2 hours, we cover the entire wall in song lyrics, everything from the Beatles to Michael Jackson and back again. By the time we're finished, we've covered every inch of the wall.
  Bernie leans back and studies it. "Nice." He says approvingly. I look at the wall. There's something missing. After a moment, I Lena down and take a can. I look at the label. It's purple.
  Shaking the can, I spray one last word on the wall, bigger than all the others.
  When I walk home that night, it's that word that I remember most.
                          JOURNEY