The Four Dimensions of Corey Emerson

The Raven at the Writing Desk

        I remember it like it was yesterday.

            The image is actually more clearly engrained in my head than any other part of this story... I remember how the brisk spring wind felt against my face. I remember that it was the first day back to High School after the Spring Break. A Tuesday. A cold Tuesday, it felt, yet flowers were already in bloom and trees were blossoming small, infant buds that no one seemed to notice. The leftover corpses of winter that everyone referred to as slush were scattered all throughout town. On the streets, in the gutters, on sidewalks, in potholes, everywhere.

            It began in Honors English. As it always had. He was discussing genres with less than ten minutes left in class. He was trying to waste time, like he always had.

            The class was alive with noise and cheer and talk of the Spring Break season. My birthday was over Spring Break... I can't remember what day it was, really, because I didn't celebrate it. My mother didn't, either. She was out working... I was trying to recall the exact date, but my thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Emerson, whose voice rang out like a bar on a steel pipe.

            “Fantasy,” Mr. Emerson began. I shot my head up from the world of my own imaginations and ponderings. “What is it?” No one answered. Even I didn't. I just sat there, quietly, letting my teacher take the blow-by-blow silence of chirping crickets and snores of tired students. Mr. Emerson was about to answer his own question, until his eyes drifted over to meet mine. He smiled at me with wide eyes. We had a moment, together, where I knew he was reined humored at the ignorance of the Honors class. I heard a small snore come from Sean Brown who was sitting next to me... Well... Sleeping next to me... I didn't even know why Sean Brown was in that class... he had had nothing more than low 80's all year... I never talked to him... and never planned to.

            I smiled to Mr. Emerson and chuckled a little, inside.

            Suddenly, another bar made love to a steel pipe as the bell rang, signaling my lunch period. Sean Brown jumped awake, wiping drool off his chin. I smirked at him as he quickly packed up and left.

            Chairs skidded, children talked, bags dragged, and the floor shook as all of the school's hallways erupted with the sound of movement.

            I kept where I was, and just pulled out a black marker from my bag and began doodling more quotes in any available space I could find on my English binder. I referred to the small blank space in the right-hand corner and wrote '...And they lived happily ever after.'

            “Trevor,” a voice said. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr. Emerson standing in the front of my desk.

            “Hmn...” I murmured, not looking up and adding a few more doodles around the quote.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Nothing, I'm just-.” Before I could even finish, I heard the screech of a dragged chair as Mr. Emerson straddled it and rested his arms on it's back, on the other side of my desk. He grabbed my binder and flipped it so it was upside down to my view, interrupting my attempted scrawls. I didn't say anything; I just sat there, frowning and crossing my arms.

            Mr. Emerson was staring at the binder, while one of his hands was outstretched, reaching for the marker. I reluctantly handed it to him and he grabbed it, not looking up. Flipping the binder over to the other side where there were no drawings or quotes, Mr. Emerson began to draw something. “I have a question for you, kid,” he said simply, not looking up.