The bus smells of fusty fumes and self-pity. Every person arriving on the bus has brand new clothing, mostly freshmen, of course. Always believing high school drama and looks matter most, freshmen mistakenly have the wrong mindset just about every time. I sit in the mid-front, behind two freshmen kids arguing about how the newest shoes don't use this and that. Sick of it, I plugged in my headphones and darted for a nap, hoping for good arrival.
I wake up to a kid sitting next to me telling me to get up. I stand and see the entranceway to the school. It's intimidating resource officers standby the gate, both bloodthirsty for delinquency. The upper class men drag their backpacks down the stairs, while the freshmen, bright eyed and bushy tailed, run off in happiness. I check my watch: 8:38 AM.
Luckily I arrive at my class on time. Hopefully it's my class. I read my schedule over and over, hoping room 228 is what I saw.
AP Calc, 228
Spanish 5H, 219
AP Bio, 189
AP Lit, 312
My schedule is somewhat shortened than usual, mostly because I've completed the 24 credit graduation requirement, yet I still want extra classes. I could have graduated last school year. Eh. Not that big of a deal.
My teacher, Mrs. Halles, starts the class with a confusing lecture about the expectations and syllabus requirements we will meet by the end of the semester. Blah blah blah, she continued on about the signing of a school field trip to the National Plant and Mathematics Museum (?), which totally blows.
"Lastly, you will need a B+ average to continue with this AP course, or I'm going to drop you down," she states with her nasally voice. The class will be interesting. I've been preparing myself by practicing derivatives and integrals all summer long will the help of my father's prestige in mathematics.
"If you want to take it this way, flip it around and use L'Hôpital's rule," he said, "that's the right way."
My next class is somewhat interesting, as it's the same teacher I had previously for Spanish 4. Mr. Cupar: confusing man, grades papers quickly and terribly, wears dancing clogs everyday... typical Spanish teachers in high school.
My third period is by far my favorite, as Biology always was a strong suit for me freshman year, but an AP course? That's double the fun (yes it is). Her name was Mrs. Perrizini, the best teacher in the entire school. Maybe not best teacher, but coolest teacher...
She was my teacher in 9th grade, and always told me about how her children made her want to drink an extra bottle of pinot Grigio than recommended. In fact, I gave her parental help when she told me her daughter was getting bullied at school. Ever since, she became comfortable with me, and enjoyed my presence in class.
"Pruit! It's so good to see you, you're in this class? I'm so excited, oh my gosh! How is your mother?" She hugged me.
"Doing fine as always," I said smiling.
"That's good to hear, I just got the license to teach AP up here now, and it's a good thing for me."
"Well you are the best Bio teacher."
She laughed, and carried on about the subjects we will learn.
That's amazing. Wow. Really? Holy shit.
I really was excited... it's not sarcasm.
No matter how close I can be to a person, I cannot vividly make eye contact more than 5 seconds. I couldn't tell you how many times I've been asked if I'm okay just because I look down after I've felt the burning zaps of the eye lock. No, I'm not an awkward conversationer, I just feel entitled not to make eye contact every second of the small talk.
The day was a drag, but I arrived at possibly the worst class to take. Not necessarily the class itself, but the teacher and her topics.
I read the syllabus: All students are required to perform a 120 minute community service, as a participation and project grade for our demonstration of the positive reputation of Burkes High School! These actions include: two hour Saturday trash pickup (disgusting), ministry mission trips [extra credit: 25 pts!], Bible study with children [extra credit: 5 pts!], and hospital/clinic participation help.
Well it's no doubt my teacher is a band member of the Jesusholic movement (that's a "band" in Los Angeles as an FYI). I asked her if there was anything else I could do, and she said these were the only ones she could check up and make sure I accomplished for real.
"This will be your assignment over the weekend, and failure in participation could risk your grade, and advantage in a AP course.
"How does community service relate to literature?"
"Isn't this English class, not church?"
"Oh my god, not this shit again..."
"Why can't we just chill in this class."
The whispering questions boiled the blood of the witch, and she snapped and gave the most over exaggerated lecture in teacher recorded history. She told us when we walked out the door, to sign our name and write the activity we would be doing.
Trash pickup, mission trips, bible study, hospital help...
Picking up trash wouldn't be terribly tough to do, but the embarrassment would be unbearable to do such action on the biggest interstate of the state.
Mission trips would take too long, and I genuinely have no faith in any kind of deity, and the constant greeting of "Let's pray!" would drive me down a wall of insanity.
Bible study wouldn't be terrible, plus they are children so it's not as if they have any judgement on your beliefs...
Hospital help? Not bad, but not great. Being around depressing sick people wasn't quite my desire...
Bible Study, Malcolm Pruit
The bus ride home was ten times worse than the morning ride. The passenger percentage rose, and freshmen voices filled the void of concentration. I was the third stop to get off.
My mother was sitting at the kitchen table. Her plaid dress and silk top looked ritzily joinable, and her high heel buckles shone brighter than her glistening eyes. She stood up and joyously greeted me with a "hey," and a multitude of questions. I handed her the manilla folder with blank papers that had just about everything they've had on file since I was 4. I told her that there was a museum visit for Calc class which left her as confused as I was, and that I participated in the Bible study. She smiled a whatexactlydoyoumeanbiblestudy kind of smile. I'm positive she knows of my inexistent faith, and her's wasn't any greater than mine.
"Well that's nice, unfortunately aunt Jordan broke her hip this morning and your father and I are going to visit her at St. Judia's, do you want to go?"
"Ehhh, it'd be nice to go, I don't really know her that well."
"You don't have to if you don't want to, it was just a suggestion,"
"I guess it wouldn't."
We arrived at the hospital half an hour earlier, provided by the absence of traffic. The clerk women greeted people with fake smiles and the annoying phrase: "emergencies to the left, check ups to the right, patient visits, please walk down the corridor and take a left to the office."
The hall smelled of Pinesol and bleach. We walked up to the directions board and read as following:
Level 4: Senior/ Archival Care
Level 3: Contagious Zones; TB care center
Level 2: Cancer Patient Center
Level 1: Child Care
The glass elevator satisfyingly gave me the view of brand new interior and modern day incorporative restaurants. 294 feet tall, the level smelled of dust and cinnamon. The old people huddled in the corners next to the fireplace.
"What is your recipients name?" The clerk asked.
"Jordan, Eva"
"Erm... let's see...okay, room R-32. Please follow me."
We followed her uneasy stroll, keys jingling in one hand, broom and pan in the other.
"She was checked in by her husband a few hours ago, and I'm not sure she's doing so well. Code of Ethics say I'm not supposed to say much more. The door is on the right.
90 years old, decrepit as ever, Aunt Jordan lay in the bed. I don't really know her that well, but I know she dropped out of school at 15, and struggled for a long time after her father died two years later in World War II. Her mother later left her at age 17, during her hours of work in the textile mill. She later married at age 26, a lot later than usual during that time. She outlived her younger sister who lived with her grandparents in Michigan.
She smiled and looked up from the corner of her eye. She obviously couldn't move that well, and a fall of the hip could be detrimental for a nonagenarian.
My mother and father sat next to her and talked slowly and loud, as if she was close to being deaf. I sat in the corner chair, I didn't know what else to do. After a few minutes my mom walked towards me.
"Aren't there any more participation things you could do for your class? Not saying bible study was a bad choice, but maybe you could do a participation with aunt Jordan. That wouldn't be that big of a deal would it?"
"Uh, I guess."
"I mean who are we kidding, you haven't been to church in 10 years, how would you help with a bible study class? I also received an emailed syllabus from every single one of your teachers. My request," she said smiling deceitfully.
"Touché, but I don't know if Mrs. Ackner would let us change it, we already signed our name and listened to her lecture on the first day of school.. she has no mercy."
"Ill email her tonight, "she suggested.
"EVA, YOU WOULDN'T MIND MALCOLM HELPING YOU AROUND FOR A FEW DAYS, WOULD YOU?"
"Um.. few hours mom."
"FEW HOURS."
I grabbed my calculus textbook, flipped to page 278, and read the chapter. The questions were much more easier for me to do with my acquired practice, and actually fun. I wonder how many degrees the arc of the doorway would be if I had a ruler. Maybe if I use my ID badge, I can measure the elliptical distance from the major arc, all the way down to the floor board. I started smiling at the thought of silliness.
The night got darker, and the air blew against my sandy brown hair, positioning my glasses slightly below the "grandma perch" level. Stiff necked and swollen eyed, we walked out of the revolving door; my childhood flashed before my eyes. I remember walking in and out of that door after my mom's miscarriage. Nothing a 7 year old would really understand, but still felt resonantly dour. I could only think about how my mom felt walking out; the same tenderness that she'd never have the baby that she'd waited 9 months for... a baby sister. I peer over at my mom, a delicate tear drops down her face and softly disappears in the wind.
