24 Hours

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

                There was a kid in my grade named George, and he only ate three things; tuna, apples, and milk. Nobody had ever seen him eat anything else, and we’d constantly try to get him to eat other things. “I can’t,” he’d say, “I can’t.”

                So, naturally, we were shocked when he came to school the next day with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He sat down, picked it up, and took a big bit, like it was no big deal whatsoever. His tri-diet forever remains a mystery to us, and when we asked him why he’d suddenly ended it, he simply said, “I wanted to try something new.”

                That’s what being human is all about; trying new things, experimenting. It might actually surprise you – please you – what destiny has in the little toy chest of prizes.

                For George, it was a delicious PB&J.

                So that’s why I decided to try something new, something I’d never done. Or even tried to do. As we snatched our lunchboxes (and, in most cases, lunch money) out of our lockers and trudged down the hallway, my hands started to get clammy. I’d been nervous about this all day, and it was of no use trying to calm down.

                I hoped the cafeteria food that day would be sticky, clumpy. Soft, messy, and – preferably – not all that bad to eat. Or smell, I supposed.

                On the way to the cafeteria (called the “café” by upper-class-staff-members to hide its actual, badly connoted name, often  associated with food from the big green dumpsters behind the school), we passed by all the other classrooms; kids translating a Spanish passage about some historical event; teachers having a hearty laugh inside their luxurious lounge; students silently taking a test, peeking at each other’s answers when the teacher’s back was turned.

                It was not education or knowledge they sought. It was a life. Nobody went to school because they liked it, at least not when they first began school. No, no; they went to school because it was necessary. They needed income when they grew up to put the essentials on the dinner table, to have a roof over their heads and clothes over their bodies.

                If they tried really hard, they might even enjoy themselves somewhere along the way.

                School was simply preparation for the burdens of adulthood. Since hell knew I wouldn’t ever reach adulthood, I was going to have fun while I could. I intended to make the best of my adolescence, and today’s lunch period was certainly going to contribute to that goal in which I fantasized.

                My class sat down at our table on the far side of the cafeteria, by the windows. We waited to be beckoned into line two, and then catenated the man who led us into the lunch buffet. As we pointed to our desired food, I couldn’t help but think of the phrase “Pick your poison.” I wonder who said that..?

                I purposely chose the mushiest, most disgusting of the options. Squishy, bland rice that clumped together shook like a Jell-O; Undercooked, rubber-like spaghetti (with sauce); mashed up sweet potato, which wasn’t half that bad.

                I punched in my lunch number as I stood at the checkout counter and smiled at the lunch lady who worked the computer. She smiled back and said “You’re welcome!” after I said “thank-you.” Then, I retreated back to the table at which I sat and waited for the rest of the grade to file in, get their food, and sit down.