The Choir He Wanted, The LIfe He Had

Monday, March 13, 1935

"I can't wait for this to be over."

"For what to be over?" I asked, looking up at Roger.

"School," Roger replied.

"We still have like three months left," I said. Roger groaned.

"I just want to get out of here," he said.

"You do know you have to come back next year right?" I asked.

"Yeah," Roger said, "But at least we'll be doing something worthwhile."

"What does that mean?" I asked. Roger sighed.

"It means doing something that's worth doing," he said. "Instead of these stupid drawings and everything else we do here. I want to learn something real, not whatever crap we're doing in this class."

"I like not doing anything," I said.

"How does this not bore you?" Roger asked. "We've been doing the exact same things over and over again for the past — what — six months? Aren't you tired of it?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Of course not," Roger said. He stood up from the table, and before he walked away he said, "You don't know anything."

"Excuse me?" I said, but he had already walked away. I sighed and looked down at a paper in front of me. As I continued working on a drawing I had started, I heard someone sit across from me and take a sheet of paper. I didn't look up, but I heard the sounds of a pencil scratching paper, and then the person asked,

"Is it okay if I sit here?"

"That's fine," I said, still focused on my drawing.

"Is he coming back?" The person asked.

"Who, Roger?" I asked. I looked up, and when I saw Ralph sitting across from me, I realized he didn't have to answer.

"Is he coming back?" he asked again.

"I don't think so," I said. I looked back down at my drawing and continued working on it. The two of us sat across from each other in silence. The silence was interrupted when Ralph suddenly kicked me in the shin and I cried out in pain.

"Sorry," Ralph said. After a few seconds he did it again, and this time I kicked him back.

"Ow!" he yelled. "I said I was sorry!"

"Then why did you do it again?" I yelled back.

"I didn't mean to!" he yelled. I paused for a second and looked around, then I lowered my voice and said,

"Then stop doing it!" He said nothing and looked back down at the paper in front of him. I looked under the table and saw that he was swinging his legs back and forth.

'That's weird,' I thought. I looked back up and watched him scribble on the paper in front of him, not really drawing so much as coloring. I looked down at my paper and finished my drawing, and as I went to grab another one, Ralph stopped moving altogether. He just froze, still looking down at his paper, the pencil gripped in his right hand.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He slowly looked up at me. His eyes were suddenly wet with tears, and I had no idea why. He put the pencil he was holding down, then looked around quickly. When he looked back at me, tears began to fall down his face. He quickly wiped them away, then sniffed and looked around again.

"What's wrong?" I asked. Ralph looked back at me, then he asked,

"Can you keep a secret?"

"From who?" I asked.