When the Sun Bursts

1. Poetry Is Useless

I don't get how analyzing poetry is supposed to help us in the future. I mean it. Does the phrase, "Her face was rosy, delicate like a posy," have any meaning outside of the stupidity of English class? No. Poetry is useless, and it gets you nowhere.

Math, on the other hand-that I can get behind. A whole practice dedicated to facts and definite truths, without questioning why something is. There's a process for everything and an answer for everything. If life were that easy, world peace would have been achieved already. Sadly, that hasn't happened yet.

This takes us to where I am now; third-row desk, second period. Ms. Donahue, our teacher, has decided that we should dissect a poem by Francis William Bourdillon.

Isn't that a mouthful? Why do people choose to go by all of their names? I'm almost positive it was just to mess with people in the future, like "Hey! Look at those idiots, calling me by that fancy title. Little to they know my friends just called me Frank! Mwahahaha!"

I'll repeat myself: What's to gain?

If I went by my full name, Quincy Davis Gales, I'm pretty sure my friends would've shot me by now. Although, I guess I'd be better off that way instead of having to choke out Felicity Arturonis Winnbacher Harrison. Her parents wanted to name her after her ancestors, which, while with good intentions, ended up doing more harm than good. Francis almost had it easy. May he rest in peace.

"Quincy, could you please read lines seven and eight for the class?"

At this point, I've given up on English. I'm almost failing, and with half of the semester left, I'd like to stay there. Lord knows another test is just what I need at the moment. Don't even get me started on testing at our school—trust Ash on this one—it's the worst process known to mankind. Arlotson High School mandates that all students be given the entire class period to complete a test. Some students, like myself, like to finish the test like any reasonable person would. Others, though, waste the entire period staring at their paper. If you don't know the answer, just guess! Don't waste everyone else's time. I swear, one of these days I'm going to sprain a leg muscle from the amount of tapping my foot does, since they don't let us do anything until everyone is finished. County rules, I suppose.

"...Quincy. We've talked about this."

Then there's the people. Our school is one of the few LGBT friendly campus' around this part of the United States. Of course, there's always a few outliers, but that can be combated. Supportive friends are really all that matter in that aspect.

There's Ash, who I've known since second grade. We never really hit it off until middle school, though. We were both outcasts that year, and it brought us together. I'm happy to say that now we are a bit more integrated with our peers.

Felicity, who I mentioned earlier, is Ash's girlfriend. She was instantly smitten by Ash's...Whatever it is Ash has. He returned her affections, and they've been together since freshmen year. It's hard to believe it was only two years ago that I met her and Lucas.

Lucas, born in New Mexico, brought to our little town thanks to job opportunities nearby. He's known Ash for a long time, so it isn't surprising that his family decided to move back here. They grew up together. It always surprised me how close they could be, even after years apart. Frankly, it's terrifying.

Last, but certainly not least, is my boyfriend Travis. He-

"Quincy. Ms. Donahue needs you to read lines seven and eight of the poem." A voice whispers to me, nudging my arm.

We'll get back to him.

"Sorry ma'am, spaced out for a sec there." I say, glancing at the clock. Have twenty minutes already passed? I skim the papers before me that I probably should have already filled out, and find the poem.

Ms. Donahue clearly doesn't want to put up with my shit today. "Well, Quincy? The class is waiting."

I overdramatically sulk in my chair for a moment. This gets a few smiles, which really is all that matters. Then I read:

"Umm...Yet the light of a whole life dies, when-when love is done."

The class looks relieved to finally be able to finish taking about the poem. I imagine I do too. Ms. Donahue looks appeased. Good.

She claps her hands together. "Okay guys. Now that we've finished reading the poem, let's go over what it means. Can anybody tell me the purpose of the opening lines?"

Ms. Donahue waits, patiently, until a student in the far back hesitantly raises his hand. "Yes, Mikael?"

"Well, I think it's about how even though there are a bunch of tiny relationships, it's only the main one that ever really matters. And when that relationship dissapears," he pauses what he's saying, probably trying to organize his words. "It kind of...casts you into sadness, or despair?"

A smile adorns Ms. Donahue's face. She's satisfied with the explanation Mikael has given, which I don't really understand. Don't get me wrong, Mikael's great. I just don't get poetry.

I glance at the clock again. 9:35. Twenty more minutes until I'm freed from this nightmare.

Mikael shoots me a thumbs up under his desk, and I return it. Although Mikael and I aren't super close, he's still somebody I can get along with, at least in this class. He's also been helpful when things are rough with Travis, which I appreciate. It takes a lot of patience to put up with me in this situations. Felicity tries, but it's hard for her, especially the situation requires more...control.

Control really runs our world, doesn't it? The government, relationships, school. They all require control. If I didn't know any better I'd say we were all being brainwa-

A hushed voice breaks me out my thoughts "Quincy," the girl next to me whispers. "Do you need the answers? You seem a bit lost."

Oh, right. The worksheets.

I shrug, and whisper back:

"It's okay, I can just finish these tonight. No worries."

"Are you sure you don't want some help? There's a lot of questions."

"It'll be alright, Maya," I raise my eyebrows. "I'm already practically failing. I'll do the work at home."

This doesn't seem to make her feel any better, but she leaves the topic alone and returns to her book. I finally decide to take a look at the papers on the desk before me.

Well shit. I really should have taken up Maya's offer.