Alternative

September 26, 2008 at 8:08AM

Woke up. Body made of concrete. Everything heavy, glued to bed. I'm having trouble opening my eyes. The prospect of showering, getting dressed, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth, walking to the subway, going to school, and being a person, feels impossible.

Unable to resist the powerful sink of my bed, I close my eyes again and pull the covers tighter. I was dreaming about Beth. We were walking by a river. There was a giant, friendly toad guiding us. I want to go back.

Mom's voice from downstairs: "Time to get up!"

"I'm up!" I yell back.

But I wasn't. In fact, thirty seconds later I was sound asleep again. And twenty minutes after that, Mom was knocking on my door and telling me that I was going to be late.

Confused and irritated, I hurry out of bed, get dressed and leave.

The streetcar is running extra slow today, which doesn't surprise me. Everything moves at a snail's pace the moment you start paying attention to time. I'm missing English class right now and we're supposed to be handing in our papers.

FINALLY at school. Jesus.

The entire English class is in the main foyer instead of the classroom. Everyone's chatting and Mr. Vincenzo isn't around.

I see Beth sitting in the corner by herself and sit down next to her.

"Hey," I say. "What are we doing out here?"

"Vincenzo's going to read us some poetry. He wanted to do it out here."

I look around for him.

"Where is he?" I ask.

"He went outside for a 'pre-game' cigarette."

I look down and notice her knitting something; her hands are quick and precise.

"What are you knitting?" I ask.

"A hat."

"Who's it for?"

"Amanda... My mom."

"Do you call her Amanda or Mom?" I ask.

Alex waves at me from the other side of the room. I wave back.

"Both, I guess." she says.

"Hey, do you think you could make me one, too?" I ask.

She smiles and looks down, "Maybe."

I catch myself smiling at her. She looks adorable, sitting in a cozy little spot, totally focused on the task at hand. And she's good; it looks like a hat someone would actually wear. Again, I know nothing about fashion. Maybe it's a crap hat. I don't know.

I realize I've somehow become kind of relaxed around her. Bizarre sensation. I've never felt that way around such a beautiful girl.

"I have some new songs," she says, without looking up. "I think they could be really great, but the guitar parts are too basic right now. I might need your help to, you know, make them more interesting or whatever."

"Cool. Well maybe we could do like a small rehearsal where we go over them?" I say.

"Like just you and me?"

"If you want. We could also have the other guys in too if that's better..."

"No, it might be easier if we work it out, just the two of us first. And then we can bring the songs to the band later."

"Cool," I say.

Mr. Vincenzo comes in with some kind of decorative, purple scarf draped around his neck. He announces that he's going to read a section from one of his favourite poems:

"Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman.

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself," he starts. "And what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."

I try paying attention to the poem, but I keep getting distracted, looking over at Beth as she knits; she's concentrating on the poem, and it seems like she's absorbing every word, but her hands keep knitting, just as precisely as they were when she was looking down at them.

She turns to me after Vincenzo pauses for dramatic effect.

"I like that last line."

"Me too," I say.

(I didn't hear shit.)