so yeah,....it's been a while

Needless to say, it's been well over a while since I wrote a post that wasn't a pre-written short story. Something about not having anything to write about/ being lazy....hmmm well I guess to provide an update on my life, school started yesterday. At this point I have gone to all of my classes and am content with them. My one male prof teaches social psych and he is almost a cutie. A cutie and at least 70 years old. Yeah, that kind of cutie. haha. Anyway he made a couple of endearing jokes today which I wrote down....ok he made one: "I am the youngest in the faculty at Hunter College"...add a German accent, some white hair, and a smile, and a chuckle is sure to ensue. Fer sure.....a couple of my classes are acting like they want to kick my ass, what with the 10 page research papers, presentations, and 500 pages of reading a night, but I won't let 'em....

The Last of It

As soon as they did, Mr. Everett stood up abruptly. Cynthia looked terrified. Dylan not so much, but he felt unsure. What is he going to do? What is he going to say? Before anyone could see what was happening, Mr. Everett announced that it was lunchtime and that everyone should go outside. So people slowly grabbed their lunches and made their way to the door. Cynthia grabbed her Hello Kitty lunch tin; Dylan pulled on his sweatshirt. He forgot his lunch at home. This guy is totally crazy, he thought.


As he was walking over to Luke’s classroom to have lunch with him, he noticed Luke was standing outside. Maybe he was waiting for him.

“Hey, man, I left my lunch at home, can you share?”
“I guess so, yeah. So what’s up?”
“My teacher went crazy earlier; he was yelling and throwing stuff around. He was yelling at this girl Cynthia who is the best student and never talks. It was bizarre.”
“Oh man, really? That sucks.”
“Yeah, I tried standing up for her.”

They walked over to the grass and sat down. Luke had brought steak today. It was cut up into little cubes. They set it on a paper plate on the grass and ate. A few minutes later Cynthia walked over with Hello Kitty by her side. She sat in the middle, behind the plate.

“Hi.”
“Hey”
“Are you in seventh grade?”
“No, eighth.”
“Cool.”
“I heard what happened in your classroom earlier. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it was pretty scary, but I’m ok.”
Dylan then spoke, “you want some steak?”
“Ok.”

Cynthia was relieved. This was one lunch period she wouldn’t spend studying. She hoped it would turn into something slightly more permanent, maybe once a week she could enjoy her lunch in the company of a person, rather than her notebook.
The three of them sat together that afternoon, the afternoon after that, and pretty much for the rest of the year. When Luke left to go to high school in the fall, Cynthia and Dylan had lunch together. She usually had a turkey sandwich and he usually had chicken. They would eat and talk about life.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey (...)

Class was over and Dylan was still sitting in his seat. Math and American history were done for the day and science and English were coming. In between he had seven minutes to walk around, maybe get a drink of water. He got up and walked outside. He saw Cynthia standing in line at the water fountain; he went and stood behind her. Right before she left and it was his turn to quench his thirst, he said something. “Why were you staring at me earlier?” She turned bright red. “I wasn’t staring at you,” Cynthia replied. Then she walked away. Dylan was mildly confused but took a sip from the water fountain immediately. Yes, you were, he thought. Time for science, time for snoozing. Dylan sat back in his seat and put his head down once again. He could hear Mr. Everett begin the lesson on the rainforest. Then he was gone. He woke up abruptly to very loud yelling and noises. They weren’t directed at him, though, at least not exclusively. He rubbed his eyes to wake himself up a little more. Mr. Everett was yelling and throwing things from his desk around the room.


Dylan was surprised to say the least. Steven, the kid that sat next to him, had eyes wide as plates and was generally terrified. “How could you not know where the rainforest is, Cynthia?!!!” “How is it possible that you have the highest grade in the class and yet you know absolutely nothing about the world?!!!” Mr. Everett was going ballistic. And clearly for no reason. Dylan felt awfully for Cynthia. Sure, she lied about staring at him but that is a mere nothing. She shouldn’t receive any negative consequences for that, especially not of the crazy teacher variety. Dylan spoke up, probably not the best idea. “Why are you yelling at Cynthia, she didn’t do anything wrong!” Mr. Everett took a deep breath, walked over to his desk, and sat down. He knew he could get in serious trouble, maybe even fired if he reacted the way his mind was telling him to. He was silent for the rest of Science and English. The whole class was silent as well. Not one person moved. Dylan was still processing what had occurred. He looked around and saw that pencils were all over the floor, erasers were scattered on desks, and small pieces of chalk were thrown so hard they left marks on the carpet. He did not feel safe so he got up and left the classroom. A few seconds later, Cynthia, of all people, came outside. Mr. Everett saw that two of his students had walked out but he decided to let it slide. If I let it bother me then who knows what will happen, he thought. Cynthia and Dylan stood next to each other staring outside, at the sky, the grass, the playground. She muttered a “thanks”. He muttered an “it’s ok; it wasn’t right”. After about five minutes they both walked back into the classroom.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey (still continued...)

After waking up from his nap, Dylan thought a little about Luke. He then thought about his own life, compared to Luke’s. Luke was going to graduate soon and move on to high school, maybe forget about him. His preference for chicken might evolve into a preference for steak, or salmon. I probably need to make a friend in my own grade, he thought. A friend for the moment Luke realizes he is too cool for middle school. Dylan looked up to the chalkboard, at Mr. Everett. Mr. Everett looked tired, exhausted even. It was a different kind of exhaustion. It wasn’t evidence of intense exercise but more like evidence of a perpetual desire. Dylan needn’t struggle to see that Mr. Everett wasn’t happy at that moment. “…And this meeting during and after the American Revolution came to be known as the Continental Congress,” Mr. Everett blindly stated. Dylan looked around the classroom, attempting to catch a glimpse at his classmates’ personalities through their mannerisms. Most of them were staring at Mr. Everett, some were doodling in their notebooks, and others were actually taking notes. Dylan figured that the kids staring were content with a B- or a C on the test, the kids doodling were temporarily disinterested, and the kids taking notes had someone they desperately needed to impress, expectations they desperately needed to fulfill. Cynthia was in this group. Dylan then wondered why he noticed her in particular. Probably because she was staring at him disapprovingly earlier, but also and more importantly, she seemed to be the most desperate out of all of them. She needed that A+.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey (continued)

Somewhere else, Dylan woke up, three minutes before he would officially be late, again. He was terrible at being punctual. He was terrible at turning in assignments, paying attention in class, keeping anything in order, anything that involved doing what other people expected him to do. Dylan thought that so many of these things just weren’t important enough to require any of his effort-or even his contemplation. He was interested in people, making an attempt at understanding why they do the things they do. He got dressed in clothes from the other day which he also wore yesterday. He yelled bye to his mom passed out on the couch, left the house, and made his way to school. Dylan’s mom was still a riddle. She worked as a waitress at a diner three counties away and she never seemed to be around. She was always either sleeping or working. What a life. Why would she choose such a life? This was the question that would plague Dylan until he found the answer, an event that never seemed likely. He lived exactly a block and a half away from school. In his pocket today he found a frosted strawberry pop tart. He popped it in his mouth. He walked into the classroom, fifteen minutes late, made a face at all of his staring classmates and sat down. Thirty seconds later he put his head down and went to sleep.



When Dylan woke up, an hour or so later, he noticed a girl, Cynthia, staring at him. It wasn’t in an endearing-you’re-cute kind of way though, it was a more what-is-wrong-with-you kind of way. They had been in the same class for six months yet they had never made eye contact, let alone talked. She thought he was the most revolting and disgusting being on the planet. He always smelled terribly, like a combination of cigarette smoke, perspiration, and moldy strawberries. Dylan knew more or less how he smelled. He showered every three days and changed clothes every week. Dylan also knew that most of his classmates didn’t think too highly of him. He truly didn’t care though. If my classmates don’t want to talk to me because I smell bad, then honestly I don’t want to talk to them either. The people I want to be friends with won’t care about stuff like that so, in a way, I’m glad I smell bad. I am a filter. He would sit with Luke everyday at lunch. Luke was his best friend and neighbor since kindergarten. Luke was in the eighth grade. They could eat chicken and talk about life. They could regard or disregard the world while they silently chewed.

Steak, Chicken, and Turkey

He woke up at 6:50 on the dot every morning. He’d shower, make his bed, drink some coffee, and walk out the door. He lived completely alone. His existence seemed like it was missing something, maybe a person or maybe a feeling of contentment. Roger Everett had so many things that he did every day, so many routines. But they didn’t make him happy; something was missing. The sad part was that he didn’t realize this. His life was so utterly engulfed by his routines that he never stopped to realize that he didn’t really have a life at all.

At age eleven, Cynthia hadn’t experienced much anguish. She woke up on this sunny Thursday, in her twin-sized bed drenched in shades of violet, happy- happy Thursday. She showered quickly, got dressed, and met her parents for breakfast outside by the pool. She was an only child and was given basically everything she ever asked for. She loved sunny days like this when her family would sit outside and enjoy her favorite meal. Today had an amazing spread: scrambled eggs, butter, toast, orange juice, jam, mango, kiwi, and pineapple. This breakfast had great day written all over it. After breakfast her dad gave her a ride to school on his way to work. This is how it always happened: every school day, after breakfast, Cynthia’s dad would give her a ride to school. During the fifteen minute ride he would ask her “so, how is school?” When she responded with a simple “fine”, he delved more deeply for details: “What was your last grade given? I really hope you are giving your best in your classes…and I know that you are capable of A- pluses.” Usually after this comment Cynthia sighed and turned to the window. She thought she could get as many perfect scores as she wanted; the problem was that she didn’t really want them. Oh well.