I Love to Write
Capricorn in Aquarius - One Hundred
I was so brokenhearted that miserable day; nothing could bring back the joy I had briefly experienced during the lifting of the severity of the ongoing sort of punishment.
I went through the motions of the day with my eyes blurred with tears that tortured my insides by refusing to become shed.
"What's the matter?" Mari kept asking me.
I couldn't answer. How do you explain how badly something hurts?
Our locker was directly across the hallway from the corner where we had been chatting that morning. Mari collected her books, then stood patiently waiting while I searched for my own texts through the heavy blue blur. I was barely conscious of Mari's sudden stiffening and asked, not really caring, "What's up?"
"Johnny's over there," Mari whispered.
"I don't care." I didn't turn to look.
"He's got another girl over there," Mari continued.
I turned to look over my shoulder. I could barely see through the wet blur of my eyes, but I could see enough to realize it was a rerun of our debacle of this morning.
It took all my will to turn around again and pretend indifference. "He can have a dozen girls. I don't care. Where's my French book?"
Suddenly, we heard a roar in the nearly empty hallway; the angry shout of the boys' vice principal, Mr. Gordon. "Hey! You three! What do you think you're up to? Come out of there!"
The figures across the way froze; then Johnny backed out of the doorway. He was followed by one of the eighth-grade girls whom I didn't know. She was followed by Cindy Curtis, also known as the school's resident tramp. She was a freshman in the high school section and would take on any boy who asked her. I saw her push ineffectually at the disorder around her long blonde ponytail. She looked half the time as though she never combed it properly.
Mr. Gordon continued to yell. "You're all lucky I don't report what I think you were probably doing in that doorway! You're also damn lucky I'm in a benevolent mood and it's Friday, or I'd write you all up and you'd serve a few weeks of detention - all of you! Now get to your lockers and get your things and get out of here - and don't let me catch you here again!"
The girls scrambled around Johnny to be the first ones out. They all disappeared down the back staircase in double time.
We busied ourselves in our own locker as Mr. Gordon went on his way, glaring at us daringly as he passed on his way to the auditorium.
I didn't feel any satisfaction over seeing Johnny and those girls getting yelled at. I was just glad it wasn't him and me when we had our disagreement this morning.
We left the school together, me wiping my eyes to clear them. They refused to fall in a comforting cascade.
(To Be Continued.)
I was so brokenhearted that miserable day; nothing could bring back the joy I had briefly experienced during the lifting of the severity of the ongoing sort of punishment.
I went through the motions of the day with my eyes blurred with tears that tortured my insides by refusing to become shed.
"What's the matter?" Mari kept asking me.
I couldn't answer. How do you explain how badly something hurts?
Our locker was directly across the hallway from the corner where we had been chatting that morning. Mari collected her books, then stood patiently waiting while I searched for my own texts through the heavy blue blur. I was barely conscious of Mari's sudden stiffening and asked, not really caring, "What's up?"
"Johnny's over there," Mari whispered.
"I don't care." I didn't turn to look.
"He's got another girl over there," Mari continued.
I turned to look over my shoulder. I could barely see through the wet blur of my eyes, but I could see enough to realize it was a rerun of our debacle of this morning.
It took all my will to turn around again and pretend indifference. "He can have a dozen girls. I don't care. Where's my French book?"
Suddenly, we heard a roar in the nearly empty hallway; the angry shout of the boys' vice principal, Mr. Gordon. "Hey! You three! What do you think you're up to? Come out of there!"
The figures across the way froze; then Johnny backed out of the doorway. He was followed by one of the eighth-grade girls whom I didn't know. She was followed by Cindy Curtis, also known as the school's resident tramp. She was a freshman in the high school section and would take on any boy who asked her. I saw her push ineffectually at the disorder around her long blonde ponytail. She looked half the time as though she never combed it properly.
Mr. Gordon continued to yell. "You're all lucky I don't report what I think you were probably doing in that doorway! You're also damn lucky I'm in a benevolent mood and it's Friday, or I'd write you all up and you'd serve a few weeks of detention - all of you! Now get to your lockers and get your things and get out of here - and don't let me catch you here again!"
The girls scrambled around Johnny to be the first ones out. They all disappeared down the back staircase in double time.
We busied ourselves in our own locker as Mr. Gordon went on his way, glaring at us daringly as he passed on his way to the auditorium.
I didn't feel any satisfaction over seeing Johnny and those girls getting yelled at. I was just glad it wasn't him and me when we had our disagreement this morning.
We left the school together, me wiping my eyes to clear them. They refused to fall in a comforting cascade.
(To Be Continued.)
61-69, F
