Scenes from 7th Period

     "--and if we take Thomas Jefferson, we can plug him into the quadratic equation here using "x" as a symbol."

   7th period always seems to drag on for an eternity. It is one or two periods after lunch and that bologna sandwich is now a brick sinking ever so slowly in the stomach. The lights are dimmed for the overhead projector and the temperature is just warm enough to drift off. No one is passing notes, but everyone seems to be trying not to pass out. I'm in the back of the room doodling in my notebook, trying to stay awake and failing with gusto. My pen trails a lazy line, making hazy geometric shapes: a triangle here, an octagon there, oblong circles in between. I glace up, Mrs. Grolf is still droning on about math or history, the teachers have been combining two or more subjects lately to make class more engaging. In reality it just means no one ever knows where they are coming from or going to.

  I glance back to my notebook, this time my hand makes the pen create a one sided arrow. I then start at the other end and zig-zag making a series of triangles to connect to the top. Nifty. I look up again...the minute hand has not moved a centimeter...and I look down....and up...the clock hands never seem to move as if defying me to call them broken...I glance down again, my page is filled to the brim with cross hatching done without care, abstract shapes and dinosaur outlines...I look up again. The room is still dim, but there's no overhead projector anymore. In its place is a row of 40 watt bulbs and a poster for a film I have never heard of. I look down to see my desk and doodles are gone. I am sitting in a plastic chair.

"--and that's why a bear would beat a lion every time, right?"

I turn to see a friend wearing glasses. I think his name's Tim or maybe Matt, no, definitely Tim, "Er, yeah, bear nine times out of ten. Um, what's going on?"

  "We're waiting for Eliza, remember?"

That's it! That girl, she's always late, but we haven't been sitting here long. We talk about the movie we're about to see. We're excited, though while I think its going to be funny, Tim insists it's a tragedy. That's what he read in the paper anyway. I don't hear the door open, but Eliza's sitting with us now. She's holding Tim's hand, with the side of her body pressed against him. She's wearing a blue shirt, like robin's egg blue, and khaki shorts. Her hair is in a pony tail starting at the very top of her head. We all talk for another moment and eventually we agree that we should probably get tickets. Tim volunteers to go buy them for everyone.

   As soon as he's gone Eliza takes my hand and leads us to the other side of the room. She pushes me against the wall, our bodies touching. "Eliza, wait!"

  She shakes her head sadly and says, "My name is Katee."Her tongue runs across my lower lip and we kiss for a long minute. Katee embraces me and I am utterly enchanted and bewildered.

She lets me go and walks back to Tim. I want to shout. To say, "Wait! Don't go!" But I don't. I do nothing. I blink and Tim and Katee/Eliza are gone. Faded away like the after image from staring at the sun. I blink again, they're still gone. I run outside to look for them.

  Outside the theater it has begun to rain. A thick fog has settled in as well. I think I see their silhouettes drifting away down the road. I run to catch up, but the fog is not safe, I feel small things almost strike me and whizz past. Bullets? I duck and spin, my feet still running. I shield my head with my arms and hope for the best.

  There is shouting up ahead. Short, clipped, barked commands. The words are not audible, but the intention is clearly angry.

I see a group through the fog. I decide to try walking towards them with my hands up. Maybe they won't shoot me? Maybe they have some decency? Maybe they can see in this fog with more clarity than I have. I approach and I can see the guns they are holding. The guns are not automatic machine guns, the shape is sleeker, smaller, rounder. The clip comes in a wide plastic bulb. I realize I made a mistake. I shout, "I was already shot! I'm out of the game!"

    "Oh yeah? I ain't see no paint on ya!", shouts a figure with a gun.

                          I pause in place.

"He's not holding a gun, Gary, let him through!", another voice shouts.

  The group makes way and I amble past, hands still up as a sign of diplomacy. I mumble a thanks for not shooting me. They weren't bullets earlier, but rather paint-balls. I laugh. Still painful, though not as deadly by far.

 I wonder where Katee is now. I wonder if she'll kiss me again. I hear a woman over a mega-phone: "Isoceles Triangle!" The fog lifts and I see students running with long lengths of rope, coming together to form geometric shapes. Its an odd and beautiful sight.

There's a loud buzzer sounding. Once, then twice. I look around, now I'm in a long room - study hall. Over the PA system the secretary says, "7th period starts in 2 minutes. Try not to be tardy."

  I wipe at my mouth in case of drool. There is none. I collect my books and make my way to Algebra.