2006-05-27
last detention
Who gets detention the week before school ends? Me, that's who.
I'm in trouble for drawing in class. Or more accurately, for drawing stars on my desk during math class. This earns me an "L.D." (otherwise known as a lunch detention). I have to wipe down all the fake-wood desks with Windex, although I'm not the first to wield a felt-tipped marker like a weapon:
The math teacher (who also happens to be the boys' gym coach) is our monitor. He slurps from a jug of peach Snapple and spends a lot of time looking out the window. So do I. There's a bum stalking back and forth, blowing out smoke like a dragon.
"Learn more about buses and trains," says an ad on a squealing Metrobus, at www.something dot com. Another banner reads, "Greek Festival," with a cartoon of a flower vase (How does that sum up Greek culture? Shouldn't they show a winged god or something?)
A boy with a yellow plastic bag sprints toward the bus. Beside him, a woman carries a rolled-up paper, waving it like a sword. Across her head is a scarf with some quasi-Louis Vuitton pattern, flapping in the breeze. The bus chugs away. "Mega 22" it says on the other side, along with a smear of green and blue blobs.
Back in the classroom, there are Barbie dolls in shoeboxes, letter-shaped magnets glued behind them. This is somebody's idea of a diorama. "Back to school," it says, although we've been back to school for nine months.
The overhead lights buzz like neon. I can hear the air-conidtioner hissing. Somebody's cell phone goes off (the ring tone featuring the classic strains of "I'm In Love With A Stripper") The girl tries to lower the volume, making a bloop-bloop noise with every push of the button. Too late. Mr. What's His Name snatches it away.
"Hello? Who is this?" he says into the phone, making the class rock with laughter. Then he drops it in a drawer, never to be seen again. That's where my Pigma Pens disappeared. He said I'd get them back at the end of the week. I never did.
What else is hidden in his desk? Half-empty Altoid tins, notes folded like origami flowers, paper clips twisted into projectiles, Pedro's book on How to Draw Marvel Comix.
When I come back, there will be empty drawers. There will be clean desks. I will buy new pens and uncap them quietly, before the ink-smell hangs in the air like guilt.
f-i-n at 11:58 a.m.