II
1045 Words
IIFIRST DAY OF SCHOOL for that second year of torture.
And since we had roughly the same last name, we were assigned seats in order and wound up in the back of the room by each other.
And that meant we had to collaborate on class projects. Chemistry. Another yawning class to endure. Until what? Until the day was over. Then we had homework and then we went to sleep and then woke up and started over.
A gigantic baby-sitting service to raise their kids to get jobs like they did. And have kids. And let them get raised like us, like our parents were.
"Some gigantic conspiracy." That guy sitting in the next row over mumbled.
"What?" I asked.
"Just a way to keep us all amused until we get our scrap of paper saying we did learn to write our dots and dashes just so, and we are approved to go out and now be carbon copies of what they want us to be, good little boys and girls, good little workers."
Clearer this time. A full run-on sentence.
"Kinda grumpy today?" I said.
"Maybe. But thanks for noticing." He replied.
"I'm Harriet - but please call me Heri." Introductions were best cut short.
"Sol - short for Solomon." To the point, but with a smile. "Nice to meet someone else who was saddled with an unwieldy moniker right out of the gate."
I had to smile at this. The guy was colorful. I tended to be reticent, quiet.
"So what do you think of this lab work we're assigned?" Maybe curious, maybe polite small talk.
"Sucks. As usual. Teacher does the lecture, makes us do something so we can parrot the answer back. It's called 'learning.' Could be worse, I imagine." Now I started to warm to the subject.
"Yea, well. You're probably right, could be worse." He slid down into his seat so his shoulders were on the backrest and elbows on the laminated top. "Stuff gives me nightmares as it is."
"Nightmares?" I turned to him. This struck a chord.
"Sure - am I in the right class, do I have the right books, am I dressed like I'm supposed to. What about that cutie in the front row - is she going to ask my something and I won't know what to say? And then I wake up and see that I still have hours to go before I'm supposed to get up." He frowned at remembering.
"Yeah, I know about that. Except the cutie in the front row. She's an air head. Don't worry about her asking you anything. She's into getting top grades." I frowned on my own.
"Just another trap to catch you." He gave a wry grin out of the corner of his mouth, half turned toward me.
"Lots of traps here. But I'm beginning to figure them all out. They might have a pattern." I turned more toward him to see his response.
He shrugged. "And what would knowing the pattern do to help us? We're stuck here."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Gives me an idea. This might sound personal, but do you gotta car? Transport?" I watched his reaction carefully.
Sol turned toward me, eyebrow raised. "Yea. An old clunker that runs, mostly. Cleaned it up though." Now his turn to be reticent.
"Don't know how to ask this except straight up. It's Friday." I stopped at that point.
Sol raised both eyebrows at this. "That's a question? Wait. You're asking me out. Me?"
I turned to face the front and slunk down in my own seat. "Sorry. Probably wouldn't work."
Sol smiled in his voice, though I was looking down at my desk and its papers. "Probably not. But when should I pick you up and where do you live?"
I turned to toward him. He was sitting up now. "You aren't going to get all touchy-feely-gropie on me are you?"
Sol smiled again. "Well, you are cute."
I blushed. "Yea, well so are you. So what?"
Sol noticed the teacher looking at us, so he picked up his assignment and pointed at one of the questions on it. Then leaned toward me across the aisle. "Maybe it could work. OK, here's a trick question."
I looked at what he was pointing at, and tried not to smile, but did anyway. "No, that's not. It's a dumb question. That question is just to show whether you were listening."
Sol smiled. "No, that's not the question. Here: Past lives and entropy - what's the relation?"
I thought about this for awhile. "No right answer. Depends on belief. You believe in past lives or you don't. Because they can't be proved to exist scientifically."
"But suppose they do?"
"Then entropy..."
"A belief by the Science believers." He smiled at me.
"...would tend to prove that past lives exist, as the mind is measured as a form of energy, and energy cannot be destroyed, only transmuted in form." I finished.
Then I wrestled out my own hand-out and finished every second question, by either simple term or equation. And passed it over to him, nodding at it.
He then filled out the other half of the questions on his sheet and handed it to me. "Your turn."
"Trick question: Politics?" I asked.
Wrinkling his nose and forehead as if getting a whiff of something bad. "A religion of beliefs, again. Only based on power and graft..."
"...that are in the eye of the beholder, usually the party out of power." I finished.
He looked at me with clear eyes. "One word or short answer - turnabout: s*x?"
I tensed at this. "When I can, just so far. Food?"
He smiled. "Pizza - or any sandwich that's portable. Movies?"
I smiled back. "Books are better, but they don't have balconies. Beer?"
He frowned. "Illegal. Won't go there, publicly. A good time?"
I grinned. "Scintillating conversation - which means ideas where people dare not tread. Popular trends?"
He grinned back. "Nod and smile, then move a long. Pick you up?"
I bent to tear a sheet out of my notebook and scribble on it. Then asked, "7 pm, home by 11. One time or steady?"
He took the sheet I handed him, on top of his version of the quiz. "Maybe, depends?"
I raised an eyebrow at this. "Depends on?"
He handed my quiz sheet back to me. "All of the above." And smiled with a twinkle in his eyes.
The bell rang and the class was over. Until tomorrow, the only time we met each day.
I found myself looking forward to it.
- Writer
