I watched a crisp brown and red leaf fall just beneath my path and I stepped forward and onto it, crushing every dead and dry cell of the leaf. I was walking home from school. It was a Friday, and the only thing I was supposed to get done was my laundry before I could do whatever I’d wanted. All day I had dreamt of myself doing everything but my school work. Vivid images of my weekend to come, played a montage through my thoughts when my teacher interrupted about halfway through, catching what was left of my attention span.
I never really paid any attention in school. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect my teachers, or thought it was cool. It wasn’t that I didn’t want good grades, or even that I hated school. Because I didn’t. And I don’t. I never paid attention for the sole purpose of dreading the concept of learning. Something about the idea of sitting there being told how to do something then actually applying it to a fictional scenario, then being expected to insert that lesson into our life someway didn’t set with me. I guess what I really meant is that I much would have rather to just physically do it. Somehow project myself into the perspective of the “boy who ate 12 chocolate bars but paid $2.50 for all of them” or into “George’s” dilemma with finding out however many people bought tickets to the dance. I just didn’t care. I. Just. Didn’t. Care. That’s where she stopped me.
“Maxwell?” She approached my desk and suddenly stole my mind back. Even as much as I wanted to pretend I didn’t hear, I acknowledged her.
“Yes, Ms. Hunter?” I pretended she never lost my non-existent desire to learn.
“Can you answer me this problem?” She pointed to the board. I fired back with a wise comment, making the entire classroom explode in calorie-burning laughter.
“I don’t know…Can I?” Or are you going to correct me and tell me I’m wrong?” She was fuming. Her frustration generated negative vibes that bounced off the walls of the classroom. My sinister smirk only took her pool of hateful emotions to the next level. She had the cliché cartoon expression on her face, resembling a character releasing steam out of their ears. On her forehead, there was a vein that ran downstream towards her right eye and it swelled every time my wise remarks sent her blood pressure off the charts. I didn’t try to make her blood pressure sky-rocket; it wasn’t that I didn’t like her or her class. I wasn’t trying to be the class clown or just be a nuisance, I once again didn’t care. I had rather get back to my day dreaming. So I did.
I thought about everything but Math for the next fifteen minutes. I gazed out the foggy window at the handprints that were imprinted in the condensation last week. Out the window, I saw the October skies. The clouds were painted a strong orange and soft purple, then faded off into a milky pink color as it hugged the edge of the atmosphere. For an early morning, the sky made it feel as if it were evening with their warm colors. Through the clouds, the sun’s rays illuminated streaks of the air. My mother calls them Heaven - those rays. She tells me that the rays are Heaven, inducting a person into their world. I guess a lot of people died that day.
The rest of that day, I watched rays shine down from Heaven, too many to count. I observed the kid next to me sleeping in class, who was, by the way, sleeping peacefully without one comment from Ms. Hunter. I listened to the latest drama from the girls behind me who gossiped every time there was a pause in the learning process. And let me tell you, about all I learned in that class was which girls in our school were “mean backstabbers”.
Finally, it was five minutes before the school bell was supposed to ring and I was no longer day dreaming. Ms. Hunter opened the previously dew-covered windows, and I could feel the chilled autumn air rush its way into the room, giving me goose-bumps through my jacket.
The bell sounded, and before you could even think to hold the door for me, I was gone. Not that anyone would ever hold the door for me, I wasn’t very well-liked by my peers. Sure, they laughed at my jokes, but it was my humor they liked, not me. It wasn’t that I was one of those kids who remained lonesome in the back of the class, one who only talked when trying to suck up to the teacher. No one ever picked on me, or had mean things to say to or about me. I just really had no direction, and this wasn’t something that bothered me. I carried on with my day, each and every day, not caring what people thought (as I should), and not caring what people had to say to me (even when I should have).
Anyway. On my way home, I noticed a white piece of shiny paperboard peeking from under the mud and leaves. I kicked it, triggering it to slide in a quickly-spinning motion further up the road. Covered in dirt, bits of leaves and whatever bugs lurked in the moist environment under it, I made out the words that were still visible on the piece of trash. It was a flattened milk carton; littered on the side of the road, creating a home for thousands of insects, while abusing Mother Nature at the same time. For some reason, though, I’d like to thank the person that tossed that milk carton. I was supposed to go food shopping that day on my way home, and I almost forgot. No, I didn’t want to go food shopping, but it was still something I had to do and if I didn’t do it on my way home, I’d have to go back out.
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