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By lucy_inthesky_withdiamonds
- 420 reads
Part II
Chapter 4
After the initial weirdly comforting shock of living on our own, Ben and I gradually settled into a mundane daily routine. It took him two weeks to coax me into going back to school as I had not been for more than a month at this point, but it came as a surprise to me how much I enjoyed the sense of security of belonging to the school’s community. As for Ben, he’d pretty much adopted the roles of a single mother: he made me packed lunch, walked Pixie, cleaned the house, made us meals and helped me study. I saw him in a completely alternate light. He was no longer my unapproachable, grunting older sibling, but the brother I had grown accustomed to having around when we were younger. One that I could ask for advice on anything and he’d never judge me. I kept trying to keep my guard up, telling myself that this wouldn’t last for long before he slipped back into his old ways, but for every day he maintained this persona, I got more complacent with having him around. Due to the amount of time I’d had off, I had fallen behind with a lot of subjects, predominantly math which had never been my strong suit.
“So then you take the number from this side and put it on the other side of the x and make it a negative.” Ben pointed to the squiggles on the squared paper to reiterate what he was babbling on about. I must have really underestimated how bad I was at math when I was currently stuck on 9th Grade questions. I moaned and put my head in my hands.
“Come on, Lil, you can do this, just try and take it one step at a time.” He was extremely patient, he repeated everything he’d previously said about exes and negatives but more slowly and enunciated. I felt bad, he was really trying to help me but it wasn’t going anywhere and he wasn’t a teacher.
“Ohhhhhh, I get it now! It’s negative because it crosses over the equals sign!” I feigned comprehension and mumbled something which I hoped would plead my case. It worked, Ben patted me on the back and got up from the table.
“That’s my little sis. I knew you had it in you, as long as you spend as much time studying equations as you do with your head in a book, you’ll do good.”
I flashed him a brief tight-lipped smile and traded my math book for my tattered but well-loved copy of Carol Ann Duffy’s Feminine Gospels - I had had my nose in this book for a good month or so. I poured over the poetry, taking in all of the caesuras, enjambments and iambic pentameter. I loved the way she used language, the way she took something negative and created a metaphorical representation of it in a positive manner. The lines danced on the page, the words coming to life. I almost felt as satisfied when reading her poetry as I do when I’m in the fields with Pixie. Map Woman was the poem I was currently gorging on, I could sympathize with the wistful and nostalgic feel of the woman’s verses.
‘The A-Z street-map grew, a precise second skin, a précis of where to end or go back or begin.’
The deficiency within her life, the distance between her and her roots, was a feeling I was all too familiar with. It gave me assurance that I wasn’t the only one who lived in isolation, the only one whose ‘home’ wasn’t where their heart was. Because mine was in limbo; I didn’t feel a sense of belonging to anywhere or anything, apart from Pixie and Ben.
I had done it again. I’d spent so long living in my own subconscious, contemplating life that I hadn’t realized what the time was and at this rate, I was going to be late for school. Again. I hurriedly gathered my copious amount of text books and stuffed them into my backpack, kissed Pixie on the head and started the dull 30 minute walk.
I made it to my English Lit classroom with seconds to spare as the morning bell echoed through the empty corridor. Luckily, the majority of the class was still settling down at their desks and Mr Casey hadn’t arrived yet. Notorious for being late and therefore disrupting our education with his incompetent time keeping skills, Mr Casey was most people’s favorite English teacher. I was impartial to him. Like everyone else at the school, he was a temporary figure in my life who was just passing through and he would have zero impact on me. As I sat down at my desk and unpacked the cascade of mandatory reading material, Mr Casey entered the classroom, his complexion glowing with perspiration. I sighed and let the introduction to the Romantic period of literature wash over me.
The seconds dripped into minutes and the minutes slowly converted into hours and finally the two hour lesson concluded, as the bell signified third period. There was a deep mumble of voices and chair legs grinding on floorboards as the students fumbled out of the classroom, attempting to decipher whether they had AP Latin or Chemistry. Wanting to miss the corridor rush, I fidgeted in my seat, arranging and rearranging my books before shoving them unsystematically in my bag. I started and Mr Casey coughed for my attention. Misinterpreting its semantics, I shot him an apologetic look and sped up the process of leaving his teaching area.
“Wait, Lillian, I wanted to speak to you.”
I turned around, startled that he even knew my name, as the only time I participated in class was begrudgingly and at that, against my will.
“Lily.”
“What?”
“My name. I prefer it when people call me Lily. My parents call me Lillian and I hate it.”
I’d talked to this teacher for 15 seconds and now I was spouting my life story to him? I silently willed myself to get a grip.
“Um, yeah, I’m rambling so what do you want to talk to me about?”
He laughed gently, as if to ease me into the conversation, it’s almost like he could guess that I didn’t have many educational interactions within the school grounds.
“I just wanted to let you know that I marked the final draft of your creative assignment and I was moved. Your piece was so powerful and I think you have a real talent.”
I could feel the heat rising up my neck as my face undoubtedly turned a beetroot shade of red. This wasn’t blushing, this was mortification. No one had never complimented me so outright. It was normally laced with criticism or sarcasm, and usually came from my mom.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. And I’m not causing you to miss class just so that I can gush over how amazing I think you are.”
It was his turn to look self-conscious now, as he stretched his hand behind his back and smiled. He was already young looking, my guess is that he’d only started teaching in the last year or so, but when he smiled that slighted embarrassed smile, he could have almost passed for a student right there and then.
“Anyway, so there’s this annual competition, which is open for all AP Literature students across the U.S. to enter and I’d like you to consider it. All you have to do is submit either a short piece of fictional prose or a few poems with a recurring theme, and after reading your coursework essay, I decided that that would be the perfect entry. It has all the qualities that a good piece of writing should have and I definitely think that you would have a good chance of winning this. What do you think?”
It was a lot to take in. A national competition? Surely that would result in hundreds of thousands of applicants from Washington all the way to Maine? I wouldn’t stand a chance against the talent. I never even considered myself a good writer, and always assumed that I’d have to just get by in English if I wanted to graduate High School in time.
“I don’t know, Mr Casey. Err…Sir. I don’t think I’d be comfortable submitting my pieces for people to judge. They’re private. I write based on my own experiences and feelings, and for me to just be able to write this all down on a piece of paper for a stranger to scrutinize and criticize. I’m sorry, no, I don’t think this is for me.”
He delved into his canvas rucksack and salvaged a blue and gold colored pamphlet. Embedded on the front was an over exposed picture of a frumpy, rosy cheeked 18 year old grinning garishly into the camera as she clutched a shiny trophy which matched her equally shiny chin. I involuntarily inwardly cringed.
“Just think about it. Please, Lily, I’d love to mentor someone who enters this year and you’re my only hope.”
I nodded and said that I would. I would have agreed to help him attempt treason in order to get to my next lesson in the next 10 minutes so that I didn’t get ridiculed by my Math teacher. I crumpled the pamphlet into a small crevice in my bag, where it remained until my following English lesson.
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