The Here and Now

It was just another day of class. The teacher was dressed somewhat traditionally, not in those sequined holiday sweaters that teachers tend to wear. The bell to start class was about to ring, and she was trying to get the students, her students, to at least get out their materials.

It was hard nowadays to motivate kids to think of reading or writing much. They didn't seem to see it as useful. Too many took the honors classes of English only because they offered a higher GPA.

There were a few that liked to make jokes. They were creative, and could do things with words, but it wasn't their top priority.

A boy in a middle row was listening to his iPod. "I know what my heart is for," he listened and watched the mute world around him, scribbling a picture in pen in his notes.

There was a girl in the very back who took pictures. She wanted to be a photographer. She thought life in general was beautiful, but she knew that things seemed to be declining in people. It was reflected in her writing.

And there was a quiet boy who sat against the wall. It seemed like he was the deepest thinker of them all. He watched them, and he learned from them. He wrote the most insightful papers, and when no one else responded to the teacher's questions, he did. He knew what to say on paper, but did he in the here and now?

Another girl liked shopping, and another boy, he liked girls who liked shopping. That's how a lot of them were. Their essays were just rephrased compilations of the teacher's notes. Who knew if they really read any of the books. This is what the classroom was.

Class was just beginning to start, and the teacher faced the bored looks of the kids. It's hard to know what to say to a later generation, but she tried.

Someone was standing at the door. She stood there a long while, draped with her arms against the door's frame, and she wasn't really dressed that specially, but she was. Traditional shades of brown. She looked at the teacher, waiting for recognition.

Someone pointed at the door.

"Oh," said the teacher, "You look.. sad."

The girl systematically took down her arms and looked in a moment longer. She didn't look around the room. Stepping back slowly at first, she was gone.

Some of the kids laughed nervously. They didn't understand. They laughed at things they didn't understand. But they looked around.

They saw, for the first time, the conditions around them. They saw the kids they made fun of. They shared the confusion. They seemed a collective body, not of simple youths, but of people trying to understand.

They really looked around for a moment.

And the girl in the back, she clicked a photograph, in a feeble attempt to capture the moment.

And the boy against the wall, for the first time, he smiled.