Lessons in Time - A School Story Page #2

I enjoy nostalgia and walking down memory lane. I have vivid memories of school, grade one to grade 12, complete with fear, angst and joy.

• Fiction

								


Markus immediately took note of the cute girl sitting in the front of his row, raising her hand and making herself known. He decided she was a winner and someone he needed to beat. He smiled and whispered her name repeatedly in his head so he would not forget it… Wendy Chartwell, Wendy Chartwell, Wendy Chartwell…

Once outside on the playground, Markus spotted Peter. He knew his father owned the corner store and speculated his hard-nosed defence lawyer dad would refer to Peter as a weaker link. So, before the bell rang to come inside, Markus decided to target the geeky boy and trick him out of his hotdog money.

Billy looked for Nicky to console her. He planned to tell her what a dummy the teacher was for not picking her. But when he spotted his friends, he joined in a game of cops and robbers instead. Because he thought he might like to be a policeman someday, he always picked the side of law enforcement.

Wendy quickly acquired the nicknames ‘Teachers Pet’ and ‘Nosy Nelly.’ Honoured rather than hurt, she accepted the labels like a badge and wore them proudly. She could hardly wait to tell her parents she had won the alphabet printing contest. But first, she would find Nicky and apologize, as it probably should have been noted as a tie.

Dolores had only managed to get to the letter K. Then she was furious with her mother for not preparing her, mainly because she was left-handed. Her teacher commented,
“Well, dear, you will certainly be at a disadvantage if you choose to go through school using the wrong hand.”

1968

By Grade Four, Dolores felt like a shadow in a room full of bright, buzzing lights. She yearned to blend in but found herself mute amidst the din of confident voices. As her classmates’ laughter and chatter swirled around her, she wrestled with her own insecurities, her voice trembling when she dared to speak. The boy she hoped would be her best friend barely acknowledged her, and the other girls made plans with the ease of old friends—plans she was never part of.

‘Cinderella, dressed in yella’, went upstairs to kiss her fella…’ Wendy, the best skipper in Grade Four, always had others turning the rope for her. She insisted on singing skipping songs like ‘Blue Bell Cockle Shells’ and decided who got the next turn since it was her rope.

Nicky avoided the chaotic playground and bossy girls like Wendy, preferring to sit on a boulder or twirl on a bar. Her best friend Billy sometimes joined her, sharing his baseball cards and Superman comic books.


1972


Someone brought a banned transistor radio that blared the local station for everyone to hear. The DJ announced, "This one's for all the students on your first day back to the books." Bill Withers' "Lean on Me" played through crackling static. The song continued until the hall monitor confiscated the radio.

Nicky, showcasing her new shag haircut and Bonne Bell Lip Smackers, followed closely behind Billy. While some speculated they were a couple, they were just friends. As the crowded halls swallowed her petite frame, Nicky called out, "Billy, please wait up!"

With his long blonde hair resting on his guitar strap, Billy hoped to be known as the guy who was friends with the most far out girl in school. Smiling, he said, "I ain’t goin' anywhere, Nick; c’mon, your homeroom is across the hall from mine. I’ll show ya!"
The newcomers to high school navigated the crowded hallways, each turn revealing unfamiliar faces in bellbottom jeans and platform shoes. The scent of polished floors and Sweet Honesty perfume heightened their senses, amplifying the first day jitters.

Bursting through the front doors, Wendy and her friends whispered secrets as classmates hurriedly exchanged news of what they did over the summer, what poor young girl had gone to first base, and what disgusting boy had made her.

Outside the science lab, waiting to go in, two Grade Eight students, recognizably from different worlds, stood side by side. Peter was slight, bespectacled, and bookish, constantly accompanied by textbooks. Tall and radiating coolness, Markus was the epitome of confidence, sporting a stylish leather jacket and a mischievous grin.

They had known each other since Grade One but rarely gave each other the time of day. Now, once inside the empty classroom with microscopes, glass beakers, and Bunsen burners, their exchange painted a picture of unity in the diversity of the two most unlikely souls. It was a collision of personalities, as Peter launched into sharing what an atom was with Markus. For a brief moment, bullying and cowering subsided in an interaction without barriers, while the two boys discussed their fascination for chemistry.

Peter caught sight of the blackboard with yellow-chalked diagrams. “Hey, Markus, did you know that the nucleus is the central part of an atom? It’s like the core that holds protons and neutrons together.”

Markus replied, “I’ve heard of it, but I am not exactly sure how it works.”

Encouraged by Markus’s interest, Peter continued, “Well, see, the protons are positively charged, and the neutrons have no charge. They’re both in the nucleus, while the electrons orbit around it in energy levels.”

Still interested, Markus nodded, “Got it. So, the nucleus is like the command centre of the atom, keeping everything in order?”

Peter became excited, “Exactly. And it’s so cool how these tiny particles come together to form everything around us. It’s like a microscopic universe right in front of us!”

Appearing impressed, Markus said, “That is pretty cool, Peter. I’ve never really thought about it that way.”
Peter grinned and briefly pondered how it had taken eight years for Markus Jones to see him as someone other than the brunt of his jokes and pin cushion to his constant mocking. He felt the need to continue. “Science has a way of revealing the wonders of the world, you know?”

Markus smirked, “You’ve got my attention, Peter. Maybe science class will be groovy after all. Who knew geeking out about atoms could be this cool?”

As students streamed into the classroom, their chatter mingling with the screech of stools against the floor, the connection between them flickered, then vanished. Markus’s voice cut through the noise, “Hey Peter, what’s that smell? Did you let one rip, or is that just the aromatic odour of your BO?” The words hung in the air, sharp and jarring, like a radio signal lost to static, impossible to tune back in.

As the students laughed, Peter bowed his head, shaking it in disappointment. He had hoped that Markus had become kinder by Grade Eight. When he lifted his head, the sneering faces around him seemed clown-like, and their laughter stuck in his mind.

Struggling to steady himself, Peter whispered, "One day, you will all be sorry, mark my words."

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