By Nous

                       November 17, 2002



            -Wednesday-

Though it's not too cold outside, the lack of a sweater on my part 
causes the hairs on my arm to stand on end, bracing against the wind.
As I walk to the front of the school to wait for Sloth, I see a tiny
action figure of a man on a motorcycle (only the motorcycle is missing)
laying on the floor.  I pick it up, not even breaking my stride, and 
stop at the point where Sloth and I always meet.
With so many things to carry, and standing up the whole while, I fail 
at reading my book, and so I content myself with watching the crowds of
people huddled together under a sky that looks close enough to touch,
and in my head, I think that this is what a warren must be like.  I 
feel free from danger.
A group of girls is coming up the sidewalk to the place under the tree
where I'm standing, and from the other direction, another group of 
girls.  Lucky me, they're friends, and they choose to stop right where
I'm standing, almost consuming me in their amoebic huddle, speaking
needlessly loud about those things that no one outside a group cares
about.
One girl leads the way with a confusing frolick of words and half-words
and sounds that resemble words but may be there purely to fill in empty
space.  She's apparently talking about her recent, inevitable break-up
with her boyfriend caused by a loss of spark in their relationship.
"I told him, 'I'm bored.'  And he said (loud babble) and no.  And, no,
he said, "Why?"  And I said, "You're boring.  I'm bored."
I'm listening to this stunningly fumbled speech (worse than even I get)
and frown, trying to make sense of the scattered ideas and, while doing
so, I look up to find that there is a girl who has noticed the awkward
position I am in (I am, after all, caught in the crossfire of words due
to my entanglement in the amoeba that is this group).  She's smiling,
wanting to laugh.  Looking to my left, smiling at the fact that someone
other than myself has noticed the silly, loud mumbling of these girls,
I see John standing there slightly behind me, mouth open in mock-
surprise.  I laugh a little and turn back around.
The girls, at this point, decide that being incredibly annoying around
someone who looks ready to self-destruct (and take a few people with
him) is not a good idea, so they leave me standing alone in a now 
awkward silence.  Or what seems like silence at this point.
Polite small talk between John and I now being mandatory, we exchange a
few words before John decides that it would be a good idea to get to
class, and we head inside to the wonder that is the institute of 
education.  
Walking towards the entrance, I see a guy shuffling along the sidewalk 
and hit his head on a low branch.  It's kind of funny.

My first period teacher is an owl of a woman.
Sitting there, waiting for Brian, I hear a girl in the back sneeze.
Her sneeze is one of those soft, high sneezes, quaint in its silliness.
It's the sneeze of someone who does not want to be rude and ruin every-
one's day sneezing too loud.  I get an image of a penguin diving into
water whenever I hear her sneeze, because that is what her sneeze is
like - a quick, graceful display, even cute in its subtle absurdity.
Cute.  Like the sneeze of a Teletubby.
The day hasn't even begun and already my mind is flooded with thoughts.
Days like this go by quickly, and suddenly, the bell rings.  First 
period is over.  Brian never showed up.  
I grab my things, ready to leave, and that's when I see the two "dress
code violation" slips, signed by Ms. Anoot, lying on my desk. 
There are two.
For one violation.
Two slips.
I am wearing one shirt.
That shirt is untucked.
One shirt is untucked once.
Two.
I exit the room furiously.  
Practically flying down the hall, I realize I must have just come off 
as pouty. I must have looked like a young Mickey Rooney jumping out of 
that room.
"Aw, come on, Pop, stop having kittens!  You're a good egg!"

My desk in American Government is slippery to the point where my books 
and folders slide off of it.  I frown and put my things away.  At least 
we won't need them today, becuase it looks like we're watching a movie.  
The lights are off, the TV is on (with the volume all the way 
down), and a tape is sticking out of the VCR.  
I put my arms down on my desk so that I have something to cradle my 
head, but as I put my head down, my arms slip to the sides and my head
lands on the cold, wet desk.  No one sees this but Heather, and she's
having a good time smiling about it.
"Today," says Mr. Calelly, "we'll be watching a movie for the entire 
period."
Mr. Calelly has that southern drawl, accenting his words to where it
sounds like he's asking questions.  He also pauses during his sentences.
"Todaaaay, (pause) we'll be watching a movie (?) (pause) for
the entire period (?).  You may recogniiiiize (?) some of the people in
it(?)."
He goes on to explain the premise of the movie and ruins the ending.
"He comes to realize that the system isn't as perfect as he thinks it
is. He becomes disillusioned, as you'll see...throughout the movie."
As the movie begins, I notice that neither of my group members are here.
The desks in American Government are arranged into groups with three
desks to a group.  But neither of my group members are here.
I'm not complaining, it's just odd.

Since American Government, my second period class, is out in the 
portable buildings (at the very back), I have to walk a long way before
I actually get into the school building and into my third period class -
Spanish.
I shuffle along with all the others in a packed group that makes me 
think that this is how cows must feel on the way to and in the slaughter-
house.  Finally exiting the portable building area, I have to walk fast
to avoid being cut off by some bustling body behind me.
As I walk, I hear two girls discussing their plans for the approaching
weekend.
"I like jetskiing on Lake Austin."
"I like going outside the city limits."
"I'm going there this weekend."
"My grandmother lives around there."
"That's where my grandmother lives."
"Outside the city limits?"
"No, by Lake Austin."
"Isn't that where we went for Labor Day?"
"No, Lake Travis is on the peninsula."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't know.  Anyway, my grandmother lives with..."
I walk faster and faster until their conversation is drowned out by all
the other voices.  Eventually, I get inside of the school and head to-
wards the stairs since my Spanish class is on the second floor.
Walking up the stairs, I hear, "But my cousin may not be able to get 
here tomorrow, he says, so I might not get the jetskis, so that sucks."
I look up quickly and I see the same girls from before, the ones from 
outside by the portables.  I look down, shaking my head, and try to think 
about something else.  But I can't
Hasn't this happened before?

I'm not sure what to say.  No one else seems to be noticing what the
teacher is doing.  I look around and see that everyone is paying close
attention to what she is saying.
"So, in this painting by El Greco of Toledo, Spain, is there more
naturaleza or mas edificios?"
"More buildings."  says Barbara.
"No, more nature, because there are lots of trees and only one building."
says Aydee.
The room is torn between the two choices.
This is the same lecture we received the last time we were in this class,
but no one seems to notice.  What's even more surprising is no one notices
when we have to work on the same worksheets.  And when we have to do the
same group activity.  And when we have to watch the same video.
Haven't we done this before?
Hasn't this happened before?

After school, getting into Sloth's car, I see someone that looks familiar.
I stop, about to wave, and then realize that it's not anyone I know at all.
Haven't we met before?
Leaving the parking lot and headed towards Five Star to grab a meal, I
see a woman outside of her apartment building holding an empty Funyuns
bag and smoking.  Behind her, the flowers in a little garden look well-
tended.  I see her put the cigarette in her mouth, inhale and exhale.
I see her make those jerky mouth movements that are the sign of an old
smoker.  The side of her mouth twitches. 
Everything has been overly-de ja vu today, so I quickly turn away.

            -Friday-

The Chinese restaurant has a nice smell. It's the smell of rolls and
vegetables.
My family (father, mother, and two brothers) and I stand in line, wait-
ing for a table, and I mention the smell to my brother.  
"One thing I like about Chinese restaurants," I say, "is that they know 
how to prepare vegetables.  I like that."
I notice that there is a small space between the large, tall plant at 
the entrance and the corner where the wall meets the doors, and I tell
my brother what a nice hideaway that might make, proceeding to enter the
little space (and it really is quite comfortable).  At this point, I 
notice that there is a little boy in the family ahead of us looking at 
me, so I get back in line, feeling a little foolish that even a six-year 
old would think me odd for pretending to get away.
As the line diminishes to just my family and a family behind us, I feel
a finger slide from my upper back to my waist.  I immediately, but 
nervously, turn around, dreading the idea that it might be someone from
school who has recognized me.  But upon turning around, I stand face to
face with a complete stranger.  The awkwardness of this moment is accented
by the fact that this stranger (some woman holding a child by the hand)
and I are exactly the same height, adding an unnecessary weirdness to 
the whole situation.
I'm staring directly into her pupils, my face lining up with hers, and
then she starts laughing, turning her head around to avoid my confused
stare.
I turn back around, my whole perception of reality now thrown off balance,
and don't say a word to the stranger.  It's just too strange.
Imagine feeling a single finger travel from the bottom of your shoulder
blade all down your back. And then imagine that you turn and see some-
one that you've never seen before in your entire life, feeling that it's 
your duty to recognize or remember this person, but you have no idea who 
they are.  Then imagine that this person laughs in a way that implies 
that it's your fault for apparently backing up into her probe-ready
finger that was just sitting there, pointed at you, as you rubbed 
against it.
As all of this surges through my head, I see that my family is being led
by a waiter to an empty table somewhere.  Roused from my confused state,
I begin to follow, but just as I'm about to head towards them, a waiter
who is busy talking to his friend, leans his arm against the podium where
they write every family's name in a book and call out, "Dannar!  Party
of one!" or any name.  The point is that I can't get through to my
family with his arm in the way.
Eventually, he turns around and asks, "How many?"
I am totally unaware of my surroundings at this point, confounded by
everything, until he repeats, "How many?"
I shake my head, my eyes closed for a second, and point at my family,
saying, "I'm with them."
He moves and I go on.
I can already see my brother making an anecdote out of this as my family 
walks ahead of me.