I'm here, old friend, because I'm unhappy. Happy is boring. Happy writing is boring. Even happy movies often begin with something awful. The set-up: a disaster; a divorce; a man who loves a woman but the woman is dating another man, a richer man, and she has a smile on her face and is wearing a fancy dress and the first man is in jail anyway. Things like that. So let's try this.
A boy is awake at 5 in the morning and whenever he looks at the person sitting across from him, whenever he remembers the person on the other end of the phone, whenever he drafts up an email, he can't think of a single thing that he actually wants to say. So his conversations dance lightly upon frivolities, rehearsals of actual conversations until his partner says something colored with truth that they can build on. His phone calls end quickly and uncomfortably. His emails go unwritten. A voice is a wonderful privilege, he knows. Like having enough money to give away, it's something that most everybody actually has, but few actually carry out. And anyway, a professor once said in a lecture, most of us get by with grunts and moans. Lately, he feels doesn't even have that.
His head aches slightly, from lack of sleep or dehydration or caffeine withdrawal, he doesn't know. In the school where he taught English Conversation, mostly to students that were just as old as he was, the students would claim a visit to the hospital because of a headache or a cough. They would miss entire weeks of classes, validated with a wrinkly stack of medication receipts stamped with red, official ink. He saw the vendors for these seals and crests in the city, where he and his colleagues would explore for dinner and the pleasant glow of neon lights and the buzz of beer. Two months in to the semester, he simply stopped logging attendance. He used the papers they brought in as scratch paper, feeding them into his printer for carrying hard copies of online articles to read in the courtyard, where he often took his breaks. When he was through, he would leave them in random lockers, empty classrooms, bathroom stalls, benches, and next to the coffee machines so as to encourage his students.
His head aches slightly and he wants a cigarette, but has quit. And anyway, if he would be at all relieved from an intake of nicotine, he'd be startled with himself. So, this is better.
But he wants better than not being addicted to nicotine.
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I teach science. But the other day, I made one of my classes write for an entire period. First they wrote in response to a prompt I had given (related to waves). Then we discussed descriptive words. They proofread each other's work and then rewrote their originals.
ReplyDeleteFunny that I should be doing this... since I can't speak, and my voice is almost always passive. But the decision came after listening to them communicate with each other for several weeks.
The popular word in the class right now is "der." It's used as a noun, verb, adjective, or exclamation.
P.S. Caffeine is a much better addiction. :D
I'm addicted... kind of. Was addicted to caffeine during the semester.
ReplyDeleteHow did they do with their writing? Were they enthusiastic? What grade was this?
Der as a noun? Example, please!
Sentences are so short, and make little sense out of context. But I'll try.
ReplyDeleteThis class is made up of half sophomores and half eighth graders (who have adjusted their schedules to take an advanced course). That, in itself, has significantly affected the dynamic of the class.
Hypothetical situation...
A puny (but intelligent) eighth grade grade boy walks in late because he is coming from an elective on the other end of the building. Because I have one of the few electric pencil sharpeners, he stops at my desk to waste more time and sharpen one. I have a very small classroom, so he needs to climb over/squeeze between several seats before reaching his spot. When he does, he is annoyed that a tall, built sophomore male has taken over a portion of what he views to be his area on the lab bench. (There are four spots on a table, so it's really debatable) Anyway, the eighth grader gently pushes the sophomores book aside, causing the older boy's pencil to begin rolling, off and then under the next table.
Prior to this point, no words have been exchanged. Now annoyed, the sophomore gets up, climbing over several other students to retrieve the pencil.
"Ugh!!! You're such a der!"
I begin class. We are currently studying sound waves, and their practical uses. So, part way through the lecture, we watch a short YouTube clip on bat echolocation. Impressed at the unfortunate death of a small frog, all the males exclaim (in a much higher pitch), "Der!!"
Later on, I ask a female student the definition for reverberation. She stares at me blankly. If there had been more time, I would have waited her out. But eventually, I save her the awkward moment, and answer my own question, by using it in a sentence.
The female returns the favor. "Well, derrrrr."