short stories ~ literary fiction ~ social commentary
copyright © 1999 - 2013
Back in 8th grade, on the first day of class, our English teacher delivered an impassioned speech with some strange edicts, for example: “Don’t wear a wool sweater without an undergarment, else you’ll smell bad.” He did offer what seemed like good advice. “If you’re in a bad mood, you should tell me, so I know you’re not acting properly.”
Couple of months pass. Gina, who sat to my right, who I never spoke to, who I spent the school year memorized: the turn of her ankle flowing into her black two inch pump, the bunching of nylon around the clasp of her garter when her green paisley dress hiked up as she squirmed to retrieve a book from under her chair, raised her hand and told the teacher she was in a bad mood, that she didn’t feel well.
After staring at Gina as if she had a fetal head growing out of her shoulder, he said: “This is English. Shouldn’t you be telling such to the nurse, not me?”
Gina, being a Jersey Girl, offering proof of her claim, muttered: “What an asshole,” gathered her books and left the room.
If Aesop were here, he might suggest: “Best to remember what we say.”