Page 8 of A Summer to Save Us
White noise fills my head. I dig my fingers into my pocket, desperately trying to block everything out when I hear a whistle—the signal.
“Too stupid!” Brent shoves me against the black-haired man, who pushes me into the empty hallway with a “Fuck off, freak!”
I stumble and land on the floor as the others laugh. Since I don’t have the courage to rise in their presence, I remain motionless, my heart still pounding. There’s no emotion in me at all, not even anger. At this moment, I feel only a dull pulsing in my upper arms, a throbbing in my shoulder, and limitless exhaustion. Basically, I’m glad the first attack is over.
When everything is quiet, I get up. My cell phone, which I previously switched to silent, vibrates. As if dazed, I pull it out.
Mr. Spock writesThat is some horrible shit, Kans. I’m sorry. How are you now?
It takes me a few seconds to realize he means summer school.Good, I type with trembling fingers. I don’t have the strength for the truth right now.
As if in a vacuum, I walk to Mrs. Elliott’s classroom and find the door open. Mrs. Elliott isn’t here yet, but I don’t feel any relief about that either.
Heart pounding, I sit in my seat in the front, the chair next to me free. I silently unpack my notebook and ballpoint pen when the overly motivated Mrs. Elliott storms into the classroom. The burgundy scarf flutters behind her like a banner and, as always, matches her shoes perfectly.
I hear her greet the class, but then I tune out. It’s not Mrs. Elliott’s fault; she’s always friendly, and her course is the safest place in school for me. In her class, there are nolet’s-see-if-she-truly-won’t-screamjokes, noChester-saidattacks. The only people here are the intellectuals from the debate club who don’t care about me at all or are just plain embarrassed. Evan Larson is the only one among them who could pose a threat to me, but without Chester and his horde, he won’t do anything. Once, I was secretly in love with him in middle school before he became a follower.
With trembling fingers, I scribble geometric figures in my notebook, slowly emerging from the haze caused by the attack.A lot of fun. I can’t concentrate on the material. Chester always gets what he wants—but not from me. Guess that’s what appeals to him. I seriously don’t understand how Arizona could fall inlove with him—if she even truly was in love with him. She has a crush on a different guy every month.
“It would be nice if you could turn your attention back to metaphysics, Kansas!”
I jump at the sound of my name. Someone giggles.
Mrs. Elliott smiles at me reassuringly, her blonde curls reminding me once again of an older version of my sister. I glance at my doodles as she continues.
“This year, we learned that breaking down the question of meaning is a modern phenomenon. We continued to go through the four steps of the breakdown. In Western Christian culture, everything was related to the Creator. The question of meaning could only be traced back to God; man lived according to His exact instructions. With the collapse of this worldview, there was Kant, who answered the question of meaning with meaningful action but also couldn’t entirely avoid a higher power. Nietzsche contradicted him with the statement, ‘God is dead!’People have to create their own meaning… Now, let’s move on to your task for summer vacation.”
A groan ripples through the class, and Evan grumbles particularly loudly. “It’s summer vacation, Mrs. Elliott. Do those words mean anything to you?”
Mrs. Elliott laughs, a young, confident laugh that I envy. “You’ll thank me for this one day. Who can tell me what an aphorism is?”
Elijah, the school nerd, raises his hand with a loud snap of his fingers, almost jumping out of his chair. “An aphorism is an expression that contains an insight or basic truth,” he says after Mrs. Elliott calls on him.
“Wikipedia couldn’t have put it better,” Evan grumbles from the back row.
“That’s a quote from the current dictionary,” Elijah replies, sniffing. The others laugh.
I wipe my sweaty fingers on my jeans, glad I’m no longer the center of attention, when Mrs. Elliott claps her hands.
“Unimpeachable as always. Theodor Fontane said, ‘A good aphorism is the wisdom of an entire book in a single sentence.’” She turns on the interactive whiteboard, which is already set up with her slideshow. “Evan, put your cell phone away and read aloud, please.” Her charming tone is in stark contrast to the brief instruction. I think she just can’t be bothered.
Evan sighs in exaggerated annoyance.
“If necessary,
1. The aim of life is self-development. Our purpose is to fully develop our own being! — Oscar Wilde
2. The meaning of life is not to actually find it once a day but to keep searching for it. — Ernst Ferstl
3. Punk rock is musical freedom. You can say, do, and play whatever you want. According to the dictionary, NIRVANA means freedom from pain, suffering, and the external world, and that’s pretty close to my definition of Punk Rock. — Kurt Cobain, Nirvana
4. I believe the meaning of life is to be happy. — Albert Hofmann (discoverer of LSD; not verbatim, but analogously).”
The class laughs at the last words, including Evan.
Mrs. Elliott’s red-lined lips don’t even show a hint of a smile. “I want you to write your own aphorism about the meaning of life this summer and prepare a five-to-ten-minute oral presentation.” She looks at me, and I feel hot. I hope theexemption for my oral performance will extend into my senior year; otherwise, I’ll start the new year with an F in the fall.
Then again, this problem is a universe away from my current one. My life makes no sense anyway since I have nothing to say, verbally or in writing. I have only one goal—to hide from the world and avoid the battle I never started, in which I’m always the loser. And only one sentence from the slide sticks in my mind: ‘According to the dictionary, NIRVANA means freedom from pain, suffering, and the outside world.’
