Lesson Learned

The title is appropriate from every angle. This is a creative writing assignment I did for my English class in which I had to use 20 of my vocabulary words in a story. Some of these words are TOO easy, but that's what I get for taking regular English...

My peers spouted off lore about the events of the weekend, particularly the main mishap. Unfortunately, I was sure that most of it was sloppy rhetoric. No two stories were the same. "Alright!" The vociferous buzz in my classroom ceased as Mr. Dillinger slammed his hands on his metal desk. Every startled student looked to the front of the room to seek the source of this antic. I stared at the gloomy, empty desk in front of me. "New seating arrangement," our teacher declared gutturally.

 

Surprisingly, no one grumbled. No one complained at all. "Everyone move. I don’t care where, just not that desk." Mr. D. said didactically and pointed to the one I’d already been staring at for the past few moments. No one stood or moved at all, so Mr. Dillinger came bustling, almost sanguinely, down my row and moved the desk in question as though he had only just devised this plan. I watched the heavy artillery of his coachy muscles flex as he yanked the seat up the row, attempting to glide it to the front of the room next to his desk. He got it there, regardless. "Get moving!"

 

Before anyone had the chance, "Coach?" the guy next to me ventured.

 

"Whoa. We’re in class, not on the court. You got a question?"

 

"Mr. Dillinger," he corrected, "why are we moving desks?"

 

Mr. D stood behind his podium and bowed his bald head, even giving it a precise rub, considering how to answer the coarse question. I expected a caustic harangue to follow, but his brow softened as he lifted his head and looked out over the motley group of high school students before him. This was the first time I ever noticed his azure eyes. As he shifted his body weight from one foot to the other, the likeness of our school’s mascot that was plastered on his shirt crinkled slightly.

 

Mr. Dillinger began talking about the kid who used to sit in front of me, the one who’d died that weekend. I don’t remember his exact words, but he pointed out that while Corey had been, arguably, a bit eccentric that he’d all made us laugh and that he deserved to be remembered. He said he wanted us to move desks because it would be hard to face that empty desk every day, especially if everyone was still in the same order. His speech was steady and slow, and no one was disrespectful enough to mock, but even if they had been, I believe he would have continued, undeterred.

 

When it was clear that Mr. Dillinger was finished speaking, I stood, drawing attention to myself for the first time that day. I moved to an empty desk across the classroom, and eventually, everyone followed my lead, moving around like musical chairs, a cappella. I wondered, briefly, what Corey would think of all this.

Reviews

[Kristin Brecoe]

oh wow. even if the vocabulary words momentarily distracted me...it was great. in the end i almost had goosebumps and i wondered if any part of it was true.

great write!!!!

-kristin