Trash Can Days

by Teddy Steinkellner

  I came dressed as Charlie Chaplin. I was under the impression that since the party was history-themed, that everyone would be dressed as something fun from the past. But the people there were only wearing modern-style shirts and ties and dresses. One of Hannah’s friends came up to me and asked me why I had a Hitler mustache. Erggh. That vexed me to peeve proportions. I did not want others to say such things to me, so I washed my mustache off with swimming pool water and I hid my bowler behind a tree. For the remainder of the evening, I was just a girl wearing all black. Just like every other day.

  Primarily I watched others enjoy themselves. Why? I just was not in a groovin’ mood, that is all. You can refuse to dance and this does not make you a loser.

  Jake did an excellent job of not being a loser. He was front and center for every single group dance—“YMCA,” “Macarena,” “Have a Nagila”—everything. I especially enjoyed watching him get lifted up on a chair by adults. What an enjoyable culture.

  There was one moment when I wanted to approach Jake especially much. The DJ announced that we were going to play a game called Pepsi 7-Up. In this game, everyone splits up into teams of one boy and one girl, and then the teams have to do ridiculous shenanigans on the dance floor. Jake and I would have been the ideal tandem for this game since ridiculous shenanigans are probably our number-one pastime. In addition, Jake did not even have very many friends of his own at the party—I do not think he truly considers my Super Story Samurai pals to be his friends as well, so most every kid in attendance was a Hannah bud, almost as if he had turned over the guest invitation duties to her completely.

  I was titillated, therefore, as Jake’s only true-blue playfellow in attendance, to play Pepsi 7-Up with him. However, before I could walk even two steps toward my former prince, Hannah had already claimed him as her partner. Perhaps that makes sense since they are family. But they are not even friends. Harrumph.

  For the briefest of moments I thought I could make Jake envious by partnering with his former best amigo, Danny Uribe, but while I had observed Danny sitting in the back row with his family during the ceremony and speech (mostly texting—ruuuude!), I did not catch a sight-whiff of him at the nighttime party. He was probably with his family.

  I did finally speak to Jake before my father picked me up. I walked up to him on the floor in the middle of “Billie Jean,” and I did not look him in the eyes, and I told him, “Thank you for inviting me, I was very proud of you, you are very special, you are not a little girl, I am sorry.”

  I then turned around very quickly and walked away very quickly. Jake did not chase after me, so I do not know where that leaves us.

  I am fine. If I cannot be Jake’s best friend, or at least his good friend, or at least his friend, then I am content to be an admirer from afar.

  June 5th

  My Speech

  Shabbat Shalom to family and friends. Thank you everyone for coming.

  It is the duty of every bar mitzvah boy, on his big day, to read a story in Hebrew from the Torah, otherwise known as the Old Testament. That is what I just did. We must then give a speech in which we compare the story to our own lives, no matter how far-fetched the comparison between Biblical and modern times might seem. That is what I’m doing right now. It’s all part of having a bar mitzvah, all part of becoming a man.

  We do not get to choose the story. It is chosen for us according to our date of birth. The portion of the Torah that I just read to you is called Parashat Sh’ach. It is a story from the book of Numbers. The Book of Numbers is, no offense Moses, known for being a pretty boring book. Basically, all that happens in the stories is that people get counted, categorized, ranked, and made to do random things.

  This is exactly what happens in my story. Moses and the Jews are wandering through the desert when God tells Moses to send one man from each of the twelve tribes to go observe the land of Canaan. The men do just this, they spy on Canaan, and when they come back, two of the men really like what they’ve seen. Joshua and Caleb. These guys call Canaan the “land of milk and honey,” and they want Moses and all of the Jews to go there as soon as possible. They want to fight the men who live there for the right to live there. This is what God wants too.

  But the other spies aren’t so sure. They witnessed some seriously strong and scary people in Canaan, and they argue that the Jews would maybe be better off just going back to Egypt.

  God responds by killing all of the spies except for Joshua and Caleb, and what’s more, he threatens to kill every single one of the Jews wandering in the desert. Moses convinces God not to do this. So God says, “Fine, Moses, I won’t kill your people, and yes, I will guide them into the land of milk and honey, but there is a catch—you’ll never get to go there yourself.”

  The end. That’s the end of my Torah portion.

  So…what could any of that possibly have to do with me?

  Actually, I think, a whole lot. Let’s recap.

  For starters, the Book of Numbers basically involves a bunch of categorizing, ranking, and people being made to do random things. I see no difference between that and junior high.

  And in my story, different “tribes” of people are encouraged to fight over the same piece of land: the land of milk and honey. Well, I don’t think there’s much milk and honey in San Paulo, and we don’t exactly call these kinds of groups “tribes” anymore—we have a different name for them: gangs. So, as we can see, there’s a connection there too.

  So what about the meaning of the story itself? What is it and what could it possibly have to do with today?

  Well, I think it’s a story about not fighting. I know that that sort of contradicts what Old Testament God said and did, and I know it doesn’t seem very bar mitzvah–ish for me to say that God was wrong. So I’m sorry in advance, God, and if I get smote then I’ll know why.

  But let’s look at the facts as they stand today. In our modern world, the land of Canaan still exists. It’s called Israel, and there are Jews there, and there are lots of other people there, and there’s still a lot of fighting there, and it sort of seems like it’s going to be that way forever. Everyone wants some of that milk and honey.

  I think that there are Canaans, there are Israels all over the world, even today. Places that lots of people want for various reasons, and so these people go to great lengths to try and get those places. Lots of times there’s fighting, lots of times there’s death. In San Paulo, we see this. We see our local “tribes,” we see violence, and yes, we see death.

  Yet I think everyone’s got the whole thing wrong. Moses, Joshua, Caleb, everyone today… they’re all after the wrong thing. Yes, I do believe that the land of milk and honey exists like God says it does in the book of Numbers.

  But what makes us so sure that it’s an actual physical land?

  I’ve learned a lot about metaphors this year at school—shout-out to Mr. Morales, who’s here in the audience—and I think the Bible’s filled with them. And so I ask this: what if the land of milk and honey is a metaphor?

  What if all the fighting—from whatever year Numbers is supposed to have happened all the way up until today—what if it’s really supposed to teach us not to fight?

  That’s what I think. The promised land isn’t a game of Risk or Settlers of Catan. It isn’t just some territory you can claim all for yourself and hold on to for as long as possible. In fact, it can’t be reached by force at all.

  The promised land is a place we can only get to if we collectively decide that fighting— for any reason—is stupid. It’s a place we can only get to if we decide that spending all of our time categorizing and ranking people is stupid.

  And maybe, like Moses, we’ll never reach the supposed land of milk and honey. Maybe us even thinking that we can get there one day is just stupid.

  But we have to keep trying. That’s what I’ve learned.

  Today I am a man.

  Thank you.

  Congratulations on finishing your finals, San Paulo! Only one more day unt
il summer vacation!

  Tomorrow is a MINIMUM DAY. All seventh grade students will be dismissed from classes at 12:30 p.m. Those who wish to be released at 11 in order to attend the graduation ceremony may ask their teachers if they can do so.

  Eighth grade students, tomorrow, June 11, is your graduation day! Remember to wear nice clothes to school and to bring your smile.

  Graduation Calendar of Events for Eighth Grade Students:

  8:00–8:30 a.m.: Meet in 1st period classrooms.

  8:30–9:30 a.m.: Graduation practice on the main field.

  9:30–10:45 a.m.: 8th grade activities and yearbook signing.

  11 a.m.–12:30 p.m.: Graduation ceremony. Please tell your family and friends to arrive early for good seats!

  12:30 p.m.–???: CELEBRATE!

  PLEASE turn in all overdue library books! If you are in eighth grade and you still have books checked out, you will not be allowed to walk at the graduation ceremony.

  Summer school begins Monday, June 21. Get excited for summer learning!

  And, for the FINAL TIME, San Paulo is a no gum, no iPods, no cell phones, no skateboards, no video games, no laser pointers, no pocket knives, no jelly bracelets school! Those found with any of the aforementioned items will be given a detention. No exceptions.

  38 • Hannah Schwartz

  Friday, June 11

  I hate how graduation speeches are always like, “Who are we going to be twenty years from now? How will we change the world?” Honestly, the kids who graduated today didn’t even know what they were going to do this afternoon. If I’ve learned anything in junior high, I’ve learned that. And I didn’t learn it till today.

  Graduation was, like everything else at this stupid school, typical. The marching band sucked hard. So many parents brought all these balloons and leis and homemade signs and foghorns, and they all just seemed a little too proud of their kids for graduating freaking middle school. Greene gave a way-too-intense speech, where he was like, “It’s not a matter of if you will make a difference—it’s when!” Obviously, all of my friends cried their eyes out, because they seem to be forgetting that we’ll be going to school together next year and seeing each other at the beach all summer long in the meantime.

  I guess I just hate how fake graduation is. Like, there’s no real reason why on the last day of eighth grade we should have to wear ugly square hats with dowdy tassels and pretend like we’re moving on to the next chapter of our lives. But we do. And some people love getting really into that, but I know that nothing matters until at least high school anyway.

  Of course the King of the Fakes was having the best day of his life. Chad did the following Shameful Heinous Idiot Things:

  S.H.I.T. #1. When he got his diploma, he jumped up in the air and screamed, “PIRATES FOR LIFE! YAAAHHH!”

  S.H.I.T. #2. He snuck two flattened beach balls into the ceremony, blew them up, and threw each of them into the air, distracting everyone. One of them while I was getting my diploma.

  S.H.I.T. #3. During the pre-graduation yearbook-signing period, I saw Chad kiss two different girls. Although I have to admit, kissing Corinne Allison and Ashley Clarke is really like kissing thirty guys. Hehe.

  I think it’s fair to say I’m over him, yeah? Finally, right? Finally I can stop being such a stupid. Finally I can stop falling for the wrong boys. Boys who don’t communicate at all except through vicious bathroom lies and jerky jerkface texts.

  That was the thing that really sealed it for me and Chad—that weird text I got from him. Even if, as it turns out, the text wasn’t from him.

  I met up with my family after the ceremony. Actually my dad couldn’t be there because he had some major meetings with top agents this morning, but his plan was to make it back for a big dinner tonight.

  Mom and Jake were so super-nice. I mean, they didn’t make the hugest deal out of me graduating eighth grade because it’s not like I’m one of those dropout kind of kids and this is the highest level of education I’ll ever reach. But still, they made me feel special. Jake Photoshopped me a cute card with some of the choicest pictures from his slide show. It was more than a little awesome.

  That said, I didn’t feel too special for too long. Mom had to leave right away to meet with a “celebrity client,” and Jake also had to go. I actually asked him if he wanted to hang out. Pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it if I’m a nice person. But Jake said he couldn’t, that he had been owing his friend Dorothy a proper minimum day for a long time now, whatever that meant.

  I guess I could have gone to the pool party at Kristen’s. But I didn’t feel like hours of yearbook signing and gossip and games of Truth or Dare where the girls only pick truth and the guys only pick dare. I wanted something real.

  That’s when Danny walked over to me. He came the split second after Mom and Jake left, like he had been watching them and waiting for them to leave. He was wearing his nice black button-up from the Hanukkah party. And I didn’t realize it until he showed up, because it’s honestly been so long since I’ve really thought about him, but right at that moment Danny was really the person I wanted to be real with.

  Okay. I didn’t want him like that. God no. I’m so past that, isn’t it obvious? I just wanted to talk to him. As friends. It was time.

  He suggested we go on a walk. I said where. He said Bella Vista. I said beautiful sight.

  Obviously it was über-awkward at first. Danny talked about how nice and sunny it was, and how it was “tight” that the weather could be so nice on my graduation day. Only his voice cracked when he said “graduation day.” I laughed and I said that reminds me of the time in Jake’s room.

  I know I made it more uncomfortable. But still. I’m allowed to make people uncomfortable on my day, especially when it’s funny.

  Danny asked me how come I broke it off. I told him the truth, which is that there were just too many differences between us. And obviously, I reminded him, that’s become more true since he became a full-on, black-eyed, drug-running gangbanger. I asked Danny if he listened to Jake’s bar mitzvah speech. I asked him if he read my blog entry. Those were for you, you know, I said.

  The whole time I talked, Danny kept his eyes on me. This is new for him. I’ve never seen him hold eye contact with someone for more than like, five seconds. I don’t know, maybe it was a tactic they taught him at gangster initiation. Whatever. It wasn’t working on me.

  Danny asked me why I got back together with Chad.

  I said, “How did you know about me and Chad?”

  He said, “Doesn’t matter.”

  I said I honestly couldn’t give him a good answer, beyond just that I’m an idiot. “But hey,” I said, “at least I dumped the bastard.”

  Danny seemed surprised by that news. We kept walking.

  I asked him if he’d really meant it when he said he loved me. I probably shouldn’t have, but it fit with the conversation we were having and I wanted to know.

  Danny said yes, he was in love. “That was the whole problem,” he said. He really was in love.

  I said, “Okay, you’re in seventh grade. You don’t know what love is.”

  He said eighth grade. He’s in eighth grade. We kept walking.

  A couple blocks away from the park, Danny asked me if I felt bad for the way I had treated him. I said I felt bad that he took it the way he did. He asked me again. Did I feel bad for the way I treated him? I said, “I wouldn’t change anything, if that’s what you mean.” He said okay. We kept walking.

  As we got close to Bella Vista, I could see that there were already people there. A bunch of Danny’s gang friends. Some of them were wearing their finest graduation clothes. Some of them were wearing baller hats and those stupid Scotsmen socks.

  “Um, Danny,” I said. “It looks like the park’s taken. We should go.”

  “No,” he said. “We need to talk to you. Give us one minute.”

  “This isn’t a good idea—”

  “It’s important.”

  “I
definitely shouldn’t—”

  “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Hannah, trust me. I promise nothing will happen to you.” Then he looked at me with that same constant look he had given me before. “You owe me.”

  That was a debatable point, and this was clearly a stupid situation to get involved in, but I trusted Danny. If he said nothing was going to happen to me, then nothing would.

  Plus, by that point I didn’t much like my chances of getting away, anyhow.

  We walked slowly up to the group. One of them stepped forward and nodded at Danny. He was the tallest one. He hadn’t even had the decency to dress up for his graduation. He had two thick lines of black hair on his face, one above his eyes and one above his upper lip. I recognized him as Guillermo Torres. Back when Luz and Chicle were gossip associates of mine, they used to talk about him all the time. The rumors they spread about him…well, they can’t be true. He’d be in jail right now. Not even juvie. Jail.

  Guillermo looked down at me, his hands in his pants pockets.

  “Why’d you write that thing on the Internet?”

  I’d been expecting something like this sooner or later. I was thinking maybe something in e-mail form and not like, right after graduation. Totally awful thing of Danny to do, by the way, basically luring me here to talk about it. But honestly, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been expecting this shoe to drop eventually. It was fine. I’d deal with it, I’d own up to my words, and then Danny and I could go home.

  “You guys know what you are,” I said. “What did I write that wasn’t true?”

  “You shouldn’t be talking about stuff you don’t know nothing about,” Guillermo said. Some of the others nodded and murmured in agreement, the way suck-ups do.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll take the piece down. It won’t happen again.”

  “Yeah,” Guillermo said, almost in a whisper but loud enough. “But how do we make sure?”

  Guillermo looked straight at me, unblinking, and he reached his hand into his pocket.