Timeless

by Rachel Spangler

  So that was the lesson? I hadn’t been paying enough attention to a high-school basketball game? I literally bit my tongue to keep from laughing. My daydreams would become the building block for a successful literary career, and basketball would become something I honestly forgot I even did. Quite the life lesson there, Drew.

  I held my smirk in check as I headed for the bleachers, tossing a casual, “Yes, sir” over my shoulder as I went.

  I watched disinterestedly as my female classmates did aerobics to a video Drew pressed “play” on, then spent the rest of his time observing the boys’ weight training. What a stupid, sexist double standard. He probably didn’t want his girls to bulk up because he was so doughy. I’d dated a couple of women who could have snapped him in half, even as stubby as he was.

  Where was this venom coming from? Sure, the guy was a jerk, but what did I care? He hadn’t annoyed me nearly as much the first time around. I couldn’t get bent out of shape about every redneck in this place. Maybe I’d picked up on some of Rory’s animosity, or perhaps I resented the power he’d someday lord over Jody. Then again maybe the whole mind-numbingly boring sexism before me was just the last in a long line of injustices burning my brain at the moment. Either way, I needed to settle down. I had one more class to get through after this one, and intro to theater with Jody would test me a lot more than Drew Phillips’s stupidity.

  *

  “Stevie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your monologue?”

  “Yes?”

  People giggled, and I realized I’d been caught daydreaming. Who knew high school made for such a long day? We were halfway through theater class, and I’d yet to engage the material in any way. Jody had done a lesson on monologues, which was interesting eleven years ago. But given my ensuing studies in theater and my own attempts at playwriting, I no longer found the topic so enthralling. My mind wandered from the material to the teacher. She was clearly exhausted, emotionally and probably physically too. I understood she loved the work and the students, but I also knew the doubts were eating her alive. She was in the act of choosing a lonely path, one that would give her moments of fulfillment, no doubt, but would also lead to regret and uncertainty years down the road.

  “Stevie,” she said patiently, “did you choose a monologue?”

  “Maybe the basketball knocked it out of her head,” Deelia Pats said, then smiled like she thought herself clever.

  “There are extenuating circumstances,” Jody said.

  “No, it’s fine.” I was thankful this assignment would be easy enough since I’d done plenty of monologues throughout college.

  “I’ll do Zubaida Ula’s monologue from The Laramie Project.”

  “The Laramie Project?” Deelia wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Isn’t that a fag movie?

  “Deelia,” Jody snapped, the harshness of her tone immediately getting everyone’s attention. “I won’t allow discriminatory language in this classroom.”

  “What? Fag’s not a cuss word.”

  “It’s worse, a violent word, a weapon word, an attack on an entire subset of people, and if I hear it again I’ll send you to the principal.”

  Deelia folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips but didn’t push any further. She’d probably never been sent to the principal in her life. She was the class priss, always perfectly dressed and perfectly situated atop the social hierarchy.

  “Kelsey, what did you choose?” Jody asked, doing a fine job of acting unperturbed, but I could see her chest rise and fall a little faster than usual. I wished I could squeeze her hand the way she had mine before the assembly.

  “Hamlet’s ‘To Be or Not To Be’ soliloquy,” Kelsey answered, looking at me suspiciously.

  I turned away to see Deelia staring at me with the same intensity, only less confused and more malicious. Great. Who knew fulfilling a silly assignment would get me stuck in multiple sets of crosshairs? I slouched lower in my seat and prayed for the final bell to ring soon.

  I jumped out of my chair the second class ended, but before I could get to the door Kelsey stepped in front of me. “Where did you get your monologue?”

  “What?”

  “The Laramie Project just debuted at Sundance. I read an article about it last week. There’s no way you could’ve seen the movie yet.”

  Shit, another damn timeline fail. “I saw the play first, before they made the movie.”

  Kelsey wasn’t buying it. The other students filed out of the classroom, leaving only Jody at her desk. She shifted through papers but had to be listening. “When did you see the play? I’m pretty sure it didn’t come anywhere near here.”

  “New York,” I answered quickly, pulling the only ace in my pocket. “I went to New York last fall to visit some schools. We saw it then.”

  Except we hadn’t. We’d seen The Lion King. My parents wouldn’t have thought to see The Laramie Project then, and quite frankly neither would I since I didn’t know Moises Kaufman existed until I got to NYU. But Kelsey and Jody didn’t know that.

  “Okay, but where did you get the actual script of the monologue to read for class?”

  Dear Lord, take me now. When were the questions going to end? Was she actively trying to trip me up? And in front of Jody? Why the hell couldn’t any of this be easy? “I Googled it.”

  Another furrowed brow from Kelsey indicated I’d once again slipped up.

  “What’s Googled it?”

  Holy shit, was this the dark ages? Surely Google existed. Had the term not reached Darlington? “I found it online.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” Kelsey said. “I don’t have a computer at home.”

  I regretted my reaction immediately. Maybe she hadn’t intentionally grilled me. Maybe she was genuinely interested. I forgot about the digital divide in high school. Personal computers might not be uncommon, but they weren’t in every home. And even fewer of my classmates had reliable Internet access. “Maybe you could use the one in the library sometime,” I offered weakly.

  “Maybe,” Kelsey said, then turned to go.

  I probably should’ve said more, maybe offered to let her use my computer, but we weren’t friends, and she was clearly suspicious of me already, so I kept my mouth shut and headed toward my locker.

  I wanted to get out of there. My dad would be waiting, so I could make a quick getaway. But I worried about forgetting something, and given the circumstances I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d forgotten a lot of things. I stared at my locker, running through my classes and trying to remember which books I’d need for homework.

  A few doors down, Michael and Deelia were making out against her locker, but he obviously wasn’t getting the participation level he wanted because he asked, “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Miss Hadland chewed me out for saying ‘fag.’”

  “What?”

  “Stevie’s reading from a play about faggots.” They both looked at me, and I wanted to crawl into my locker. “And Miss Hadland went off about how we can’t call them that, or she’d send me to the principal.”

  “What the hell else are you supposed to call them? Butt pirates? Cocksuckers?”

  She laughed and I cringed.

  “Hadland’s probably a dyke.” Michael almost spit the word. “If she sends you to the principal, tell him she hit on you.”

  My stomach clenched, and my head throbbed again. That was enough. Homework be damned, I had to get out of there. Slamming my locker a little harder than I’d meant to, I jogged down the hallway and out the front door. I couldn’t stand one more minute in this place.

  *

  I managed to remain conversational with my parents, who had a multitude of questions about my first day back. But between having to wake up at the ass crack of dawn and the exhaustion-inducing events of my day, I was ready for sleep by six o’clock. I could’ve easily slept for twelve hours if not for my homework, so after helping clear the table like a good child, I headed to the basement to start my se
cond shift.

  I fired up the ancient laptop, and since I still used the same five passwords, I logged in easily. First I needed to Google The Laramie Project to see if I could actually get my monologue for theater class. Well, I didn’t need it since I had it memorized, but Kelsey’s questions had shaken me. I tried to keep my eyes open as I clicked on the Internet icon, and I almost jumped out of my seat at the sound of dial-up tones immediately followed by my dad yelling, “Stevie, I’m on the phone!”

  Dial-up Internet and shared phone lines, two more items to add to the list of things I didn’t miss about my teenage years. I prayed again for this experience to be a dream. It had to be, didn’t it? I couldn’t have imagined something as wonderful as high-speed Internet and smartphones.

  I opened my Spanish book and tried to make sense of our reading. It only took a few minutes to realize that wasn’t going to happen. Had I forgotten everything or never really learned it in the first place? I probably didn’t expect to ever use it. Why did I assume anyone worth knowing, anyone worth listening to would speak English? I resolved to make an effort to communicate with my neighbors when I got home.

  I would get home, wouldn’t I? How long had I been gone? Almost a week? Would someone check on my apartment? I had friends. I wasn’t a total loner. Someone from my writing group or the youth theater program would miss me eventually, but they wouldn’t kick down the door right away. Would they contact Edmond? My parents? Maybe Beth had already called someone. She seemed like the type of person who thought of those things. Poor Beth…her parents had just died. She had enough to deal with. She didn’t need to take care of me right now.

  No, damn it, this wasn’t right now, this was the past. Right now, Beth was great. So was Rory. So were we all.

  Or at least I would be great as soon as I woke up. Wouldn’t I?

  My dad called down to let me know he was off the phone, and I tried to connect again, bracing myself for the gurgle and beep of the modem. The thing sounded like it was in the throes of death cycling through the tones once, then twice without connecting. Darlington, Illinois was never at the forefront of new technologies. I might have to wait awhile. Maybe I should go shower.

  No, I could work on my trig homework. I laughed aloud. I couldn’t do trigonometry without the Internet. A shower was my only option, but when I came back to find the modem still struggling, it took all my strength not to throw the ancient relic across the room.

  Screw it. I’d just type out the monologue myself and lie about finding it online. Now if only I could work Microsoft Word. Why were none of the buttons where they should be? I suddenly realized I was running Windows Millennium Edition as my operating system.

  “No,” I mumbled. “Geek, out.” Forget the monologue. Forget trig. Forget my whole awful day. I crawled into bed without even turning off the lights. Hopefully I’d wake up tomorrow, but even if I didn’t, no nightmare could be worse than the one I’d lived today.

  Chapter Five

  “Stevie, what’s your take on the chapter?” Jody asked, even though I hadn’t raised my hand or made eye contact or given any other indication I wanted to engage in class discussion. “What do you see as the overarching lesson here?”

  I exhaled loudly to let my exasperation be known. I didn’t care if I came across as some teenage stereotype. I didn’t want to be here, even if we were studying one of my favorite books. “The author is taking the ideas of bravery and courage and turning them on their heads.”

  “How so?” Jody pressed, her smile doing only a little to settle my annoyance.

  “The main character decides to do something that society thinks is brave, in this case, go to war, but he only does so because he’s a coward. If he had the courage of his convictions, he would’ve gone to Canada, but he goes to fight for things he doesn’t believe in because he fears the opinions of others.” I readied my air quotes to say, “He does the ‘brave’ thing out of fear.”

  Someone coughed in an overly fake way to cover a call of, “Bullshit.”

  Surprise, surprise. Brad, one of Michael’s cronies, had clearly been the culprit. Jody gave him her best teacher stare, to which he only replied, “Sorry, I had something in my throat.”

  “Excuse me,” Deelia said, raising her hand but not waiting to be called on before she spoke. “Did you just call soldiers cowards?”

  “Not all soldiers.” I defended my position halfheartedly. “Just the one in this book.”

  “He goes to war. He fights for your freedom.”

  “Well, we can debate whose freedom was at stake in Vietnam, but even giving you that point doesn’t change the fact he acted for ignoble reasons.”

  “Miss Hadland, is ‘ignoble’ even a word?” one of the other students asked.

  “Yes, and Stevie used it correctly.”

  Deelia pressed her. “So you think our soldiers are cowards too?”

  “I said nothing of the sort, and neither did Stevie. Care to share your interpretation of the text, Deelia?” Jody fended off the attack nimbly enough, though a hint of pink rose in her pale cheeks.

  “Well, he’s afraid at first, but he ultimately fights for his country. He does the right thing. He’s a hero.”

  “Stevie?” Jody prodded.

  “The right thing in any given situation is subjective and generally socially constructed to reaffirm those who sit atop the hierarchies.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Deelia said, her voice drenched in disdain.

  Clearly. Her IQ might actually fall in the single-digit range, which was why I didn’t generally engage people like her. I couldn’t change someone’s mind if we didn’t speak the same language. Too bad she didn’t have the same rule.

  “This whole discussion offends me. I think you are both,” she paused for dramatic effect, looking pointedly at me and then Jody, “anti-American.”

  I held in my laugh. That rhetoric had grown old for me long ago, but I imagined it stung for Jody in this post 9/11 political climate. Her cheeks colored, but she gave no other outward indication of her fear about what an accusation like that could do to her career. She didn’t have tenure or even a permanent appointment to teach. Why had she chosen this book? Why had she called on me? I wanted to feel bad for her, but she’d brought this on herself, and from what I saw in present day, she’d continue to do so. If she wanted to put herself through this torture every day for the rest of her life, then so be it, but I didn’t appreciate her dragging me into the fray with her.

  *

  Spanish didn’t go much better, as I almost certainly failed the pop quiz Señora Wallace gave. I might’ve been more bothered by my poor academic performance if I weren’t still clinging to the hope of awakening from this dream. Did it really matter if I passed Spanish while in a nightmare? I needed to survive. I needed to keep my mind from falling into a darker place, but I didn’t need to impress anyone along the way. That mentality held me over until I got to trigonometry and found my seat blocked by the lip-locked Deelia and Michael. Did they ever come up for air?

  I waited patiently as long as I could stand before sighing heavily. I may have also mumbled something about them getting a room. My fuse continued to grow progressively shorter as this nightmare wore on. Thankfully they separated, though Deelia had to get a little dig in about me being jealous. I tried to let the comment pass, but once again she didn’t know when to let something go.

  “You really could be pretty, Stevie,” she said. “Don’t you think she could be pretty, Michael?”

  Michael, for all his issues, obviously recognized that for the trap it was and replied with a noncommittal shrug.

  “If you did something different with your hair and acted a little nicer to the boys, I’m sure you could get a boyfriend too.”

  Even if I’d wanted to reply politely to the backhanded compliment I wouldn’t have known how.

  “I could give you a makeover,” Deelia offered, sounding rather insincere.

  “No, thanks.”<
br />
  Michael’s snort sounded remarkably like a warthog’s. “Maybe she doesn’t want a boyfriend. Maybe she wants a girlfriend.”

  Their friends all snickered, and my face flamed. I wanted to say so many things. I wanted to tell him I did want a girlfriend and in the coming years I’d have more than my fair share. I also wanted to say that if all men behaved like him, who could blame me for wanting a woman. Mostly, though, I wanted to say he probably only joked about gay people because of his insecurities about his own sexuality. Instead I held my tongue. I wouldn’t let a Neanderthal pull me any deeper into his cave. I’d come out in my own time and on my own terms.

  I slouched through another lecture on cosines and tangents, which I actually understood about a third of. I had only one more class to get through until lunch, and then I might seriously consider cutting the rest of the day. Hopefully Mr. Glass would be equally oblivious in keyboarding. If today was anything like yesterday, I could complete the assignment early and have time to collect my thoughts in peace.

  Those hopes were dashed the minute Kelsey turned on her computer monitor beside me. Someone had already opened a document, and the words typed there were enough to make even my hardened New Yorker side see red. In a bold font read the words, Kelsey Patel is a pussy eater who needs to sit on a cock.

  My stomach contracted like I’d been kicked. All the air fled my lungs, and my eyes watered. Kelsey swallowed a few times, then began to delete the message.

  “No,” I whispered harshly. “You have to show Mr. Glass.”

  She shook her head and wiped the words completely from her screen.

  “Kelsey, that’s sexual harassment.”

  “Not in Darlington. That’s boys being boys.”

  “Bullshit.” My voice sounded low and raspy even to my own ears.

  “Trust me. I’ve been down that road.” She didn’t sound angry. Just tired. “Even if one of the teachers wanted to help, I can’t prove it was him. They’d question him, then let him go, and he’d come down twice as hard on me.”