Classroom X - I. Rain

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUV—

He stops there. The music ceases accordingly. I’m watching from a distance, but the sudden silence strikes me quick and hard. Hallelujah! someone shouts. Ha-lle-luuuuuu-jah!

There’s something odd about the classroom. The pictures that the kids drew are taped on the back wall. Rough crayon marks, silly, grotesque stick figures of ME, DADDY, and MOMMY. One of the kids drew DADDY with three legs. Another drew a green sun, later saying that the sun turned green at night sometimes.

The teacher, young and spirited, is tired, aching from the screaming and running.

Why? some kid asks.

Because…

Yes?

The bell rings — some glorious sound for both parties. The teacher sulks into her chair and sighs. Eighty more days. More than those kids could count to.

            1, 2, 3, 4 —

Something's about to happen, I think. There’s still one kid remaining, but the teacher doesn’t know. The kid, he’s sitting there, still and silent, bro00ooding. His eyes are dark. He has a pencil in his hand, tightly gripped.

The teacher doesn’t know anything. She sits there, drinking coffee, looking over emails — yawning. It has begun raining. The splatter increases slowly, softly, so ten minutes later the liquid sound sloshes over the quiet classroom without the teacher realizing.

You don’t know anything.

The kid: he’s waiting.

The drainage pipe outside is clogged, so there’s a massive puddle outside, flooding the walkway. The kid walks up to the teacher now; he stands in front of the teacher, looking straight in the eyes, unsmiling:

“It’s raining.”

“It’s raaaiiinnngggg.”

“IT’S raaaAAAAIIIIIINNNNnnnngggg.”

“IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, my god IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, it’s raining, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAaINING, IT’S RAINING, it’s raining, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING, IT’S RAINING!”

The teacher wakes up drenched in sweat. Is it still raining? All the energy, dRained away. Yes. Where are we? The kid is long gone, probably dead. Distant thunder rolls along, crackling and booming, shaking the ground. The pictures on the wall have come to life. ?                                  ?

            How are you doing?       ?                                               ?                                               ?

            What is going on?                                   ?                                             ?  ?

            How aaare you doing?                            ?                                   ?

            Uhh — I’m ok…                                              ?

?                                               ?                                                                                   ¿¿¿¿¿¿

There’s no definition or clear direction to the voice, but the teacher knows it’s one of the drawings.

            Hello!                                        Hello! Hello!

The teacher is shivering now, quivering in fear (oh ever powerful fear). I see all of this, while doing nothing. She screams, knees on the floor, begging for something, for clarity and sanity.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!¿?¡!!!¡???!¿!¿

                        what is this?

this is your

classroom

don’t you

remember?