Enchilada Ed

32

In my beginning is my end.

Ed had read those six words six times over again and still couldn't suss out what TS Eliot was trying to say. There was no way Ed would be able to pass his English final, if he were expected to provide a cogent interpretation of even one of the Four Quartets. Ed dropped his copy onto his bedroom floor, and planted his face into his mattress. How would Kenneth Branagh interpret a line like that? Ed wondered. He'd probably just say, "words, words, wooorrds," and wiggle his jaw around like an idiot.

Ed considered texting Emily and Gina and asking them for advice, seeing as they had taken Miss Larsen's English class the previous semester. But Ed knew whatever advice those clowns could give wouldn't be worth the effort of rolling over and grabbing his iPhone off his nightstand. Emily would tell him that "note-sharing amounted to cheating" (her class rank was possibly more important to her than their friendship) and Gina would have already lost whatever crappy notes she had taken by this late in the year. She'd instead send some bogus interpretation about the "globalists" and "social constructions of time" to troll him.

Would Miss Larsen be able to tell if his reading response practice essay was partially informed by SparkNotes? Ed wouldn't copy word-for-word -but if he checked online- well, it was better than not being able to write anything at all. Ed sat up and unplugged his iPhone from the wall outlet beside his bed. He noticed the time on the lock screen. 2:05. School would be dismissed in fifteen minutes. Everyone was probably giddy with that Friday afternoon feeling. Ed hadn't been allowed in school for almost two-weeks now. An excused indefinite absence would have seemed like a great vacation to Ed a few months ago, but now that he was actually experiencing it, he really missed the little things about his school- the interaction with his classmates, Mr. Black's calculus jokes, and that Friday afternoon feeling. When life was one everlasting weekend, there really wasn't much to look forward to. Just as Ed had opened Safari and searched for SparkNotes, his phone buzzed with a calendar notification. Mrs. Abel's office; 2:20; aptitude test.

Damn. Ed had forgotten he made that appointment. He had scheduled it that morning, how could he have forgotten about it already? He never did think, did he? His dad was right about him. A thousand creative insults ran through Ed's mind as he pulled off his tank top. He searched his bedroom floor for something clean that also covered his biceps. Ed gave the sniff test to a black t-shirt hanging off his desk chair. It passed. He pulled it over his head, grabbed his car keys, and ran down the stairs.

***

"I'd like to go to medical school," Ed stared at himself in the rearview mirror. Too confident. He wasn't that confident.

"Uh, I'm thinking about medical school." The light turned green and Ed tapped the gas. Probably still too confident.

"I'm kinda interested in medicine," Ed drove by his school's crowded bus lane. Better.

"I'm good at chemistry, I think, so I could do something like that," Ed turned into the common building's parking lot. That's probably just the right amount of "I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing-with-my-life," Ed watched as his last semester's gym teacher climbed into a Kia Soul and quickly vacated his parking spot. Classic Mr. Uhrman, Ed thought, he always wants to get the hell out of this place. Ed pulled into Mr. Uhrman's spot, and put the Malibu in park.

"I have no idea what I want to do with my life," Ed checked his teeth in the sun visor mirror. Perfect.

Ed took his keys out of ignition and stepped out of his car.

***

"Omg," a goofy freshman with thick black hair grabbed her friend's wrist, "It's Enchilada Ed!"