The bell rang and I lifted myself from my seat and headed out of second period. My back was killing me from sitting in the hard, plastic chair for the past hour and a half; I was ready to get out of there.
"Mr. Forsythe, come over here, please." My English teacher motioned me over to his desk with a disappointed look on his face. I hated when he called me that. I always thought it was so stupid. He looked down at his desk and I mimicked his motion. On his desk was the essay we had to turn in a few days ago. Across the top margin, scribbled in sloppy red ink were the words, not acceptable. "I'm very, disappointed in your work here, Mitchell. The assignment was to write a persuasive, argumentative, essay on something you have strong feelings over." I got agitated rather quickly and snapped back at him.
"That's exactly what I did!" I yelled.
"Writing about why marijuana should be legal is not the direction this paper is supposed to be going in! I want a new paper and a new topic on my desk by Monday morning!" I stood in disbelief and didn't speak for a moment.
"You want an entire essay? I have plans this weekend! Are you out of your mind, dude?" I lied about having plans. The only thing I planned on doing this weekend was sitting on my ass. I just said this as an attempt to get out of writing an essay.
"Don't call me, "dude". Monday morning; end of discussion." I stormed out of the classroom, cursing his name under my breath. In the hallway I headed to my locker which was only a few feet from his door. I put in my combination and the locker opened as easy as usual only this time a small piece of paper fell out. It was folded into the normal size of a note someone passes in class. I picked it up off the floor and noticed there was something written across it very neatly; it read, Mitch. Thinking it was nothing more than a note from a friend I shoved it in my pocket, grabbed my Spanish book and made my way to third period trying not to be late. During lunch I found my friend, Dusty, and sat beside him.
"What's up, bro? You look down." he said as I took my seat at the table. We have been friends a good while and I always felt I could talk to him about whatever was troubling me.
"You remember that essay I wrote for English class?" I asked shaking my milk up.
"The one about why pot should be legal? What about it?"
"Apparently my teacher didn't like it so now I have to write an entire essay by Monday morning."
"Damn, dude! That's brutal. You gonna do it?"
"I'm gonna have to I guess." I let my hand fall from the table where it rested and it rubbed against my jean pocket reminding me about the note. "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot." I pulled the note from my pocket. "Did you put this in my locker?" I asked as I held up the note. He took it from my hand and looked at it puzzled; as if he'd never seen it before.
"Wasn't me, dude. Why? What does it say?" I shrugged.
"I don't know. I haven't read it yet." He looked at me as if for approval and I nodded letting him know he could unfold the paper. As he undid the last fold we were caught off guard by what we saw and both looked at each other as if searching for an answer.
What was on the paper was a very crude drawing of what appeared to be a house or barn of some sort. I don't know why it was so unsettling, but looking at that picture gave me a very uneasy feeling. We both stared blankly at this piece of paper as if it were an ancient artifact. The lunchroom was very loud, however, I was in such a state of concentration that the noise seemed to dissipate and eventually stop altogether. Without speaking a word, Dusty pointed to some writing above the childish drawing. The font of the letters matched that of the front of the note; it read, "Come to my house and play. I need a friend. 451 Wagon Run Road."
