p e n u m b r a (discontinued)

Chapter 5: Social Heirachy

"Today, I'm going to share an original piece with you, in order to help you get to know me better as your teacher. Ahem," He clears his throat and speaks clearly, but gently and soothingly. I lose myself in his words.

Peace had gone,

Peace had gone,

and Peace had gone again.

And the cries of the city

rang loud in my fragile ear,

every soothing sound wave of serenity

shattered

as they desperately

crawled through

the long tunnels

of my ear canal.

I have been struck

with the harsh

yet humble being of home.

Every breath I heaved

were puffs of smoke

and remnants

of the godforsaken past

that vanished in the wind.

My feet

beat

the concrete

so often that they

bleed in agony,

praying for

something more sweet.

Something soft,

and comforting

something worth my longing

and my tender loving.

And yet

among the

iridescent moonshine

I beamed

and embraced my lonely people

that will forever be mine.

He slowly bows his head, and we all slowly snap our fingers for his performance. He's beautiful. On that stage, he morphs into another creature. A creature so mysterious and unknown to the likes of man. And he fascinates me to a remarkable degree. He reminds me of spiders, beautiful minuscule monsters that glisten on gossamer and twinkling thread. He consumes our attention like the way spiders consume the foolish flies they capture. In the limelight, he blossoms.

"Thank you, thank you. Now based on this original piece, I want you guys to make some inquiries on your own. Tell me some things about my personality that you assume based on my poem. Anyone? Uh you, Ms. Johnson."

How should I interpret this anyway? I assume he's from the city, Boston perhaps.

"Uh, are you like, from Boston or something?" That Johnson girl says, echoing my very thoughts.

"Well yes, I'm from the South End, but I want a little bit more than that. Describe my emotions. How do I feel about the city?About my city? How about you Ms. Masterson? What do you think?"

"Uh well... At first you were describing some negative things about your city, like how peace is gone. It seemed like it was difficult for you to find serenity in Boston."

"Yes, yes excellent Masterson. That's basically how I've felt for more then half of my life. The city has always been so loud and obnoxious. It was like an infant, and the thousands of people that live inside were the different emotions that carved it's shape and size. Excellent work. What else um.... You, Ms. Clarke, What do you think?" All of our eyes turn to her. She seems to blend in perfectly with every shadow that holds her being so close. With grace she slightly tilts her head up and looks down upon the instructor, as if he is of a lower class than her.

"While I agree with Katrina's point, I have to admit that there are certain words that connote otherwise. For instance, although it's clear that you lack the peace you desire from your city, you made a point to still call it your city. And you tell us this with a sense of pride. Boston is your city, and the people who wander within it are your people." The entire classroom marvels in awe at her remarkable analysis. She seems to glow even in her dark little corner, away from the rest of us. She's like a queen.

"Absolutely marvelous work Ms. Clark. Yes, yes, that's exactly how I feel. Peace had gone, but home still lies in Boston for me. What's amazing about this piece is that many people can relate. Everyone's story began somewhere. Nearly everyone has some place to call home." No, you're wrong Mr. Wright. Not everyone has a home. I don't, at least not anymore. The bell rings out throughout the building, and the rest of the girls quietly put their books away.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow. Remember to have a journal and your poem expressing a part of yourself. You guys are dismissed."

***

Instead of going to dinner or hanging with Jolie, I decide to go back to my room and write for a little while. Mr. Wright's performance inspired very nostalgic images of the "home" I've known for the past two years. That home is not like any home I've ever known or understood. It's not like any home that television ever describes to me. It's not like any home that any of my friends ever had. It's not like any home that I see on every street. I'm not entirely sure that it's a home to anyone at all.