More than a feeling

Standing in the checkout line at the grocery store, I didn't expect to be thinking about the revolution. It was that song, that stupid song, "More Than a Feeling". Suddenly I was in Cuba, riding through the night in a taxi, warm breezes swirling through the open windows and Boston playing on the tape deck. "Everyday I wake up and I hope that the Revolution is over" our driver told us. Everybody has a life to live, I've got mine, you've got yours and the taxi driver has his. Except mine's good and his is shitty. And there's nothing he can do about it. I realized I was about to cry and trained my eyes on the ground, blinking rapidly.

We had another informe at the school, a big community meeting that explains our failure rate, what the money was spent on, all of the walls we got painted. After my principal's presentation, the superintendent got up and stated that it was the first time he has been impressed by a presentation by our school, because he at least thought we were honest this time. I guess that's a compliment. I was simply marveling that they managed to pack about one hundred and fifty people into one of our classrooms. And here I was hoping to have less than forty-five kids in my upcoming classes.

"If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn't rub out even half the 'Fuck you' signs in the world. It's impossible."

The cholos that line the street heading to the school have started greeting me while I hike up the hill. In English. "Hey teacher!" they call, day after day, smoking and passing God knows what to my uniformed students. Their tone isn't menacing and I always respond with a smile and a wave. I like to tell myself that even the cholos like me! I am making an impact! But I know the truth, dear God I fear the truth and scope the dark streets when I walk down the hill at night. I wish I could be like the little brown chihuahua on my street. He looks me straight in the eye and slowly raises both of his back legs off of the ground, balancing only on the front two. Suck it, he seems to tell me. Look what I can do.

Yesterday, I had to give my exam to the kids that not only failed the class, but didn't bother showing up for the week of recuperation classes and exam. Today, I was told that I would give the exam to the kids that not only failed the class and that didn't show up for the week of recuperation classes and exam or the exam I gave yesterday. It grated on my nerves. Our superintendent worries about the kids that don't go to school, says that they rob and steal and assault people. That is why we give so many "opportunities". That is why we are supposed to pass all of them. Keep them coming. It's better that way. Don't worry if they don't know a damn thing, if we can get them to come here a few times per semester at least they're not robbing people. It doesn't matter if they show up for a job with a worthless piece of paper in their hands and everyone realizes that they can't do a single thing that that paper says they can do. Who ever thought that babysitting could pay so well.

"I can apply your exam" the secretary told me when I went in search of exam copies. "I'm going to apply all of them" she told me "for all of the classes". Great, do it. I spotted Roberto outside, sitting on a bench in the sun. "What are you doing here?" I asked him. He's off on Thursdays, depriving me of a little ray of sunshine and sanity one day per week. "I'm applying my exam" he told me. "But Aracely said that she would do all of them?!" I told him. "No. I'm applying my own". Dirty work was afoot. "They let them cheat in there. Don't even grade the tests, they just give everyone a seven. I am applying my own exam and grading it myself" he stated. And he wonders why he's always one inch away from being fired. I can't believe he actually wants evidence that they know a damn thing, what kind of teacher is that?

And then the sky opened up and pulled us all away to a better place.



*The Catcher in the Rye
Holden Caulfield in Chapter 25