“Friday”. That should very well be able to describe my school day. Since everyone is on a verge of freedom for two days when the school bell rings, everyone is very jumpy and full of life all through the day. Unlike the other four school days, where everyone knows that they have more days in this prison to look forward to and everyone thinks why bother… Friday’s schedules for me are always dull, because everything is expected with no surprises to spice things up. First I go to classes, where I sit in class (I like to refer to them as prison) for a few hours, where I’m drowsy and bored out of my mind; then I go to lunch where I’m the reject that sits with rather people that don’t know I exist, or with no one at all, and eat the grotesque lunch that my mom oh so generously puts together for me (I love her and all, but I swear, sometimes I think she’s picking up road kill and calling it lunch. Whenever it’s something edible, I exclaim “Real food!”); after choking down my lunch, I do one more murderous class; and then I get to go to drama. The best part of my day.
The reason I love drama, is basically because I’m allowed to express myself in so many different ways than I can when I’m in class with a bunch of losers wishing their brains would explode so that they could get out of the class and miss the rest of an assignment. I haven’t reached the new found low where I wish my head would implode, but believe me, I’m pretty close. The neat thing I find about drama is the free time I’m given to create my own screen plays. I like to create the scenes with the lighting cues, character’s positioning on the stage, and the greatest thing about it is that I like to compare my fictional characters with people in my neighborhood, school, and just about anywhere else. I want the characters to sound real enough to where someday maybe our school director will turn my screenplay into an actual production for the school, but he hasn’t allowed any of them yet. He says that I should just enjoy the class and also that I shouldn’t make the load that school already bares on my shoulders heavier. But I don’t agree, I love challenges.
In fact, I love drama so much it seems that I sometimes find myself saying the characters’ lines when I’m waiting in line for lunch or anywhere else, and that’s probably why I can’t find any new best friends. But then again, who wants to be friends with some girl who makes up stories in her mind and plays them out like movies when she thinks no one is looking. I’d be better off walking up to people while holding up an imaginary hand and saying “Would you like to meet Bob?”
Once drama was over, I grabbed my backpack that is weighed down with my own journals, some textbooks, binders, and over things that they say don’t weigh that much, but when put into a bag to hauled on your shoulder, you prefer a two ton elephant riding on your back.
Before going home everyday after school, I do some work in the library so that I can have some time in my favorite place to have a favor of my favorite kind of time: quiet time to think. After putting away some books and reorganizing the books to the systems (I swear, some people don’t know the difference between a b and a p) I found something very interesting. I went up to the billboard and saw a flier that was talking about a new exhibit down at the Museum of Natural Arts and Science given completely to cubism. I’ve always found the art of cubism completely stunning, the mixed colors and collage work of shapes… Okay, now I’m sounding like an art snob. Anyway, I hurriedly ripped off a copy and stuffed it into my backpack. After getting a release from Ms. O’ Toole, I ran out the door of the school. Since no one else ever seemed to volunteer in the library or anything after school except for athletics, the outside of the school empty except for some loiterers hanging out behind the school, the ones that give a care for the world. As I do everyday I just hurried passed while choking on the nasty second hand smoke right as I ran over to my bike (Since my parents are at work at this time and I don’t have a car of my own, I don’t even have a license...) I pulled back my black hair into a loose ponytail and put on my helmet. Since my bangs are so long anyway, it’s fairly useless to put my hair back, but I just hate tasting my own hair as I ride. I kicked off and rode down the sidewalk to the bus stop where I pulled out the flier for the exhibit once again. It was going to open at five, which was in about twenty minutes. If I could get there early, there probably wouldn’t be any lines, or I could at least get there and be at the front of the line. The excitement of it all made me pedal faster, trying to reach the town square before five. I must admit, I probably shouldn’t have been going this fast anyway for fear of getting turned into road kill (Where my mom could serve me up as lunch), but the cubism was calling me (Art freaks like me are of a dying breed I suppose…) So I just continued pedaling. I reached the town square in no time at all actually. Town Square was usually very crowded as the main part of the town. Filled with makeshift shops of neat little trinkets people put effort into and sometimes there are even street performers playing. The one thing I really found fascinating in town square was the big antique clock in the middle, standing on a black iron pole. The clock’s face looked almost ancient, but it still worked with hand crafted black clock hands telling time as it rotated around the bright enlightened clock face, set with beautifully colored roman numerals.
This place in itself is an art form that I have always treasured, but today, I wasn’t here for the performances, trinkets, or even that wonderful clock. Locking my bike into the space, I hurried up the steps to the doors of the Museum and opened them excitedly. I looked at my watch and it was five minutes to opening the exhibit, yet… There wasn’t very much as a line waiting to see it. I was disappointed by this point of absence, but I decided later on that this was a good thing, so I could get in much quicker.
Paying the fee, I walked into the exhibit and couldn’t believe everything inside, a great mass of colors that made the room brighten so much it seemed almost spectral. The combinations of shapes, tones, palettes, all breathtaking. Okay… I better stop before I can’t stop talking.
Anyway, I was so completely in synch with the art, that I barely noticed a huge crowd of people rushing in from behind me (I guess that they had been waiting for me to come to that they could smash me…). So many people, I was getting beaten around until I finally found some height where I could escape the crowds. I sat down on a cushioned bench as I waited for the crowds to linger into a peaceful position in the room, but I sadly knew that the room wouldn’t empty enough to where I would be able to see the art for quite a bit of time. So I decided to stand my ground until the room emptied. The room went silent as everyone began to admire the many art forms in their frames. I put my elbows on my knees as I waited for everything to come back into synch, closing my eyes I just started to wait… And wait… And wait… Oh come on people!
Right as my patience was on its verge, I heard a commotion coming from the entrance to the exhibit. I opened one eye and looked over. The security was rambling on as they were talking to a boy that was about my age. He was in a black hoodie with the hood over his head and a backpack over his shoulder; I could see he was holding a camera in his hand. I kept hearing the security guards repeating “No cameras aloud”, but the boy just continued to argue. I rolled my eyes, only a moron would try to bring a camera into this place. I muttered coldly as I closed my eyes again, “What kind of idiot wouldn’t just give up the stupid camera?” I asked myself questioningly as I was becoming accustomed to my eavesdropping. The boy started to speak. “You don’t understand. I’m working with journalism. I’m doing a paper on the exhibit.” Yeah. What kind of excuse is that? I thought haughtily. Journalism paper? Please.
The security guards, I could tell, were losing their patience. “Yeah kid, well either way, journalism or not; no cameras aloud.”
“Come on!” Said the boy in exasperation, this time through gritted teeth. “Sorry kid, cameras aren’t allowed. You better leave before we’re forced to make you leave the building.” The boy huffed as his arms dropped.
“I guess he’s giving up?” I said to myself. I saw the boy sighed as he pulled his hoodie down. His hair was just this big mess of reddish toning, but it had these streaks of black all around the mop he called his hair. He pushed his hair out of his face as he handed the camera over, “Can I grab it afterward?” He asked as his voice started to calm, though I could hear some sarcasm and attitude in his voice. The security guard nodded to him and let him through.
“How can they just let him in after all the commotion he caused?” I hissed acidly. I took my elbows off my knees as I sat up straight, of course right when he walked by (How ironic…) He looked down at me, he had these emblazoned green eyes like cat eyes, but of course without the slits. Still, they creeped me out just as much. He looked at me a minute more before pulling his head back up, but I noticed his walk started to slow. Uh-oh… What’d I do wrong?
He turned the corner and I didn’t see him turn back or anything. I guess he’s just a ticked off guy. Maybe he has anger management problems? Is he going to take it out on me? I took a deep breath as I got up from the bench and took a step, pretend you didn’t notice him, and he’ll leave you alone. Just enjoy the art. That I did – and through it all, that kid was no where to be found.
I left the art to its rest as I walked out of the museum about an hour later. I walked down the stairs of the museum and started walking to my bike. But I stopped right in my tracks, sadly letting my black converse drown in a puddle from the sprinklers that had been running. But I didn’t notice. The only thing I noticed was the boy I had seen earlier, and…?
And I think he was trying to steal my bike!
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Where Me, Myself and I will be held... Revision will commense soon enough.
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