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When The Smallest In Class Became Legendary
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When The Smallest In Class Became Legendary It was just about the end of the school year and Mrs. Andrew’s second grade classroom was hot and stuffy. I sat in the back of the room next to Brian and barely paid attention to what was going on up front…I didn’t know or care what was being written on the chalkboard as my mind ventured to the long summer ahead and of cool popsicles, carefree days in the park and building a working balsa wood airplane with my dad. Part of the advantage to sitting in the back of the room is a like me could go incognito while the more enthusiastic students raised their hands and answered questions. Let them have it, I figured. It seemed I had a different agenda anyway. I was well on my way to becoming a mediocre student…not that I was dumb…in fact, this was the year they discovered I was an exceptional writer, but like most things I do in life, it took me getting into trouble for them to figure it out. Apparently I did something disruptive in class, I can’t remember what it was, but it resulted in them sending me and my desk out into the hallway away from the teacher and all the other students for…I don’t know…a week, a month, two months maybe…to a like me it felt like an eternity. I cried every day. I was probably solitary and anti-social in nature to start with but not this anti-social. I desperately wanted to be in the classroom with the rest of the but they stuck with the punishment and to pass the time constructively, Mrs. Andrews suggested that I write a story about anything I want. I did…this was actually a great way for me to channel my grief and my energy. The story I wrote was something about the beach and the animals that live in the ocean. Apparently it was far more clever and scientifically sound than any second grader was supposed to pull off so immediately after reintroducing me back into class they put me in the most advanced reading group. Two years before in kindergarten my advanced artistic ability had sent me to the school psychologist where they learned for the first time, and several times afterwards, that I was a gifted yet troubled artist. See what I mean…something bad almost always led to something exceptionally good. But this story isn’t about me nor my uncanny ability to find the good with the bad…this story is about Brian. We were the two smallest in the class, Brian and I…actually he was shorter than me by about an inch. I was small in stature to begin with but I was also a full year younger than most of the other in class. I don’t know what Brian’s problem was…maybe he was young like me, maybe just small for no other reason. I could tell from the corner of my eye he was looking at me on that hot day toward the end of the school year…I mean really looking at me…studying my features and everything. I turned and faced him, actually looked him in the eye, and he didn’t flinch or turn away like an adult would…just continued to watch me…his mouth was not a smile, nor a frown, but an unwavering, thin straight line like that of a bullfrog. “What?”, I whispered as Mrs. Andrews droned on. Here in the back of the room where the two smallest sat, her lesson wasn’t even a blip on our radar. It seemed like forever before he answered back but it was probably a few seconds, maybe even ten. In that time his even keeled expression never wavered, which in itself took everything to a darker place. “Wanna see a trick my dad taught me?”, he asked. “Yeah”, I said. He had piqued my interest now. Our radar that our teacher wasn’t even a blip on was thrown out entirely in favor of this strange moment in the back of the room. This was all the distraction I needed to forget the day’s lessons or possibly every other lesson in my entire school career. School didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore but this moment and this trick Brian’s dad taught him. I wanted to know what it was and wanted to know bad! He looked at me for what may have been another full minute, just looking, his expression unwavering. In the stuffy room toward the end of the school year his hair clung to his forehead in sweaty wisps and I imagined mine was doing the same. Show me this trick, for Christ’s sakes! Finally Brian quietly stood up without grinding his desk or chair against the hard wood floors and slowly, as in a trance, walked toward the front of the classroom. Mrs. Andrews had her back turned toward us as she was writing something on the chalkboard…something we’d presumably write on our own papers with the wide dotted lines but by this point lost all intention to. Brian found a spot behind Mrs. Andrews and faced us…faced the whole class as if this was Show-and-Tell. His expression remained unwavering but his eyes had that thousand yard stare that only a mental patient or a junky could pull off. All of us, even the enthusiastic up front who always raised their hands to answer questions had stopped listening to Mrs. Andrews and all eyes were on Brian...all but our teacher’s who was writing away at the board and talking about whatever she was writing. It seemed I was the only one privy to the fact that this was going to be a trick his dad taught him, but even I hung my mouth agape as everyone else did. We stared in wide-eyed amazement in anticipation of what Brian might do. He turned and faced the chalkboard as if pondering all that our teacher was writing, perhaps finding fault in her lesson as a brilliant rogue economy major may find holes in his professor’s equations. Brian bent over slightly and grabbed the seat of his pants with both hands and pulled. The sound of his pants ripping open tore the hot, stuffy learning environment in half right along with his pants, white underwear and all. His bare, pale ass crack was exposed for all to see as he pulled his plaid pants open in opposite directions…the split tearing right up to his waistband and continued down to probably the front and the start of his zipper. Mrs. Andrews turned and she gasped in horror and disbelief at what Brian had done to his pants and her precious learning environment. Before any of us could breath, she grasped the back of Brian’s neck with her chalk covered hand and escorted him out as you would with a persistently unruly cat…by the scruff of the neck. She didn’t quite lift him off the ground, but the effect was the same and just as sure. Mrs. Andrews took him to the Principal…and coincidentally her husband’s office. With Brian and our teacher out of the room, us finally let loose our hearty raucous chuckles in unison. Some had tears of laughter as we all, in our young minds, tried to make sense of the sequence of events that just took place. If every in that class was anything like me, they would have all gone home that night and instead of talking about what important business we had learned, we would have all recalled to our parents over dinner that Brian, the smallest in the class, had got up to the front of the room and tore his pants wide open, white underwear and all, in an act of insanity or defiance or a sinister mixture of both. If every other parent was like mine, they would have looked at their first with concern, then disbelief, then they’d laugh right along with them over spaghetti and meatballs as they tried to make sense of it all. From that day forward, Brian was to become what legends are made of…we would talk about it for years to come…this would go down as one of the most memorable moments in history…as memorable as the time when Sarah laughed so hard at lunch that milk blew out her nose and even as memorable as the time Danny threw up in the coat room and George The Janitor had to come and dump scented sawdust all over that ’s puke to clean it up. Maybe some other well into his thirties and with a flair for prose is writing about it now decades later…or maybe not. The Legend of Brian unfortunately has more questions than answers. What possessed him to do it? What was he thinking? I had the sneaking hunch that there was more to it…maybe this wasn’t the end of the trick his dad taught him…or maybe it was. Or there was maybe going to be a bigger finale but he didn’t have the chance to finish it…which leads to even more unsettling questions. The problem was we couldn’t just walk up to Brian and ask him about it. That fateful hot day toward the end of the school year was the last we’ve ever seen of Brian…which just brings too many more unanswered questions as to what happened to him. One thing was for certain…with him being gone, he had left me with the unique distinction of being the smallest in class.  |
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This needs to be published somewhere. Yeah, I'm still [blog 1hotwahine]
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You like being 'small'; sneakier that way. 
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Our early childhood has so much effect on what we become. I think he may have been trying to impress you, in the only way he could fathom to get your undivided attention. I can understand why. I guess I am more guilty than most on this site of attempting to do just that, even if only with words.  tender hugs...m.
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5/28/2008 10:16 am |
I wanna know what the trick was supposed to be! I think ya did him in so you could be the smallest. Ya attention whore!  Later! {=} ~~"I can scream as loud as your last one, but I can't claim innocence."~~
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In boy world, was being the littlest or nearly the littlest kid always a big deal? Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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A excellent tribute to Brian's feat of daring do. He probably does quality control for Osh Kosh these days. I remember in kindergarten we had a junglegym inside the class that we could play on. All the kids in class would take their positions on it in some sort of kiddie pecking order. I never paid much attention to the pecking order and just moved about at will. One day the top-kinder was lording his position at the top of the junglegym when he suddenly puked his guts out. All the other kinder followed suit by also puking their guts out as it rained down on them. The sight and sound of twenty kids puking in unison greeted me as I walked back into the room from my trip to the little boy's room. It was awesome! Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde
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_____Gee...and I thought I was bad for crawling around on my hands and knees, flipping up the girls skirts in second grade at Saint Charles; or when I got in trouble for kissing the boys. Yep. Kissing boys, in second grade. I was confused. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be my parents on that one. I liked it when my desk got stuck out in the hallway for alone time.
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6/2/2008 12:02 pm |
This reminds me of a story from my own elementary school days (and probably every other one of us here)... But served as a strong enough writing prompt, that I will blog on it myself. Do you mind if I cite your blog as inspiration? (I found you from Spin, via Frank, etc... the 6 degrees of blogland). I Am FFE, and I continue to approve these messages [post 1930488]
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6/2/2008 12:32 pm |
[post 1439887] Thank you...  I Am FFE, and I continue to approve these messages [post 1930488]
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