Forward
When writing the Brain School, I hadn’t intended to give Warren depression. If anything, I had intended for him to have an anger problem, one that I thought I didn’t have. However, my depression managed to worm its way in, and these first few chapters show how I believed the angsty, grumpy teenager was the norm. Now, it is true that teenagers breathe sadness and exhale anger, but depression is certainly not the common denominator.
My young self assumed people were grumpy or stressed in their natural state. Happy things made people happy, but when those feelings passed, we all returned to our base irritable mood. In this chapter, I began to hint (rather obviously) that the students were being brainwashed in some way. The brainwashing agent was intended to lull all the students into a content daze, one which stunted their negative emotions. At the time, I had probably thought I was describing what it would be like to be drugged, to experience a mindless euphoria. I had captured that, to an extent, but in some places, I was just describing what it was like to not have depression.
I pity that boy. He was so entrenched in his depression, but he believed he was emotionally stable. He knew he had depression of course, but he genuinely believed everybody felt emotions in swings. He thought it was normal to feel sad after a happy experience. He figured that emotional fatigue naturally followed positive emotions. Everything had to balance out, right?
Thank god for medication.
*
Chapter 3 – The Callings
“Whoa guys, look! We got our schedules!”
“Seriously? Where were they?”
“Right here on the floor; they must’ve slipped ‘em under the door earlier this morning. Here Silas, this one’s yours. Here is yours, Robert. This one’s mine. And Warren, here’s yours. Warren? Hey Warren, wake up!”
“What?” I mumbled as Tommy jostled me from sleep with a shove.
“It’s your schedule,” replied Tommy, giving me another rough shove to get me awake. “I didn’t know a person could sleep that soundly before I met you. I swear, with the way we plowed in here last night, I thought for sure you would’ve yelled at us.” Tommy shoved me again before walking off and busying himself with his slip of paper.
Through my heavy eyelids, I saw the boys were already dressed, each one pouring over their schedules. I crawled out from under my covers and fumbled some clothes out from the dresser.
“I don’t have many classes,” mumbled Silas, perplexed. “I have the main subjects and that’s it. Well, plus Art and Spanish, but I didn’t want those…I’m sure I signed up for a computer class somewhere…”
“What does it matter?” laughed Robert. “We got four classes each day! Who gives a crap if we have to take Spanish?”
“But we have weird times,” I sighed, joining the boys in the center of the room and glancing over my sheet. “My class times are 9:00 am, 11:00 am, 2:30 pm, and 4:30 pm. We got class Monday through Saturday too.”
Robert cursed.
“Oh well,” Tommy interjected, radiating happiness and excitement. “Look at the bright side; we get extra time between our classes to finish homework. We can’t be called geniuses if we don’t procrastinate, right?”
Silas cursed next. “Jesus, my first class is at 7:00! That’s in thirty minutes! What do I bring? Were we supposed to bring folders or pencils? I haven’t even showered!” And with that he bolted out of the room.
Robert cussed, continuing the trend. He stomped out of the room, his voice trailing behind him, “Stupid class is at 7:00 too. The teacher can go f…”
Tommy raised his eyebrows and glanced at me. “Are you going not a morning person either?” I laughed and shook my head. “Well, I guess that just leaves you and me, Warren,” he said cheerfully. “My next class is with you; Ms. Deuce, right?” I nodded. “Great, so if you can wait, I’ll go shower and then we can go to breakfast. Sound fine?” He must’ve sensed my approval because the next moment he disappeared into the bathroom.
I sat on my bed and placed my head in my hands, already weary from my colleagues’ excitement and my hunger. To alleviate the hunger pangs, I directed my thoughts toward the rest of my schedule. Science, Spanish, gym, math, social studies, reading, writing, and art: all in that order. The fewer classes a day sounded great, but the weird times made the free time seem less abundant. And what was with school on Saturday?
My thoughts were interrupted as Tommy erupted from the bathroom, his wet hair showering the room with water. Before I could question the thoroughness of his shower, he pulled me into the halls of the dorms, through the drowsy lines of students littered in the dorms and gym, and past the black staircase to the cafeteria. It seemed he was the morning person out of the group.
When we crashed into the cafeteria, we found it only a third full but probably the liveliest place in the school at 6:55 am. Each student was with at least one other, trading schedules. Everywhere there was a half-sheet of paper being passed around and analyzed.
Tommy and I split ways as we went to get our breakfasts. The titles and menus above each eatery had changed to show breakfast options. Starving as I was, my stomach chose the restaurant most fitting for only my appetite: an artery-clogging, American-style restaurant. After piling my platter high with eggs, bacon, toast, and sausage, I could barely keep myself from drooling.
“Looks like you slaughtered Old McDonald’s farm and put it on a platter,” joked Tommy as he found both my platter and me. “Let’s just hope you don’t get a heart attack eating that. C’mon, let’s sit next to some guys I met yesterday.” Eager to stuff myself silly, I followed him closely to a table occupied by three kids.
“Hello, boys,” Tommy boomed, taking a seat by a small squirt of a kid, gesturing for me to do likewise. “Hopefully you guys remember me from yesterday. Well, of course you guys remember, you were accepted into this school, weren’t you? Hope you don’t mind if we eat by you.” Tommy gestured at me. “Warren here is a roommate of mine and I would like you to bond with him.”
“Wow, it’s 7:00 in the morning and you’re already trying to bother us,” mumbled a burly kid on the other end of the table.
“The surprise is all mine, Butch; you already know me like an enemy,” Tommy replied, reaching behind the small kid to pop Butch lightly on the shoulder.
“I guess we should introduce ourselves,” said the last kid. Realizing I was making a pig of myself, I refrained from stuffing my face and faced the three strangers. “I’m Eli,” continued the boy, pointing a finger to his chest. “Like Tommy said, this big guy is Butch.” Butch gave a small wave and returned to his bacon and eggs. “And this is Wayne.” The small boy nodded and went back to spooning his applesauce around his plate with great care and focus.
“Good, that’s out of the way,” Tommy said. “Now show me your schedules. I want to know who I’m stuck with over this semester or year or however long these schedules last!”
And so time passed in the cafeteria, filled with small talk and worthless conversations. Full-bellied and bored, I didn’t stick around too long. I found a break in the discussion, broke away from the table, and waddled out of the cafeteria.
It was strange. After that meal, more than anything I felt bloated, but underneath the gas, I felt good. All the angst and paranoia that had plagued me during the past months had evaporated with a single plate of food, leaving me in a state of fuzzy happiness. In this euphoric daze, I giddily ambled about the school, visiting the game room before touring the library. It was a weird feeling to feel happy. It wasn’t supposed to happen to teenagers if I recalled correctly.
The strangest thing was the feeling lasted. Even when it was time to head to my first class, I felt the strands of contentment. Normally the depression would set in along with the pessimism, but neither showed this time. The feeling did subside when I settled into my classroom, but it had certainly pulled off a record in terms of stamina.
Despite my enlightened being, my first class didn’t amaze me. Ms Deuce made the hour and a half seem even longer with the slow drawl of her voice and her stern, expressionless face. There were no lame jokes coming from that voice as she delivered the same memorized lecture we’d hear in seven other classes. The monotony went unnoticed, however. Entranced by her fashionably revealing dress and smooth movements, the class watched Ms Deuce as she sauntered through the aisles while expounding her lecture. It mattered not that she radiated no warmth, emotion, or humanity; her looks were enough to hypnotize the boys and inspire the girls. Although I was impressed myself with the woman’s unnaturally large bosom, I sulked within my corner in the back of the room. I may have been happy, but I sure wasn’t going to act like it before any teacher. At 10:30, we were freed from the classroom with a meaningless, easy assignment. It seemed like my schedule so far was pretty stereotypical.
After class, Tommy and I headed back up to the main floor and to the game room to pick up school supplies. Everyone’s first class had warned them that they would need at least paper and pencils for their next classes, so when we reached the game room, the supply cabinets were swarming with children. Fortunately, these cabinets worked like multi-drawered vending machines. To get supplies, we had to take our meal cards and scan it through a reader on the cabinet. Each reading dispensed exactly the supplies we would need in a convenient plastic case. Much to my disappointment, the machine was smart enough to also refuse me more supplies. The mini-bar acted similarly, restricting my junk food splurges with a calorie limit. Exiting the game room with less supplies and candy bars than I would have liked, I trekked alone to my next class.
Spanish was always an immensely boring class to me, and it didn’t get any more entertaining at the Brain School. Taught by a timid, sickly Mr. Ripner, the class was even worse than Deuce’s. He spoke barely over a whisper, but his tinny squeak of a voice prevented me from tuning him out. Without a single familiar face in the room, I had no choice but to listen to the teacher. Time barely sputtered along as he reviewed our enthralling curriculum for the year. When the bell finally rang, I foraged what brain cells that survived that brainwashing and stumbled out of the class.
With two hours to spare before PE, I headed to my dorm to rest and salvage any sanity after the morning’s monotony. I surprised myself when I got into the room. I sat on my bed and worked on my science homework. It was a revelation! I rarely ever looked at an assignment before the hour it was due, but here I was completing the whole assignment. Ten minutes later, I sat stunned with the finished paper on my lap. A moment later, Silas burst through the door, breaking my stupor.
“You wouldn’t believe this place!” he cried upon noticing me. He plopped onto the bottom bunk bed opposite me and let his school supplies tumble to the floor. “I don’t understand this crazy school, Warren. The first two teachers I met were whacko, and so are the other students. When I went to get my supplies, the other kids practically tried to kill me to get theirs first. The craziest thing is now I want to study. I freaking want to!”
“Well then do it,” I replied indifferently, surprising myself. “It’s not bad to want to be a good student, even if it isn’t exactly normal.”
“Exactly, I don’t feel normal at all!”
“Everything’s fine, dude, don’t worry about it.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
“Well, I’m going to lunch,” I said, eager to leave.
Silas jumped from his bed. “Let me go with you so I’m not alone!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t met many people…”
“Fine,” I sighed as Silas followed me out the door. It seemed my last roommate to classify was a hang-on, a parasite.
In the cafeteria, I found a seat next to Eli and his friends. Silas found a seat at the table as well, but from the onset his presence wasn’t welcomed. As lunch wore on, it became evident my poor roommate wouldn’t connect with any of these guys. With nothing to say but pitiful jokes and unrelated, self-centered anecdotes, Silas distinguished himself as one of those social retards.
“C’mon Silas, let’s get out of here,” I said after we both had finished our meals. A silence had swallowed our table, a sign Silas had worn his welcome all the way to the bone. Grabbing him forcefully by the shoulder, I pulled Silas to his feet and led him out of the cafeteria, all the while throwing apologetic looks to Eli and the others guys. I wanted to make friends with the middle class and having Silas around wouldn’t allow that.
“What was that for?” Silas cried in the hallway.
“Nothing,” I hissed through clenched teeth, forcing my frustration into my stomach. “I just wanted to…um…get to the game room so we could…um…do stuff.”
Quite tragically, he fell for my crappy excuse. “Sure! That seems like that would be fun, bud.”
Bud? My stomach roiled as I suppressed my frustration once more. Swallowing bitter words, I headed to the game room with Silas in tow. Disappointingly, although the game room was packed with kids still trying to get supplies, I couldn’t lose Silas among the crowds. That meant I was stuck with him, and stuck I stayed. Whether it was billiards, foosball, videogames, or poker, Silas retained his annoying behavior, totally oblivious to my growing anger.
When that sweet time for my next class came, I hurriedly warned Silas I had gym and bolted away. Much to my dismay, I found him trailing me, exclaiming in delight that he too had gym and would gladly accompany me there. Not wanting to be a prick, I bit my lip and held back the hateful words. Led by Silas, I slunk to the gym. It appeared my parasite wasn’t going anywhere.
Gym was the first class that forced me to use my abilities. My teacher was—low and behold—Mr. Mann, a man of many quirks. The first quirk was he wore no type of sporting clothes. He didn’t even wear jeans and a t-shirt. He came clad in a black double-breasted suit which equally made him hilarious and intimidating.
Without even an introductory speech, Mann sent the unprepared to change into our gym clothes and prepare to run the mile. The news sent us in an uproar. A mile on the first day of school? It was unheard of! It was unhealthy! All grumbling and mumbling, we reassembled ten minutes later in our t-shirts and shorts, not the slightest bit prepared for the mile.
“How come you’re not wearing any running clothes, Mr. Mann?” protested one boy spitefully. “I doubt you can do anything in that suit.”
“I enjoy wearing fine clothing,” Mann replied. “But who is to say I can’t play sports in these?”
“Nobody said you can’t, but I’m pretty sure you couldn’t.” The comment was ludicrous even if it was directed towards a strange teacher. We were stunned by our colleague’s stupidity and insolence. Immune to our disapproving glares, he stood beaming up at Mann.
“Why don’t we make a deal?” Mann proposed, amused now. “We’ll have a race. Only you and I will run the mile. If you finish before me, I will never force you or the rest of the class to run the mile for the entire four years you are at this school. However, if I win, the whole class will run three miles today, including you. Do you find that a fair deal?” He examined the student casually, his hands bunched in his slack’s pockets.
“Heck yeah, for me at least,” the kid said smugly. “Are you sure you want to bet that much?”
“Oh, I’m sure, boy; I’m sure.”
“I must warn you, Mr. Mann, I was the best runner in my whole school, so if you want to change your mind about this-“
“I know what I’m getting into,” Mann assured him quietly.
With the stakes set, the two lined themselves at the edge of the gym, set to sprint once the elected girl blew the whistle. The teacher had not removed a single part of his suit and prepared himself as one would before an evening walk. The boy, conversely, stretched and carried himself with the arrogance of an Olympic athlete. It was no secret he thought he already had the race won, and no matter how many of us suspected Mann had something up his sleeve, we thought the same. At least, we prayed for the same. The consequences of the boy’s loss would be all too tragic on our bodies.
The whistle shrilled overzealously, shattering the nerves of the spectators.
The kid never had a chance. From the start, Mann sprinted faster than any of us could have predicted. We watched dumbfounded as the huge muscle man barreled down the perimeter of the gym, lapped his amazed competitor, and then continued with both his tie and coat billowing behind. He had finished the five and a half laps around the gym that constituted a mile before the kid could even finish his third.
“Okay, everyone,” Mann said as he straightened his suit while the loser came huffing and puffing back. “I won the race. Now all of you have three miles to cover. You can thank your colleague for this privilege.” Mann smirked and smoothed one last crease in his suit.
“I expect you to keep a good pace during these three miles, not walk them,” Mann directed when he was satisfied with his suit’s condition. “If you need to walk, only do so for a short period of time. If I see otherwise, I’ll send you through the lap again until you do it right. Understand? Good, now start running.”
The rest of that class was devoted to running the sixteen and a half laps around the gym. While wheezing my way through them, my only consolation was I lost Silas at the beginning of the sixth lap and wouldn’t have to live with his presence. Meanwhile, Mann monitored his victory, yelling every so often at lazy kids to redo the lap.
“Congratulations, everyone,” cheered Mann just as the last kid crossed the finish line. He clapped his hands together and smiled joyously, mocking each and every one of us. “Every one of you just finished running three miles or more; you should all be proud of yourselves.” He winked at the kid who started the mess.
“Now we must be serious,” he continued, dropping his jolly façade. “I will not tolerate arrogant remarks or anything from any of you. I am your teacher, and I expect to be respected as such. If any of you choose to behave like you did today, expect to be running every day. Next time, come to my class with proper clothes and attitudes so we spend more time enjoying PE and less time running.
“If you have been ignoring me so far, I advise you to listen now. You have been deemed intelligent, not better than gym. In present society, you will never become a leader if you are sickly in stature. A strong physical build is needed to gain the admiration of the people and lead them. The brain may hold the leadership skills, but the average person follows the brawn and not the brain.
“In my class, I’ll help you become formidable in stature and in thought. I’ll lend a hand in making you the perfect leader, so if you think you are too intelligent for this class, this school does not need you.
“Now go,” Mann sighed as if his speech consumed all his energy. “Remember, next class I expect better.”