Tick…Tick…Tick…Tick…
Sharona
stared out the window. The teacher droned on. Something about Uganda. Main
export: coffee. Currency: Ugandan shilling. Population: who cares?
To her left a
fat red-haired boy was tapping the eraser end of his pencil in counterpoint to
the clock’s ticking.
Tick…tap…tick…tap…tick…tap…
The cute boy
who sat behind her–the one with the wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes–was
snoring softly creating an underlying bass.
“And the two
main languages of Uganda?” The teacher’s monotone raising only slightly to
indicate that he was actually asking a question. “Anyone?” Hearing no response he continued “English and
Swahili.”
Outside the
window Sharona watched a squirrel climb a tree. “Lucky squirrel,” she thought.
The sun was shining brilliantly. The school lawn was lush and green, and by the
rustling of the tree’s leaves she could tell there was a slight breeze. Inside
the school the windows wouldn’t even open – in spite of the lack of air
conditioning. A rivulet of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades. Lucky
squirrel, for sure.
“Over 36
million people live in Uganda…”
She picked up
her pen and drew flower petals around the holes in her notebook paper. Then she
added stems and leaves.
“Uganda gained independence from Britain in
1962…”
Sharona glanced at Katie in the next row and a few seats
forward. She was intensely writing something on a slip of paper. She carefully
folded that slip into the smallest little cube of paper Sharona may have ever
seen. Sharona watched as Katie waited for the teacher to turn toward the board
and then snatched her hand across the row depositing the note on Rachel’s desk.
Katie and Rachel were cheerleaders. On game days they wore
their flouncy little skirts and bare midriffs to every class. Lacy ankle socks
inside their matching tennis shoes. Hair piled up in a ridiculously large bow
on the top of their heads – like matching fountains spewing unrealistic curls.
Cute boy must have caught himself as his head slid toward the
desk in deep sleep. He practically jumped up and yelled “yes, sir!” as he wiped
the drool from his chin. OK – maybe he wasn’t always cute.
“Mr. Foster, did you have something to add?” the teacher
raised an eyebrow in cute boy’s direction.
“Um, no, sorry…” cute boy muttered and sat down again.
Sharona smiled to herself, stifling a giggle. Sad that this
was the most excitement to be had in history class today.
“Tobacco is also a large export for Uganda.” The teacher
picked up where he had left off.
Sharona turned her attention back to the window. Except for a
few fluffy clouds, the sky was a bright blue. Oh to be outside right now.
Tommy, a boy Sharona had known since she was little, squirmed
a few seats ahead. His feet starting to scrape back and forth on the floor.
Tick…tap…scrape…tick…tap…scrape…
Sharona picked up her pen again and began to make random
triangles over the notebook paper. Inside each triangle she made different
designs…swirls, stars, squiggles... She carefully colored around them, creating
patterns and doodles like it was her job.
“Uganda is one of the poorest nations in the world…”
“Right about now,” Sharona thought to herself, “I would trade
places with anyone in Uganda to get out of this class.” She continued drawing.
Rachel raised her hand. “Mr. Smith, can I go to the
bathroom?”
Mr. Smith never stopped talking while pulling the bathroom
pass from his desk and handing it to her.
Rachel exchanged a knowing look with Katie as she skipped out
of the classroom, the little wadded up note in her hand, ankle socks flouncing,
curls bouncing, and midriff showing.
Sharona remembered that there was to be a pep rally at the
end of the day. The cheerleaders would perform whatever dance they had been
learning, shaking their pom poms, and showing off their spankies as they
cartwheeled and flipped across the gym floor. The football players would parade
out of the locker room in their jerseys inciting the crowd to cheer. There was
a home game tonight.
But Sharona didn’t care about any of that.
Tick…tap…scrape…tick…tap…scrape…
Sharona glanced at the clock again. Four more minutes about
Uganda. She could make it through that.
She watched the clock. Two minutes.
Now the sounds in the room were less rhythmic. Papers
shuffling. Books closing. Students leaning forward in their desks…poised for
the last minute.
The passing bell rang. Sharona watched as 23 students burst
forth from the classroom bottlenecking at the door. It was like watching
toothpaste burst out of the tube if you stepped on it.
There was a steady stream of students all making their way to
the gym for the pep rally. Sharona looked around to see if there were any
teachers monitoring this area of the hall. Seeing none, she ducked out of the
nearest door and into the great outdoors.
Now, where was that squirrel?
