lame health classes killed my parents

And today.

I'm going to need medication to stay awake.

We spent the entire hour in what I thought was an advanced algebra 2 class discussing the definitions of things like real numbers, integers, and the commutative property.

In English, while Keller talked, I doodled on the back of her syllabus -- the one that says I need to be "prepared in mind, body, and spirit" before walking through the door of her bleak classroom. I drew a banana, a bunch of grapes, a sphere, and a cube with a large smiley face.

The health syllabus was worse, though, I think. It had consequences listed on it as to what would happen if you fell asleep in class. Doesn't the sheer number of students being tickled by Mr. Sandman tell him that maybe he should be scrambling to scoop together a new curriculum, or bringing in a clown, or something? Anything?

I took health in sixth grade, and now I'm taking it again as a sophomore. And it's exactly the same. We study the same topics as I did four years ago, when my hair was cropped above my shoulders and I wore glasses that probably had two lenses with equal circumferences to that of oranges. A health class' curriculum cannot venture outside of four topics, much like how nightmares can't pass through a dream catcher or sheep can't escape their fenced pasture. The four topics are these -- mental health, substance and chemical abuse, sexuality, and physical health. That's it. Other than that, the teacher must adorn a whistle and be wearing wind pants at all times, and they must speak in a monotone and jingle when they walk, because of the key ring at their waist that opens all the nooks and crannies of the gym.

During lunch, I accidentally swiped my water bottle off the table, and in its turbulent spiral towards the floor, I somehow managed to catch it. However, that was not before the floor and the seat to my left had puddles of water atop their synthetic surfaces. When the occupant of the puddle-seat returned to the table -- Akiko, the Japanese exchange student -- I flung my leg up onto her seat and within less than a second the puddle was nowhere to be found, hidden inside of the splotch of moisture on my jeans. I did this before she could even finish asking what had happened.

Beth gave me a high-five.

In band, we received our band handbooks. My dad read through it, even though I repeatedly insisted that he just sign and not question. He later commented that my band teacher must think he's a deity. Oh, he does. That bastard made me play the mallets for every song last year, and this year, he'll do the same thing.

My band teacher's name is Mr. Browne. His last name is spelt like that just to throw off people who hear his name and immediately think they know how to spell it. I'm sure of it. His mother, when pregnant, must have rocked in her rocking chair that was more vocal than she was, crocheting booties and conspiring. She must have been a prim woman that held firm to the idea that air conditioning systems ruined your health. "They shock the body temperature," she'd mutter as she shook her head and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose in a fidgety manner, and then retreat to the open window in the living room with her iced tea and complain of the heat. She'd peer outside at the heat rising off the pavement and plan evil things, like sending her son to prom with a broom after chasing away his girlfriend by waving the shotgun around.

Or!

Her son's girlfriend would approach the door and knock hesitantly, adjusting her shirt and smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

Mr. Browne's mother would answer the door, knife in hand. It would look natural. Women often stayed at home to cook. Knives were cooking utensils. Mostly.

Letting the knife glitter in the sunlight, she'd tap the blade against the storm door and murmur, "You look a lot like the kid that killed my parents."

Gasp, grimace, bulging eyes!

"No, I'm just joking, I killed my own parents. Come in, I'll serve you some cookies while you wait."

With that, I'll head up to bed.

I went to school yesterday.

I went to school today.

And I'll go to school tomorrow.