calm Andrew McCarthy from Less Than Zero . Sometimes, I actually wish our school had detention so that I could be stuck in the library with Rhonda, like in The Breakfast Club . We’d be hanging out smoking pot and getting hot.
Ever since Year Eight, I’ve had a recurring daydream that plays in my head during English class. I think it’s the room and the atmosphere of English class that lends itself to such fanciful daydreams. Anyhow, a knock sounds on the door and Mr Rogers lets in two Hollywood executives. They say they’ve been scouring the world over for a suitable actor to play an intense teenage role in a movie they’re making. Then they spot me and they can tell straight away that I’m the talented person they’ve been searching the planet for. I get up from my seat and walk towards them. They lavish me with compliments. They admire the way that I walk. They say that I perfectly embody the handsome, yet rugged, teenage character they want to portray. I shrug my shoulders and say, ‘What took you so long?’
English is my favourite class. It’s doubly great because it’s the only class we have in which the desks are arranged into groups and, therefore, the possibility of sitting close to someone from the opposite sex is thrillingly increased. Today, as I make my way into the classroom, my eyes connect with Rhonda’s. She’s seated near the back of the room. The sunlight coming in from the northern windows falls upon her with a gentle serenity. I float towards her, accompanied by a string quartet. I haven’t seen her since the dance on Friday night and as I advance towards her, I’m staggered to find myself completely in love with her. She’s the one. She’s it. Other girls are dead to me.
‘Hi, Rhonda.’
‘Hi, Stanley. Sit here.’ Rhonda pats the seat next to her and, somehow, remarkably, I am seated. She leans close to me and whispers, ‘It feels like ages since I last saw you.’
Well, how about we just go for it now, baby? There’s never any time like the present . I think this. I don’t say it, but I think it. Oh, how I think it.
Mr Rogers clears his throat. ‘All right, people. Let’s get settled in. We’re going to be incredibly productive today, so get your heads screwed on. Today, I want you to produce some quality haikus. I want you to pick out your best one and read it to the class.’ We all moan. ‘Oh, come on, this is fun. Joshua, from where does the haiku originate?’
‘Japan.’
‘Correct. The haiku is a form of poetic expression based on Zen Buddhism. I want you to clear your minds and think about how you can represent something with just a few words. Simplicity is the key. You can write about any subject you desire. In fact, you can even write about the object of your desire.’
The whole class sniggers and hoots.
‘But that doesn’t mean I want a heap of poems about hot cars from all you would-be rev heads in the class. Think deeply about this. Haikus can vary in length, but today we’ll use the English structure of seventeen syllables. That is, the first line will have five syllables, the second line seven syllables and third line five syllables. If you’re having any difficulties, raise your hand and I’ll come and help.’
For a good fifteen minutes, we get on with our task in silence, which is pierced by the odd cough and the dropping of a pen. Then, suddenly, Jeremy erupts with laughter. It’s laughter he can’t contain. His face is distorted with pleasure and pain. He laughs so hard that he’s bent forward, holding his stomach. He manages, impressively, to voice the sporadic, ‘Sorry!’
Mr Rogers stands by Jeremy’s desk with his arms folded, rocking from heel to toe. ‘It appears that Jeremy has finished his haiku. Thank you, Jeremy, for nominating yourself as first reader.’
Jeremy struggles to stand. His laughter subsides as the reality of a classroom audience hits him. ‘OK. Here goes: “A jog round the block, / Flatulence encumbers him,
Ever since Year Eight, I’ve had a recurring daydream that plays in my head during English class. I think it’s the room and the atmosphere of English class that lends itself to such fanciful daydreams. Anyhow, a knock sounds on the door and Mr Rogers lets in two Hollywood executives. They say they’ve been scouring the world over for a suitable actor to play an intense teenage role in a movie they’re making. Then they spot me and they can tell straight away that I’m the talented person they’ve been searching the planet for. I get up from my seat and walk towards them. They lavish me with compliments. They admire the way that I walk. They say that I perfectly embody the handsome, yet rugged, teenage character they want to portray. I shrug my shoulders and say, ‘What took you so long?’
English is my favourite class. It’s doubly great because it’s the only class we have in which the desks are arranged into groups and, therefore, the possibility of sitting close to someone from the opposite sex is thrillingly increased. Today, as I make my way into the classroom, my eyes connect with Rhonda’s. She’s seated near the back of the room. The sunlight coming in from the northern windows falls upon her with a gentle serenity. I float towards her, accompanied by a string quartet. I haven’t seen her since the dance on Friday night and as I advance towards her, I’m staggered to find myself completely in love with her. She’s the one. She’s it. Other girls are dead to me.
‘Hi, Rhonda.’
‘Hi, Stanley. Sit here.’ Rhonda pats the seat next to her and, somehow, remarkably, I am seated. She leans close to me and whispers, ‘It feels like ages since I last saw you.’
Well, how about we just go for it now, baby? There’s never any time like the present . I think this. I don’t say it, but I think it. Oh, how I think it.
Mr Rogers clears his throat. ‘All right, people. Let’s get settled in. We’re going to be incredibly productive today, so get your heads screwed on. Today, I want you to produce some quality haikus. I want you to pick out your best one and read it to the class.’ We all moan. ‘Oh, come on, this is fun. Joshua, from where does the haiku originate?’
‘Japan.’
‘Correct. The haiku is a form of poetic expression based on Zen Buddhism. I want you to clear your minds and think about how you can represent something with just a few words. Simplicity is the key. You can write about any subject you desire. In fact, you can even write about the object of your desire.’
The whole class sniggers and hoots.
‘But that doesn’t mean I want a heap of poems about hot cars from all you would-be rev heads in the class. Think deeply about this. Haikus can vary in length, but today we’ll use the English structure of seventeen syllables. That is, the first line will have five syllables, the second line seven syllables and third line five syllables. If you’re having any difficulties, raise your hand and I’ll come and help.’
For a good fifteen minutes, we get on with our task in silence, which is pierced by the odd cough and the dropping of a pen. Then, suddenly, Jeremy erupts with laughter. It’s laughter he can’t contain. His face is distorted with pleasure and pain. He laughs so hard that he’s bent forward, holding his stomach. He manages, impressively, to voice the sporadic, ‘Sorry!’
Mr Rogers stands by Jeremy’s desk with his arms folded, rocking from heel to toe. ‘It appears that Jeremy has finished his haiku. Thank you, Jeremy, for nominating yourself as first reader.’
Jeremy struggles to stand. His laughter subsides as the reality of a classroom audience hits him. ‘OK. Here goes: “A jog round the block, / Flatulence encumbers him,
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