Dispatches from Suburbia

If I played an instrument, I would have a band called "The Simon Thomsen Sex Tape"; and other musings, rants, and disconnected ramblings.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Horror Story, Pt. 2

Quote of the Day:
"While all the other kids were out playing ball and stuff, I used to stay in my room and imagine that there was a camera in the wall. And I used to really believe that I was putting on a television show and that it was going out to somewhere in the world."

-Andy Kaufman

High School
, a large sprawl of adobe buildings and portables, rested between Albuquerque and Rio Rancho, close to the Wilson residence, a modest home on the eastern edge of Rio Rancho. Nick, having been up late showering bratwurst slime and Ragu off of his body, made it to his first period anatomy class just in time for Mr. Dunn’s quiz on the digestive system of a cat.

The bell rang just as he took his seat at the far end of class, beside Kaja’s sister Whitney, who had taken his virginity only two months earlier, just before the school year started. Since then they sort of “drifted,” having never been an official couple in the first place. When they found themselves in the same anatomy class, their former fling made it was almost obligatory that they became lab partners since neither of them really knew anybody else in the class and both of them were aware of this. Over the first month of school, it became a sort of unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t be hooking up again, and this understanding gave them a sense of comfort, and soon the awkwardness wore away. So much so that, as Nick settled in his seat and Whitney pulled her red hair into a pony tail, she turned to him with a frightened expression on her face and whispered, “Dude, I’m pregnant.” She held the expression as Nick sat up and stared at her in disbelief. Then he put his face in his hands and mumbled, “Oh my God.”

Whitney laughed and said, “Just kidding!” She had that same wild nature as her sister, a similar quirkiness that allowed her to change topics after such a heavy joke.

“So,” she asked, “did you study?” Nick had no response. She snickered.

Mr. Dunn, a man in his sixties who had gone completely bald up top but still had the dark brown color in his hair with only a few speckles of grey, walked up and down the rows of lab desks passing out quizzes to his students. He was fit and had a dominating presence, with his muscular build showing through his yellow polo and defined jaw and cheekbones that were similar to Charlton Heston’s. Nick swore the old fart was on steroids.

“Hurry it up,” Mr. Dunn said to the class. “This should only take you 15 minutes. If it takes any longer, you should’ve studied harder.” He finished passing out the quiz and took a seat at the front of the class. “Go ahead and start. When you’re done, bring it up to the front and go get your cat from the fridge. I’ll let you know when your time is up.”

In front of Nick was a black and white illustration of a cat’s internal organs, the digestive organs outlined in bold black lines. He was to label everything from the liver to the rectum.

He couldn’t remember which dark splotch was the spleen and which was the kidney (or kidneys). He couldn’t remember which portion of the winding tube was the duodenum, the ileum or even the colon. They all looked the same. Dismayed, he turned in the quiz when the fifteen minutes was up.


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