Teachers Pet

The first time I heard it, I was in Kindergarten. The room was loud, small voices crowding over one another, desperate for attention and praise. All barely seated in plastic chairs, though most kids were on their feet with arms in the air. 

“Arlight class, who wants to quietly tell me the answer to number seven,” the teacher asked, directly our attention to the board. “How do you spell this word?” 

Then there was a small space inbetween the question mark and word. 

“What word is it, Ms. Tiffany?” Samantha, my seat neighbor, asked. 

“Astronaut.” Ms. Tiffany revealed, and the class responded in an explosion in curiosity. Other students diving to their friends and neighbors, thriving off the pride from our teacher.

Yet, I was not one of those students. I had stuck down to my seat, letting the commotion wash over me, a spectator. Everytime the class was already ready, and everyone else's hands were raised, I lifted my own. The teacher had yet to call on me, making me wonder if it was more of a blessing than a curse. 

Though this time, this one damn question might have changed everything about me. I wasn;t paying a lot of attention, just listening to the question and completing the answer. This time, I didn’t look around, I just raised my hand, it seemed so obvious. 

“Yes Aryla, do you know the answer?” 

I froze, and looked up from the desk. ‘Sure it was quiet,’ I thought, ‘but I mean the answer was easy. Didn’t everyone know about it?’

Yet, a rare silence had filled over the classroom, and all eyes were on me. Kids had forgotten there friends, and my table mate Tarah and Samantha I scrunched down in my seat, feeling my cheeks start to burn with embarrassment.  

“It’s alright, answer when you can,” the teacher consoled

The time I realized it was teasing, not annoyance or boredom, just teasing, was when I was in tenth grade. The day has been hard, the classes seeming long and drawing, every question became another tick on my metal mark. 

Just three more questions, then you can stop. 

Alright just five, alright only one. 

I kept adding, then subtracting, then readding. No one even looked at me, only the teacher bared me a glance. Isn’t that what we once always wanted, to gain the teachers' pride. Now, I was the only one raising my hand.

Then the time seemed so much closer to normal, and the end of the school day seemed like a rare blessing. That was until I saw Samantha waiting for the bus. Cursing, I ran to the side of the walkaway. Dodging students, and Samantha's gaze, but I wasn’t quick enough. 

“Hey! Runner, are you going somewhere?” she sneered, and I felt someone grab the back of my bag. As I was hoisted forward, I came face to face with the witch herself Samantha Taylor. “Oh, it's you. What are you doing?” 

I started to already tear up, she was just warming up. If my memory serves correctly, which it always did, she had a cartridge of insults ready to fire. I was lifted high enough my toes were scraping the ground, and my armpits burned from my backpack straps. 

“I was just trying to go home. Come on, the teachers are gonna see you,” I begged, and the small group laughed. 

“No one cares,” she replied, followed by the roar of laughter. 

They dropped me, almost twisting my ankle as I ran from them. Retreating to the sidewalk leading to my house, crying. 

The walk home was slow, letting the autumn breeze push back my hair, and cool my tears. I thought back to my life, the little bits and pieces I remembered from when I was younger. 

I always had a larger memory than others, which aided my expansive wisdom and knowledge. Though at times it got frustrating. 

Even if I was the smart girl, an Einstein, it became more of a punishment. 

That was all I was known for, it turned to define me. It becomes easy to put yourself in a box, a four sided figure. You have a simple rule, don’t leave. Stay where you are, no one will like you otherwise. There’s an unspoken trust with the rules, people know you for your box. 

Your thing, you schtick, the millionaire dollar idea. That could range from anything to sports to education, everyone had one. 

Mine just became my knowledge, my thirst for wisdom. People knew me to answer the questions first, arm raised when the class was silent. That one time in Kindergarten became the first sip, and since then I had never been unthirsty. 

When I arrived home, the house was empty besides my dog napping in the living room. I made my way upstairs, the thumping of steps meeting my trail, the dog following behind me. I threw my bag on my bed, this day has been just great. 

‘I'm gonna be Arrie tonight,’ I thought.

 Arrie was an idea from when I was young. At first she was meant to be an extrovert, a way to make friends and ignore everything else. Yet, as time went on she became my alter ego. 

When the world, and expectations, were too loud I would retreat to her. Putting on romance movies that I had taken from my grandmother's house, and nail polish that were also from Grandmas.

Some day, one day. The world with morph, turning inside out. Expanding to triangles and polygons, perhaps even circles and diamonds. 

One day. 

That day was not today, it won’t be tomorrow. There is no way to rush the future, put a time skip on something that doesn’t exist, yet. 

Even if today was not the day. It would be one day. For now though, that wasn’t my problem, that was Arlyas problem. Taking over the world. 

Arries immediate problem was finding her nail polish, and putting on the cheese romance movie she could find. It all would come in time. 

As Einstein once said. 

“Time is Relative, it’s only worth depends upon what we do in passing.”