Easy as ABC

*This story does feature light explicit language*

Easy as ABC

Written by Christina Branaman

"Zach, your word is Alphabet"

"Alphabet" I scoffed, putting my pen down and shaking my head at such a ridiculous request. "A, B, C, D, E-" I stopped at the sound of my classmates bursting into laughter. "Oh yeah? Fuck you guys!" I shouted as I reached for my sketchpad and headed out the door.

"Zachary Zimmerman, you go straight to the principal's office!" I could hear Mrs. Golden's voice from halfway down the hall.

Coincidentally, I was walking the complete opposite way of the principal's office. Some sort of a scenic route, if you counted smelly lockers, emo kids making out in the stairwells, and the burnout kids getting high in the bathroom a scenic route. Yet, despite all of the adulterated delinquent behavior, I was the one to get caught.

"Looking for me?" I heard Mr. Abraham's slow, deep toned voice behind me.

I paused for a moment and rolled my eyes "Actually, I was just leaving" I stated and began to walk again.

I heard his footsteps follow me. "I was never a big fan of spelling either." He said, to which I ignored. "I preferred hanging out with the boys at recess on the B- ball court"

I swear, adults have no idea how to speak to us middle schoolers.

"You can't just walk out whenever you don't like something" he spoke again as I got closer to the exit door. I hesitated opening it and turned around.

"Watch me" I muttered and walked out the door with my head low.

***

By the next day, I had received so many out of school suspensions, that I wouldn't have to go back for a week. It's funny when the adults try to punish us with what we want. Hell, maybe they'd burn all my late work too. I had gotten used to staying home by myself. My mom and dad both worked in corporate jobs and my little brother was at school learning about the Alphabet. 

This left me plenty of time to do what I wanted. I grabbed the spray cans and tucked them into my duffel bag and walked my way down to the train station. I made eye contact with the homeless people who dwelled here and greeted each of them with a subtle nod. My parents always told me if I didn’t work hard in school, that I would end up like them. For the most part, it was a good “scare me straight” type of tactic. That is, until I met Kenny. 

“Hey Boss! Welcome back to the promised land!” Kenny shouted running down the platform. 

Kenny was in his thirties around three hundred pounds, but still one of the fastest and energetic people I had ever met. While everyone else here seemed to be in shades of black and white, Kenny wore his bright yellow Hawaiian shirt with light washed denim jeans and tattered black Skechers. 

“What’s the plan there ZZ Top?” He asked starting to rummage through the paint cans I had brought with me. I never quite understood the reference, I was a short white kid with no beard. The only thing that seemed to fit were my initials.

“Just scavenged what I could find, I don’t get to borrow from school anymore.” I explained and sighed thinking back to art class. This was the first year they had cut the arts program to ensure there was more money for cheerleaders to add more sparkles to their bows and basketball players to buy better baskets or something. I reached for the red paint and drew a gigantic “A”. 

“Oh! "A" for Anarchy? See, my brother that’s what I’m talking about” Kenny spoke with his mouth half full of his one-dollar breakfast burrito from the gas station.

“Not necessarily” I chuckled, grabbing the blue paint and drawing a similarly sized “B” beside the “A”.

“AB” Kenny said mid chew. “Abolish? Abs? Abracadabra!” He shouted out guesses and laughed contagiously.

I shook my head as I laughed, “No, not quite” I said. I felt indifferent about having an audience, but really it was Kenny’s support that meant the world to me. Besides my old art teacher, Mrs. Garcia, nobody supported my passion for art. I grabbed the yellow can and managed to get enough out to create the letter C. I took my black paint and shaded the areas around the letters attempting to make it look dystopian.

“Wow, A, B, C” Kenny pondered, staring at the art I was creating. He set down his burrito on the platform and stepped closer to the work. “That's the first thing they teach us back when I was in school.” He said. “They say it’s simple, but everything goes downhill from there don't it?” he asked as I stepped back. 

School had become such an academic and social pressure. Art was the way I was able to relieve those pressures, but now without it, I felt just as lost. Kenny and I stood in front of those three letters for what seemed like hours, but in reality, was only a few minutes.

“You okay Boss? You look hungry, Come on I got a nice ten-dollar bill here. Why don't we go get some grub at the diner?” Kenny asked and I smiled. A man with no home was offering me a hot meal. My parents had all the money they could ever need but would never dream of lending it to another. 

Kenny and I found our way to the diner and sat down in a booth gazing at the menus. Everything was relatively cheap here and had big portions. It was rather empty as it was 10 am on a school and workday. 

“Zachary?” I heard a voice approach with two cups of coffee in her hands. 

“¿Por qué no estás en la escuela?” She asked in a angry and worried tone.

“Mrs. Garcia” I said happily and pondered her question. “Uh, I was, uh, suspended from escuela” I told her and looked down. “I was down at the train station with Kenny. Ever since they cut art, I don’t know what to do.” I explained to her and looked down at the table.

“Ay mi amor” She sighed sitting beside me. “It hurts me too, when they let me go from the school, I had to find something to support my family. That’s why I am here.” she explained, and I looked up at her with saddened eyes.

“Do not be sad, it is the life of an artist. Every setback is a masterpiece in the making” she said attempting to turn a shitty situation into a silver lining. She had done that all the time back in school when I messed up my paintings. She would tell me that whatever I considered a mess up was just an opportunity to try something new.

“Why don’t I go get you boys some pancakes on me” She suggested and made her way back to the kitchen.

Kenny and I talked, joked, ate, and groaned once our stomachs were full from our breakfast. Kenny went back and forth with Mrs. Garcia about tipping her the ten-dollar bill, until eventually, Kenny had persuaded her to take it.

As Kenny and I were about to leave the diner, Mrs. Garcia approached me and gave me a hug. “You know, I was speaking with my boss. We’ve been trying to really spice up the place, maybe do a mural outside. I told him I would do it, but I could use a couple helpers. You would of course, like other artists, be paid for your contributions” She explained excitedly.

My eyes widened as I looked at Kenny who was just as shocked as I was. “I do got these muscles, I can be the paint carrier” Kenny insisted and flexed his muscles.

“But there is one promise I need you to make” Mrs. Garcia said.

“Anything,” I answered her.

“Go back to school, try your best, and show them what artists are capable of.”

Her words truly inspired me even if going to school was the last thing on my mind. If I was going to be successful, I couldn’t just give up.

“I promise Mrs. Garcia, I will go back to school and try my best.” I told her sincerely.

***

The years had passed, and I was a fresh graduate of Columbia College of Chicago. I was now back home, walking the streets I had walked so many times before now. Each building, street sign, and crack in the road was like a landmark to me. I grinned as I passed the diner that Kenny and I ate at all the time. Last I heard from him was a few weeks ago when he received a promotion working in Home Depot’s paint department. I wasn’t in constant contact with Mrs. Garcia, but we exchanged emails from time to time. She was definitely busy being the owner of the city’s art museum. Smiling ear to ear from the memories, I hadn't realized I reached my destination. I approached the door and knocked three times before standing back to wait.

“Looking for me?” said a slower, deeper toned voice behind me.

“Mr. Abrahams” I said happily as I turned around offering a handshake.

“Welcome back, the students are so excited to have you as their art teacher!”

I nodded and made my way to my classroom. After pacing around the room, I took a marker and wrote “Art Beckons Creativity”. I stepped back in admiration, “It’s as simple as ABC”.