Right now, I have the gift of time. My Russian lessons for today were cancelled under regrettable circumstances, as my friend Olga and her husband continue to adjust to the ramifications of his heart attack and lifestyle changes. Of course, any good vibes you can send their way would be just peachy.
What this means for my writing is that I have received three unplanned for hours this week, so I hied myself to Barnes and Noble, and here I am, typing diligently away on Abigail Rath Versus Blood Sucking Fiends.
So I can show you that I have done something, here’s a little clip to get you through your Thursday. No vampires in this scene–just 13 year olds.
***
I am a diligent student. From my mighty vocabulary, you might guess that I am a literature lover, but English is dull for me. The teacher, Mr. Stogdill, who everyone in a fit of tradition, rather than originality, calls Stodgy Stogdill, is a boring guy. He’s looking for an interpretation of a poem or story, and no one can ever get it, except for a few students he really likes. Jo and Marty get points from him, and I can’t see any difference in the quality of their answers and mine. Except mine come from me. Which might answer my own question.
I’ll admit this much—perhaps the essay I turned in about how The Scarlet Letter had a great deal in common with Puritans of Purgatory was not anything that he was looking for, but I think that the originality of the essay alone should have gotten me more than a C+.
Most of Saturday morning I slaved away on my next English assignment: discuss Huck and Jim’s relationship in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Marty came over in the afternoon to go to skating lessons with me.
“He’s not gonna like this,” she said.
“Why?”
“You don’t talk about Huck and Jim at all.”?
“I do!”
Marty scanned the page again. “Okay. You do mention Huck. ‘Why didn’t Huck push the King and the Duke into the water?’”
“I want to know the answer to that.”
“Abby, it’s not the assignment.”
I plucked the paper out of her hands. “Can I see what you wrote?”?
“It’s at home. But I wrote about how Huck and Jim were outsiders, and how they only had each other.”’
I snorted. “You and everyone else.”
“It’s what he wants. It’s the answer he wants.”
“I will not sacrifice my originality and spirit of inquiry for a mere grade. At least not this early in the semester.”
***
I’d like to thank the student in one of my sections of lit class many moons ago, who posed the King and the Duke question.
Cath
