At least now the thought of going home and re-arranging my room was not so boring…yeah, it would be tedious but I would be thinking of the day, especially my meeting up with Daniel and Nicole. Little did I know how the lives of so many people would be affected by the minds that came together that afternoon in Lindberg’s classroom.
Chapter 3
The next day, I had to admit, it did seem a little less dreadful to get up and get ready for school. Of course, I was alone in the kitchen, as it seemed my mom’s work schedule often meant early departures for her. I walked out anticipating a boring day, although with the possibility of seeing Nicole and Daniel—and wondering if some sort of friendship possibilities existed. Then again I was a little disappointed that I would not be able to go into Psychology class that day—I really wanted to see if it would be as interesting. And yes, I was still wondering why I seemed somewhat mystified as well as connected to that teacher.
The most memorable thing about the second day was meeting my new English teacher, Miss Green, or as I would later come to know her by Cindy, and my new history teacher, Mr. Lamb. The former was a pleasant experience while the latter was…well, it confirmed my views towards the education system.
When I entered Miss. Green’s room at the beginning of the day I noticed that Nicole was already there, so I decided to walk over and sit down next to her. She greeted me, “Hey, how’s it going Melanie? I wanted to hang out with you after Mark’s class but you seemed in a hurry to leave.” I let her know I had to go home and finish with some arrangements with my room and all.
She replied, “That’s okay, I guess I just wanted to get your number…you must have a different last name than your parents? I mean, not to pry but I tried to find your number on the internet but couldn’t. I looked under Johnson but as you know there are a lot of people with that name in Portland.”
I was impressed that she had tried to find me. I told her my mother did not have the same last name. She responded, “Oh, I see” and we talked a bit. Then I asked about the teacher for English. Nicole rolled her eyes and giggled, “Oh yeah, Cindy Green…she’s really nice. I wouldn’t say she’s the smartest person in the world but as teachers go she’s all right. The thing I really like about her is she gives you the freedom to do your own thing and doesn’t stick to some boring textbook. I think you will like her, just don’t expect a Nobel Prize winner.”
It was an odd way to describe someone, but I was happy to hear she wasn’t chained to a textbook. When she came in, late as I recall, she was really enthusiastic, somewhat loud, and appeared friendly in the way she spoke and smiled. She was no beauty queen—she was slender, wore large, 80s style glasses, and had long brown hair and freckles. While she looked like an archetypical teacher, she seemed genuinely friendly—she even came up to me and started asking me questions while everyone was reading a short article she had given out.
She sat down next to Nicole and me and asked, “Are you new to Portland?” I nodded to indicate I was and that I had moved recently from Eugene. She continued, “Great! So how do you like the school so far?” I shrugged my shoulders, looked at Nicole, and said it was okay. She then asked, “Do you like fiction or non-fiction the most?” I stated that I hated fiction since one can find so much that is interesting in the real world. She didn’t seem to like that answer but oh well. She got up and said, “Let me know if I can help you in any way this year—I know it can be scary to be a new student and all.” I should have told her that I was not scared of anything, much less school—it had been years since that emotion had burdened me.
Just before the end of class Nicole put a piece of paper on my desk and whispered for me to write down my phone number and e-mail address. Wow, I thought, this didn’t happen that often so I jotted my number down and asked for her to do the same. When class ended she asked what other classes I had—I said that I had Ortega’s advanced biology class, then history with Mr. Lamb and resource period after that. She sighed and said that we didn’t have any other classes together that day. She also said if I wanted to learn how awful Lamb was I could ask Daniel—or just sit through his class. She laughed in a quiet sort of way and motioned goodbye as she went off towards the math wing of the school.
Ortega’s class was okay—at least I could look forward to some dissection activity later in the term. When class ended I hurried towards the Social Studies class area so I could stop by Mr. Lindberg’s classroom—nobody was there at that time. I had thought that if he were there I could go in and say hi, and maybe we could discuss some psychological issue, or some world politics since I found out he taught a couple of classes on international relations. He was not there though, so I rushed to grab some lunch and eat before the history lesson.
When the bell went off I gulped down my milk and headed to Lamb’s lesson. Entering his classroom was like going into the guy’s P.E. room, at least that was the impression that hit me. Yeah, a few standard pictures of presidents, an American History timeline and such, but then lots of clippings of sports events from the school as well as the local newspaper. There were also a few posters from some sports teams and high school trophies for basketball—I’d soon find out he was the former basketball coach, I mean, within about a minute of introducing himself he started talking about that subject. I immediately thought I’d walked into an archetype of a coach who taught so he could coach. He returned to the class subject, and started giving an overview of the study topics, but was interrupted several times by jocks asking how he felt about some game played that week. Each time he started commenting on that, rather than anything about the class. I was getting so bored and he hadn’t even started talking about any history yet—not to say history is dull, just that there are teachers who can make it boring real fast, and this seemed like one of those types.
Eventually he just started rambling on about what we would study and how it was up to us to learn, even though he laughed and said we’d probably never use the “stuff.” By then my eyes were totally fixated on the clock, watching it tick in slow motion to the end of class and that welcomed ringing of the bell.
When class finally ended, and just as I walked out the door, I received a call from Nicole—she wanted my MSN address and then she asked what I was doing on Saturday. I laughed and said I’d have to re-arrange my social calendar, but I’d love to hang out with her if she wanted to. She asked what I liked to do and I told her about what things I found interesting as well as my love of the outdoors. She merely said, “That’s wonderful” and asked if Saturday I’d just be content to go shopping and maybe later check out a movie. I thought that sounded fun so I agreed. She said she’d see me the next day at lunch and at psychology class, and hoped I had a nice evening. I thought to myself, “Wow, do I have a friendship in the making?”
The next day I sat down to lunch. Soon afterward Daniel and Nicole noticed me and came over to the table. While we did some chatting I was trying to get a clue as to the dynamics of their relationship. Obviously they were dating but who was in charge? Daniel was talkative and outgoing it seemed, while Nicole as more reserved—yet I got the feeling she too was the sort who was always analyzing the situation. Maybe she was making sure I was no threat to her claim on Daniel, maybe she was trying to figure out who I was…who knows? The one thing that struck me right off was her eyes looking deep into my soul, it seemed, and what appeared, for no other description could fit, her vampire-like smile. Was she sizing me up for a friendship or for blood—I had no idea, but I found her intriguing and even drawn to her in some indescribable way. I found her attractive, not stunning, but pretty and a bit mysterious. What really lent to that image was her long black hair and pale blue eyes. She was not a Goth but if she were, her pale white skin would not have required much makeup.
Daniel? He didn’t look like a nerd but he certainly could be mistaken for one. His topics of interest were novel, interesting to be sure, but not something the typical high school student would be interested in. However, appearance and mannerisms
could only be described as a young, blondish, version of Keanu Reeves. I suppose he and Nicole complimented each other. I mean, him with a more outgoing extroversion coupled with a rather quirky enthusiasm for the esoteric way of looking at even the most simple of things, while she...well, it was hard to read her beyond the almost shy exterior—yet I thought there was something far more complex in her personality than her almost vulnerable persona seemed to radiate. Of course, I wondered what her analysis of me was shaping up to be.
Later I left 3rd. period early and went to Mr. Lindberg’s classroom. He was there putting up some information on the board, and I tried to think up some interesting topic to get a conversation going. It was odd but I felt strange, like I actually wanted to talk with him, but at the same time a bit apprehensive…and for some reason I felt like I wanted to make a good impression on him. This was the first time I had felt this way towards a teacher, or anyone else for that matter.
When he finished he sat down at his desk. I walked in and when he noticed me he sat back and said, “Hello there—wanting to get a jump on today’s lesson?” I just stood there and said something dumb like “maybe” as he continued, “Well, that’s great…I see you and Nicole and Daniel have been hanging out together…it’s Melanie, right?”
“Yes” I answered him—surprised he would remember my name I guess. He continued, “Hey, it’s great that you have hit it off with them. Daniel mentioned to me that you are interested in both psychology as well as debate. If that’s true we could sure use an addition to our team.” He mentioned that Daniel and Nicole had both won awards in the last year. Well now, I thought, that would be fun. He gave me some information about the tournaments coming up. Then he mentioned the previous lesson, and what makes people act the way they do, and seemed to be probing me to see if I was good at presenting myself. At least that’s what it seemed as I felt that he was trying to find out more about me…more than one would expect from a teacher, yet he was a psychology teacher after all.
Maybe he was into amateur analysis, and that kind of intrigued me. I thought to myself, “What are you reading right now? What are you seeing that I might not want you to see?” In my mind I dismissed this absurd thought since I realized this was a high school teacher in a 12th grade psychology class. Then again, there seemed to be something different about him.
We discussed some of the things he had written on the board yet all the while I continued wondering what he was thinking of me. I was trying to figure him out as well. He didn’t really look like a high school teacher—certainly college, but not someone you would expect to see as an archetypical high school social science teacher. It wasn’t necessarily his looks, he was maybe in his mid thirties, fit but not like someone who hung out at a gym, I guess he sort of reminded me of the guy in that old series I liked when I was a child—“X Files”. In addition, He was outgoing in that sort of politician way—separating himself from what he was discussing while also showing a connection to his audience (in this case just me) and seeming not to project much about who he really was.
This bugged me. I normally can get a feel for what a person is like within just a few seconds of meeting them. Maybe that’s why I had never really connected to people since I believed most people I had met were pretty basic in the first place, and I didn’t want to expend the energy trying to get to know what I already knew about them. Yet in the last several days I had encountered Nicole and Daniel who both seemed like enigmas and now this teacher who I could detect something about him that didn’t fit, something perhaps shadow-ish hiding behind his obvious love of psychology. Who was he?
And one other thing that was annoying me most was when he did pause for me to answer, I seemed to mess up—and that was not like me. I usually can deliver my words really well yet here I was talking about one of my favorite subjects, with the debate coach on top of that, and giving fragmentary answers. “What gives?” I thought to myself. Why was he making me so nervous?
The bell rang and everyone started coming into class. I went over to my seat and Mr. Lindberg said he was glad I was going to sign up for debate—strange since I never actually said I was going to yet...oh well, I suppose he was correct. Nicole and Daniel sat down with me and she leaned over and asked, “You still on for Saturday?” I let her know I was and she seemed happy. Daniel asked if I had been with Mr. Lindberg earlier and I said I had. He seemed pleased but what took me back a bit was that I noticed Nicole whisper in a barely detectable voice to Daniel, “See? I told you so.” I wondered what that was all about.
This class period I had made up my mind to take part. I had studied psychology on my own for as long as I could remember, and this Freudian material he had selected for class was something I was quite familiar with. Of course I took it to the extreme and made people in the class feel as uncomfortable as I could. I could tell that Mr. Lindberg was enjoying what soon turned into a public conversation between us—I was absolutely determined to make up for the insecure impression I must have given him a few minutes earlier. I was enjoying the intellectualization of Freudian sexuality and the way my fellow classmates were reacting. Mr. Lindberg had to re-direct the conversation several times—I suspect since he was afraid of getting in trouble with someone’s parents for going too extreme in reference to human sexuality. The thing is, I was enjoying getting under people’s skin and that seemed not to have been lost on Nicole.
Nicole tapped me on the shoulder, “Hey, good job—I think now everyone thinks you are psycho or something.” I replied “Everyone?” in a sheepish yet perhaps arrogant way, shrugging my shoulders. She then seemed to try to re-assure me, “Well, not me, that’s for sure and as for Mark, I think you made him extremely happy.”
When the bell rang, and most people had started walking out the door, Mr. Lindberg came over. I was worried but then he congratulated me, “Hey, good points in the class—it’s great to be able to discuss issues with someone that knows what they are talking about”. I didn’t say anything…just gave a stupid smile.
He continued, “I guess we are all going to get to know each other quite well in the next several months…I mean with debate coming up and all” At that point Daniel sort of took over the conversation, discussing last year’s debate experiences. I then said I had to go (I wasn’t feeling so well all of the sudden—abdominal pains). Nicole touched my shoulder and said she was looking forward to seeing me the next day. Well, it was certainly nice that someone seemed to appreciate my presence. I also hoped Mr. Lindberg was sincere in what he said as well.
On Friday I was feeling really tired and run down so I called in sick to the school—and sent a text to Nicole as well. I turned on my computer and in a few moments I received a message from her with a pouting puppy and something to the effect of “I’m sorry you are feeling bad today. It’s not serious, is it? What about tomorrow?” I let her know I’d be okay. For the rest of the day I just sat around thinking about the previous week. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought it would be.
Chapter 4
On Saturday, I woke up thinking about what I would be doing with Nicole. I got ready and went down to get something to eat, where Mom and Gerald said hello in a rather unengaged manner. Of course Mom asked me about how school had been that week in that polite, “I really don’t care but I need to ask since it’s expected of me as a parent sort of way.” And rather than answer in a more truthful, “Do you really care?” fashion I just gave her the generic “fine,” as I suppose I was as enthusiastic about getting into a real conversation with her as one of those workers at large department stores who greet you at the door with, “Glad to see you” would be wanting to engage you in a personal conversation. Was this to say that was the extent of my relationship with my mother, empty words and gestures devoid of real meaning and emotion? Maybe not, but that’s certainly how it felt.
Communication in the modern American family, maybe it has always been superficial. Maybe the nuclear family is what is artificial—maybe when adolescence is stretched years
beyond into what used to be considered “adult” in ages past, a tension naturally arises between the young, mature adult and the older generation. Neither really knows how to communicate to each other anymore as they both realize they are biological equals, sharing the same shelter, but not the same life vision…unlike, perhaps, the extended family of the past.
Then again, maybe I was, and still am, cynical. Maybe there are families out there who genuinely care about what is going on in each other’s lives and are interested in day-to-day occurrences. I could only say that this was no longer the case with my mother and me. Our times together were filled with polite tension, which at least resulted in what I could pretty much do as I pleased without any controls from her or Gerald.
Oh well, at least my mom was there physically, unlike my father who decided to find a new life when I was only five years old. Yeah, there was a real great guy…a winner from a worldly standpoint—he was driven, competitive and had created a business from nothing. Perhaps as he advanced he thought he had settled on someone who didn’t fit the expectations of who he had become during the time he was married to Mom.
He had never wanted children, and when Mom became pregnant by accident, or destiny, he was furious. He insisted she “get fixed” right after my birth—which is the same time their intimacy ended. When they broke up he would come around and see me once a month, then once every two months, and then, when he transferred most of his productions overseas that’s when the visits became rare—then never. Last I heard he was married to some woman with a couple of kids and living in France, or was it Spain…I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Maybe I never really advanced beyond my feelings of abandonment—and maybe that’s why I didn’t make many efforts to make friends. People will just leave you in the end.
Melanie's Journey Page 3
