Once again, the school bell rang as a trumpet to signal the end of a long, traumatizing battle.
One by one, the learners dragged themselves through the familiar threshold and entered Mr. Booysen’s English class, like soldiers returning to base camp after yet another near defeat.
“Everyone make it out this time?” mocked their teacher from his desk. He slouched on his chair and kicked his feet up on the varnished wooden slab, casually looking on as the line of catatonic pupils slowly found their way to their desks.
“Almost not, Sir,” was Nevil’s reply, as one still recovering from bomb shock. “Every time feels like the last time…”
Mr. Booysen pouted his lips that it puffed his moustache, calmly studying the disorientated group of students before him. While he was likely trying to ascertain the extent of their wounds, he rested his hands on the fanny pack around his waist, as if it were a cat that needed caressing.
In the end, all he gave was a satisfied nod, enough to betray only a hint of camaraderie that his sunglasses would’ve otherwise shielded. “It comes with the job, Boys…if you don’t like it, you should’ve never signed up for it.”
“We never signed up for it!” moaned Veer-Rash Patel, the newly joined exchange student from Mumbai High, as he wound his way past the rows of desks to find his seat. “We were plunged into this without any consideration…or prior warning!”
“Now, that’s not true,” snickered Mr. Booysen as he sat up in his chair, amusedly pointing to the young man. “I did tell you to brace for impact…”
What a help that was, thought Nevil as he dragged himself to the rear half of the class. At least now, we rest…
On this side of the red-brick walls, life seemed so much simpler, so much more serene.
Now, it wasn’t as if Mr. Booysen’s class had ever been much of a utopia. And Nevil wouldn’t have listed him as a particularly enthusiastic creature. Most of the time, he seemed tired and unimpressed with life- and yet, that was the beauty of it.
More often than not, the man had an even greater distaste for petty drama than they did. He was calm, easy-going and accommodating -for the most part- if it meant that everyone in his domain would simply live and let live.
This approach would’ve proved infuriating for the few outliers among them, yet Nevil quickly noticed how even the hyper-achievers, such as Stephanie, appeared all too grateful for being allowed the grace to merely collapse into her desk and sleep on the oak tabletop before her.
How fortunate a day Wednesdays have always been- the days when the delightful uneventfulness of Mr. Booysen’s English period always gave respite to the traumatizing chaos produced by Mr. Wendall Wankerton.
Nevil finally reached his desk.
He had originally picked this spot for himself at the rear-left end of the classroom to be a secluded safe haven – closest to the hallway.
Weighted by his school bag pressing down on his spine, he dropped his shoulder and slid the backpack all the way down his arm to where it thudded onto the ground beside his desk.
He avoided small talk with the pupils around him and slid into his spot, pressing most of his face against the cold window in the wall beside him, lazily scoping the area around him.
Only a handful of the classroom lights worked at all, casting a mellow warmth that lit only the front half of the enclosure in a yellow glow.
All the while, the rear half of the classroom slowly faded into the darkness, the further back it went- and that is where Nevil had found his solace. There, he could observe the rest of his surroundings from the veiled safety of the shadows, studying everyone as an audience member who hid from the spotlight of a theatre.
The red-brick walls were lined all around with posters, some explaining important concepts of the English language, others detailing some of the school’s core values. Between them, were large steel windowpanes that previewed in the dim bleakness of an overcast morning and the coldness that they were fortunately shielded from.
Upon feeling the icy smoothness of the glass press hard against his cheek, Nevil hoped it would ease the headache that had been produced only minutes before.
Nevil’s ears were still ringing from earlier, when Mr. Wankerton had accidentally exploded the power outlet beside his own desk…
One would think that a carpentry teacher would know not to overload an extension cord with too many plugs. Yet, this moron clearly saw no problem with using a single outlet to power his computer, a tiny desk fan as well as the industrial wheel grinder on the shelf behind him.
Upon running all three simultaneously, some of Nevil’s classmates had reported seeing individual sparks shooting out from underneath their teacher’s desk.
And yet, for all the common-sense errors, there was a convincing- albeit idiotic- logic to this man’s methodology…
Being a sexist to the core, Mr. Wankerton was of the opinion that men could do anything women could, including the art of multi-tasking. His resolve was thus to indulge in work and pleasure at the same time- and multiple times he had made a point of demonstrating this to the class.
Today, this had meant working back and forth between his desk computer and resharpening his toenail clippers at the grinding wheel.
It was a unique form of brilliance.
Sparks and smoke continued to escape from the extension cord between his feet and the students kept yelling warnings at him.
But there had been no response…
For all this man’s lofty rants about his ‘superior abilities’, it had been as if Mr. Wankerton had so overloaded his neurocircuitry that he had no remaining capacity to hear the cries of his students, beckoning him to simply look down…
…which he eventually did.
And as one of the longest-standing educators at Stupendous High, the first reaction of the respected Mr. Wankerton was to ignore all safety warnings and simply proceed in his escapades of machine operation and online gambling.
That was when the sawdust around the plug took flame and combusted beneath his feet.
Bang!
***
After having Stephanie recall the story to satisfy his own curiosity, Mr. Booysen burst out in coarse laughter. He leaned far back on his chair and gasped for air like a donkey. “I wish I was there,” he chuckled as he readjusted his leather tie. “I really do…”
Stephanie snuffed from her desk, perching herself upright in her seat. “I’d gladly swap places with you any day, Sir.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
That was when Mr. Booysen’s laughter died down and his voice dropped- gentle but resolute. “The sooner you can rush your schooling and get out of here, the better.” He gave his moustache three quick corrective strokes and readjusted his seat to face the ignorant blonde, as if he needed her to feel the weight of his words. “Trust me when I say that.”
As if she were suddenly hell-bound for debate, dearest Stephanie ignored what was clearly obvious to everyone. And that was when she had decided to argue the inarguable, as if a cheap win over her teacher was the only way that she could redeem an otherwise meaningless school day.
She tilted her head with a look of forced curiosity- a pretentious expression she was known for showing in her school debates. “I find myself confused by something you had said, Sir,” she called out in a lyrical pitch, one usually reserved for infuriating her formal opponents. “Would you please read for the class what stands on the wall-poster behind you?”
Mr. Booysen seemed unimpressed with her cocky zeal but eventually yielded to her request. He tiredly spun himself in his seat, reached for the bamboo stick beneath his desk and smacked it dead center on the poster above him, using its point to guide his reading.
The words read:
“Welcome to Greengrass High. Here you will learn the basic life skills needed to one day leave this school as a capable, dependable individual, ready to make a difference in the world.”
As he spun back in his seat, Stephanie raised her hand. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Sir, but weren’t you also a student here at Greenside High?”
Their teacher sighed. “Reluctantly.”
As are we all, thought Nevil amusedly but quickly refocused himself on their conversation.
Stephanie continued. “And weren’t you also subject to the same curriculum, traditions and lessons we are going through- to this day?”
“Reluctantly.”
“Final question, Sir…” asked Stephanie, as if she were an attorney -about to hit the final nail into her opponent’s coffin. “Wouldn’t you say these curricula, traditions and lessons also prepared you to successfully make a difference in this world?”
Mr. Booysen snorted. “Of course not, why do you think I’m still here?”
The entire class stared at him silently.
Even Stephanie found herself at a loss for words. She gaped in apparent bewilderment, her eyes darting around for answers like a scared mouse looking for refuge.
Quickly enough, she found some more words. “W-wait a moment, Sir…I h-have to protest against such intellectual dishonesty…” She then demanded another opportunity to challenge his position, as if she were owed the right to prove him wrong.
Except here, Mr. Booysen clearly didn’t care. He had already returned to reclining in his seat, feet on the desk, staring at the ceiling through the brown shades of his Aviators.
But Stephanie continued, clearly indignant. “Our time in the education system should not be wished past or simply rushed through in a pre-adolescent attempt at gaining freedom from accountability- or more accurately…” she sneered with a look of disgust, “…freedom from responsibility and a life of significance.”
Nevil noticed Mr. Booysen raise an eyebrow.
He sat up in his seat, lowered his shades and peered at her for seconds on end, stroking his moustache as he seemed to contemplate her challenge. “Blondie wants to talk big game now, does she?”
Before she could answer, he gave a satisfied nod and raised his voice. “Alright!” he barked. “Let’s get into it then…”
He started by asking Stephanie to define exactly what kind of value she hoped to get from her schooling experience, if any. Of course, she was quick to repeat her earlier sentiments.
“I wish to be guided in the virtues of adulthood by the tried-and-tested processes of education that would work to methodically equip me with the wisdom needed to become a valued member of society.”
Mr. Booysen squinted at her, leaning in from his desk. By the look of confusion on his furrowed brow, she might as well have spoken Chinese to him. “I don’t know what the hell you just said…” he carefully murmured, as if trying to communicate with a delicate alien species. “I just hope you come in peace…”
He pushed himself away from his desk, trying to get his bearings. “This is an English class, Stephanie,” he sighed. “Please refrain from using foreign lingo that would only confuse me…I’m not a lawyer.”
Stephanie gasped with a look of bewilderment. “You’re our English teacher, for goodness’ sake!”
Mr. Booysen gave a tired laugh and gestured back to her. “Which goes to prove my point. Here, at Stupendous High, education has never really meant all that much…”
Stephanie jerked her head this way and that, looking at her peers for support but found none. “How ludicrous! I doubt senior management would approve of hearing you speak such nonsense!”
“And where’s senior management at the moment, Steph?” asked their teacher with a raised brow and a look of cocky amusement. “Our vice-principal has been fired, while our Commander-in-Chief is out receiving trauma counseling.”
But Stephanie wouldn’t hear it. “Are you telling me that none of us can expect any real future outside of these walls when our time comes to graduate?”
The thought of it seemed to amuse Mr. Booysen. His face lit up behind his signature Aviators, which he almost always wore, even indoors. That was when he raised a finger. “Now that you mention it, Stephanie, the alumni of Greenside High are truly a fascinating bunch, aren’t we?”
“Please tell…” muttered the blonde, her arms crossed and eyes droopy.
He twirled the ends of his moustache, seeming to think. “Based on what I have observed throughout the years…the chaos and immorality of this ‘highly prestigious’ institution usually has its graduates rebel in one of two ways…”
For all his exhaustion, Nevil found this conversation very intriguing. If nothing else, he considered it a joy whenever Stephanie’s arrogant idealism got proven wrong. This particular teacher really seemed to know how to push her buttons in all the wrong ways…and he was here for it.
“On the one side,” started Mr. Booysen. “Half of the graduates will overcompensate for the degeneracy they endured and become staunch adherents to the law -like advocates, policemen and justices…people who champion the same truth and justice they were deprived of.”
“Why didn’t you do that?” asked Stephanie with a tinge of snarkiness in her voice.
Drawing a deep breath, Mr. Booysen seemed to contemplate his answer. Eventually, he emptied his lungs, sounding indifferent to her accusation. “I’m not smart enough for any of that stuff…”
“Of course,” was her reply.
He continued. “Then there’s the other side…where graduates become consumed- some might even say ‘inspired’- by the evil they find here. These students then go on to flower into all types of scum, crook and villainy.”
“And why didn’t you do that?” asked Stephanie once more.
“Like I said,” sighed Mr. Booysen, as if disappointed with himself. “I’m not smart enough for any of that…”
To Be Continued…
