"Em n' AT: The Science of Language" Unfortunately for the students in Ms. McGowen's class, their loveably eccentric teacher had gone and done something rather unwise the day before she was scheduled to instruct her pups in the art of discovery: she had gone and seen a movie, and it had gotten to her so and found root in her brain (skull and all) that, regrettably for the young ladies, she emulated many a traits of some of the wickeder characters. And of course, the madness had also stricken her to hum the 9th of Beethoven rather loudly. She was repulsively happy and it showed when her voice throbbed and when her smile became apparent that very day. "What's the good word, my droogs?" she asked loudly upon entry. A few were stricken, and some knew exactly what she was talking about, and so snickered and answered. "Fine, fine." "There exists a quaint happiness today," she reported, and continued humming the 9th. More began to see her motive, but no moods were relaxed and certainly, no guards were a-dropped. They were all like strands of wheat spaghetti that had not been cooked long enough. "Well," resumed dear Emma, her mind aghast with gid, "we shall continue our teach if someone can give us a note of their viddilikins. Tell me, was my speech proper on the eve of yesterdiddly?" "Miss... McGowen?" Emma grinned and took a bow. Though weird through and through, not having hardly enough sanity to be taken seriously, Em McGowen was harmless and gentle—like a creepy barn owl or a fuzzy caterpillar from alien lands. She wriggled and gave a morphing wink. "Ho, ho, ho... it appears I've tickled Usha's nerves. Dear, pay attention; my lesson's a strict one today, loopy. Do reach behind and grab that textybook, will you?" Somehow, the ladies interpreted her talk and found their books and the proper page. McGowen nearly sang the Ode to Joy right there in the class as she waited. "I had been to the theater once," she said to herself. The class didn't know what to think or say. "Ms. McGowen?" asked Blake. "Uh, you okay? You're starting to sound batty." "No mind, googly. Page 53. I'll check your namesies." She did, out loud: "Blake Baum, Erica Fox, Victoria Grisson, Olivia Johnson, Zane Klein, Vai Knox, Usha Krishnan, Corona Marcos, Kathlyn Parkin, June Tramble, Mira van Dijk, X Walker, Rai Zanders. Presently engrossing our experience, all? To what do I owe this extreme pleasure?" "We just didn't wanna miss another fun-filled day in your class," spoke X Walker. McGowen smiled and seemed, slowly, to go back to normal. It seemed that as long as her students spoke to her normally and helped get her out of her funk, she would resort back to—well, it would still not be normal, but it would be B.A.U. for Em. The girls spread this good word once they realized the trick to it all and hoped for success. McGowen wouldn't have time to think of nonsense if her pups kept her on track. "Our lessy-son paid its vids to the filing system developed some odd-years ago," she began. "O my sisters, whom amongst you can tell me of what I speak?" A few, more than a few, hands were raised to the ceiling. She picked one at random. "The classification system originated some 150-odd years ago to appropriate every species inside a niche," and this was said by Olivia Johnson. "Superb. And what are the classifications of this system? Somebody else?" She picked Kathlyn Parkin. "Uh... family... order... class... uh, kingdom?" "In order?" tested Em. The class became dreadful with silence. Few could remember the system; seldom could remember it in order. Well, Usha could, but... "Domain, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species." The room became hush with admiration, and heads turned to see a flush miss Vicki. "Excellent!" said McGowen proudly. "But how did you memorize it?" "Uh... the same way I memorized the names of the seven dwarves: I just said all the names really fast, over and over again, until it developed into a rhythm." "A rhythm?" asked the teacher, boldly intrigued. "Explain." "Well," resumed Grissom-named-Victoria, "whenever I have a list of names or numbers I need to memorize, I just keep repeating them like a cheer. Eventually it gets stuck in my head. Ms. Keeping has said that people can memorize up to seven consecutive numbers; I assumed this applied to names as well." "Perhaps," said McGowen boldly. "I thank you for your time and answer; however, I must stop now since this is not psychology class and we are here to study science—particularly the science of biology and genealogy during this period. Thank you. I would like for all of you to memorize these names, using Victoria's method if you'd want, because I'll have a test on it ready by Friday. Now don't groan." Of course, they had, but at least McGowen had gotten out of her funk. Emma—or Em McGowen, as she was more commonly known—was a semi-infamous teacher in Stanton, one of the few whom even freshmen knew of, and a few seniors still dreaded. She was by no means cruel (although extremely unusual), and seldom did anything out of utter senselessness, but to say that she was an "interesting" soul would put it mildly. She was quite petite for her age, barely taller than most of the youngest girls in her classes, but her charm and wit and personality gave her stilts. Em had a healthy tan, a wardrobe drenched with wit and style, and very curly hair tied back in a strict ponytail that was never out of place while on duty (and seldom at play). The woman knew her stuff, no doubt, and had given lectures across the country during the summers when school was out. She was not only smart, but wise too, and quite charming if a person was the right age and demeanor. The woman was wealthy, but loved teaching more than retirement, and it gave her a good challenge every day, which was by far (to her) more important than some dollar bill. Unfortunately, Em was unpredictable—but many people knew this and braced for the worst. They knew better than to point out her size—she was especially sore about that—and she was usually too bitchy, impatient, or obsessed with her work to hold more than a few minutes of conversation. Her tests were ruthless (Madsen's methods were lukewarm at best in comparison) and her experiments, though entertaining, reflected her eerie obsession with the Things That Should (simply) "Not". And to top it all off, she had a lover right there in that school, though only one other person knew it. And they certainly would not tell. "Today," Em said later that very same class hour—no longer in her funk, having discarded it for her greatest love and infatuation—"We shall study blood! Big, thick, drippy, gooey, smothery chunks of white and red cells! BLOOD!!!" X and Zane looked thrilled as their smallish instructor lavished on the whole "gory details" since it was just their kind of thing (Aintzane had said more than one morbid time that if the soccer or fashion world would not take her, the cardiovascular sciences would), but everyone else was disturbed. They wondered if it would be their ownblood they'd study; Zane hoped it would be. That scrape she had gotten yesterday would be the perfect source. "Uh, excuse me, Miss McGowen," interrupted Erica softly, "but... uh... we aren't studying our own blood, are we?" "Of course not," sang McGowen warmly, giving the young girl an assuring smile. "I'd be in trouble if I stuck needles in your arms. No, we'll be studying some that was recently donated to us. Some of this is the blood of criminals, soooo watch out!" "Cool!" exclaimed Walker giddily. Most of the other girls just paled. McGowen produced enough microscopes from the science room closet for everyone to share one with somebody else (their pre-assigned lab partners for the month), and since there was an odd number of students in her class, she put herself with whoever had been left out of the loop. Since the partnerships were random and scheduled to change every week, it was interesting to see how people got along. Olivia, Blake, or Victoria would be good for each other due to their friendships, but putting Mira and Usha together might not've been wise. Their political rivalry had started well after the assignments were placed, thus proving an interesting look at how two people who were running against each other in the campaign would work together. It was definitely something a few girls wanted to see happen in the outside political world: would Bush and Kerry have been bad lab partners? For the most part, the lab partners were mixed well without too much strife. Whoever had been tagged with Klein and Walker were pretty much assured a good grade for that experiment; those stuck with people ignorant in scientific affairs had to cope. Fortunately, McGowen eagerly helped wherever she could, giving special attention to her own lab "partner". "Look at all those chemical compounds that make up that little red cell," she said to Corona, who had lucked out as the thirteenth student. "You know why it's red, right?" "Hemoglobin." "Correct. Can you name three things the blood cell carries?" "It carries oxygen, glucose, and wastes for excretion." "Good. Now, for bonus points: how long do they live?" "A... hundred days, I think." "Close." "A hundred... ten?" "You're guessing." Corona frowned. "It's all right. It's a lot to remember." "A hundred-twenty," murmured Aintzane to Vai, her partner. Vai nodded, as she had known that as well. Zane looked more interested in the cell itself rather than its statistics; Vai just wanted to get away. Blood was not her forte, it was not her thing. She awaited other pursuits and tried to endure Zane's optimism. "You're quite amazing," Usha had to admit to her partner. "I did not believe you were capable... What I mean is, you must forgive me for thinking so ill of you. I just feared that a person who appeared to have no political agenda or ambition would not be a worthy opponent, and I've heard tell you're not the type to work hard or even that well." "Bad rumors," growled Mira van Dijk angrily. She busied herself with writing notes so she wouldn't have to put all her focus on her partner's words. "Well, I'm sure some are distorted..." "And your thoughts on me?" she snorted. Usha frowned and gave Mira a sad face. She had clearly insulted the younger girl and was feeling miserable because of it. "Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to sound rude. I... merely wished to express my respect towards you. Your aptitude towards the sciences has me in awe." Mira scowled, but gave a haphazard shrug and resumed peeking through the scope. Krishnan sighed. "I know that if you put yourself to the task, I will be in great danger of losing my position as president," she attempted, her best at flattery. "A few people from Ms. Madsen's class told me about your report, and I must say, even I would not go to such lengths. You have me, Miss van Dijk." "Mira." "Forgive me—Mira." Mira blew out steam, stopped her busy work, and gave Usha a study. The woman was obviously upset and wanted to amend her ways—she definitely had more honor than most politicians. "Watch out, Yusha," she said, trying her best to pronounce the girl's name correctly (Usha looked like she enjoyed the incorrect version). "With such an attitude, you may lose. You don't fight dirty?" "No, I do not. If I must lose, I wish to lose to a worthy opponent. I shall never reduce myself to a slur campaign." Mira gave her a crooked smile, almost sneaking in a bit of charm with it. "Then you won't get far in politics. But I respect that. I will do my best to meet your hope." She nodded and resumed making notes, the scientific side of her mind advancing past her rival's. Usha smiled and even blushed a little, and also resumed her work. "Look at the happy couple," murmured Vai to herself. Zane had long ago tuned out everything that wasn't goopy and red. When class ended, the girls split up and went their own way. Usha just had to stop Mira one last time and apologize, but Mira had forgiven her. She even told her she shared the respect Usha gave her. Krishnan had earned it; Mira would have to work really hard if she really wanted to win. The girls parted on good terms, and then Mira spotted her Motive of the Day walking to her locker. Blake Freda Baum stopped to spin the combination lock, thus giving van Dijk a great opportunity. She walked near the smaller woman and stood waiting, a pleasant smile on her face and Sailor Pluto on her shirt. "Uh, yes?" said Blake as she noticed her visitor. Mira gave a fully-confident grin and waved. "Hi! You are Blake Baum, right?" "Yeah, and you're Mira van Dijk. We've got some classes together." "Yes, yes. I heard from your friend that you would like a girlfriend. I too would like a girlfriend. Maybe we can help each other out? Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Her face as red as her hair, Blake quickly shut her locker, clasped her books to her chest protectively, and faltered. "Uh, heh... Subtle, aren't you?" "What does that mean?" "You're awfully direct," she remedied. Mira frowned innocently. "That is bad? I just heard that you never had a girlfriend, and since I'd like to have one, I just thought..." "So, just like that?" Mira nodded, making Blake laugh weakly. Either Mira was unusually confident or naïve—either way, her bluntness took Blake off her guard. It was true that she was interested, and probably up to the point of being desperate, but even this was too sudden. "Who told you?" "Pretty dark-skinned girl. Uh... damn, forgot her name. Liv?" "Olivia," groused the Jew. "That's unlikely. I'd've figured Gab or Jeanie would try to set me up with someone, but not Liv! Well, I guess we could give it a shot—I mean, I'm in no position to refuse, and I guess I wanna get to know you." "Oh, goodie!" Mira nearly broke poor Blake's body in half when she leaped over to hug the smaller girl. She got the wind glomped out of her, that was for certain. To make matters worse, once Mira's joy had calmed, the taller girl walked away with a wave just as carefree as before. "Whoa, wait!" shouted Baum. "Aren't you going to give me your number so we can call each other and arrange dates or something? I mean, I don't know how it works, but I've seen it long enough to know." "Oh! I am sorry!" Poor Mira kicked her ignorant self and walked back over to her new girlfriend, scribbling seven digits quickly on a paper. Blake did the same and they both exchanged numbers, and Mira hugged her unexpectedly once again before leaving. It took Blake a long time to realize that finally, she had a girlfriend. Wow. ............ O the sun was not shining, my friends, on that dreadful Thursday morning, nor were the clouds weeping; but they became still and gray, darker, and the sky turned murky white like bitter miso soup and remained thus until the evening. It was a terrible day and though nearing the end of a week, nothing really good seemed to come of it, at least from the weather. One girl believed herself pitted inside a chasm of darkness and became bleak on the inside and out; she hated herself and everything around her, and would've turned to suicide if her body allowed it. But no, God chose her to suffer more—hell before Hell, it seemed. Vairocana Knox was not in Torvald's language class, and she was not friends with anyone in there, nor was she friends with anyone else; she had no one. Once, long ago, when innocence still found its way to her body, she was happy, just once. It had been the best week of her life and she still looked upon that seven-day period with deep longing and fondness. She had came out and revealed her True-Self that week; nothing hid her from everyone, and there was great love and acceptance, and many people had written her letters showing their care. Those persons were gone and away, probably forgetting their one-time friend for others, perhaps less worthy. Even that older woman she had loved, who she proudly called sister, was gone in obscurity. Now, Vairocana Knox, in her final year of high school, sulked miserably as things crashed further down for her and darkness covered her land. She desperately wanted to go away from everything, but she was trapped—perhaps forever, a flare never meant to burn. She was ash now and would have wept if she could have, but she could not produce tears. She sat and watched as people came out of Torvald's class, some of them quite happy-looking. They had love, she did not. In all the happy programs, movies, shows, cartoons, plays, and productions, it was people like her, the ones thrust into the murk, who got the most love. There was always some person wounded internally who became distant and lonely, and always some person (usually a girl, she noted) who came over to them and, with a little effort, pushed them back into society. Then they had no more problems and lived the rest of their days in happiness. It was such a cliché and such a lie that the whole idea was sinful. Things like that simply did not exist in the real world, if indeed the world was real. Vai knew the names of most of the girls in Torvald's class, because she shared other hours with them and knew them by the way they acted. Ayanna Montgomery came out, so spunky and energetic and fun. Out came Farrah Kwong, intolerant of the rampant Sapphic overtones that seemed to seep through Stanton. There came Ivory, her wild friend; out came Usha, the political; Lilian, the withdrawn; Walker and Klein, the sports jocks; out came Nomi Nakatori, the humble musician, and apparently the girl who had her eyes on her, Alisha Fox—also inclined to good song. Vairocana sighed. Even her mothers had begun neglecting her, as they seemed more and more absorbed in their work and life. Few people had ever come about as mentors and instructed her on how to make friends; nobody told her how to cure lovelessness. She was alone and inexperienced, perhaps even shy, and hated herself so much for it. She had tried, in desperation, the pull of the church, but that failed: she just felt even more alienated and lonely. And she had two mothers. Vai herself wasn't gay, lesbian, or straight; she just wanted love, no matter where it came from, but as she had very rarely gotten it in her short life, how would she give it or even know it? So far, all her prayers for friends went unanswered-- the God she prayed to was a silent, indifferent, cruel deity who apparently liked to see her suffer and took great care to exempt her from all the mercy and love otherwise promised. And He, or "he", certainly wasn't always with her. She moved to her next class, constantly wondering what the point was in caring or trying. She began to feel ill and decided to call in sick for Friday. Maybe if she started bleeding, vomiting, or wasting away, her mothers would at long last give her some attention. Then again... In a fantasy world, Emma McGowen would've been watching Vai and would've understood her pain, and would've went out and comforted her or at worst, sent her to someone she knew would be better-suited. McGowen didn't even see Vai, though; she was sadly preoccupied with Torvald, and waited patiently, through all her classes and studies, for the school day to end. It took hours. When her last class let out and the burden of many jobs rolled off her back freely, she sighed and stalked towards the Foreign Language room. A.T. was inside, cleaning up and taking some time off for peace before heading home. Em knocked. "See you at 'ome, luv," she called in a bad Cockney accent. Andeira barely noticed her presence or registered her voice before she had left. She shook her head and wondered, after four years of acquaintanceship, why she still could not understand the petite woman. She left her classroom after thirty minutes and drove home, having some ways to go before she caught up with McGowen. She got to her apartment quietly and let out a breath. She walked up the stairs and produced her keys. The door opened. Emma McGowen was on the other side, cheerful and still dressed sharp. She greeted Andeira with a big, surprising hug, and pulled her inside where their activities would be hid. But Andeira was not in the mood, and distanced herself from McGowen still. Em had to note that these moodless days and nights were becoming frequent; the spark had gone (or gone again) from Torvald's smile, and Em wanted it back. She slinked her way over to where the older woman sat glumly, descended down to share the cough with her, and began gently gnawing on her ear. "I'm not in the mood," repeated Andeira. "Mmm, what's wrong? Wanna talk?" "I'm just not." Em pouted. "I thought about you all day." "Stop." "If you really want me to—" "Yes." Em grunted. "Oh, all right. I'll make dinner." She then left for the tiny kitchen, leaving Andeira to sigh and sink further into the couch. It was like all the energy had been drained from her body—like her soul had been removed again—and it would take more than Emma's gentle care this time to help. Outside, the sky relented and wept.
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