16 May 2012
It was the end of the day. Seconds seemed to be taking minutes. The air was hot and the smell of mental sweat had become close to unbearable. Everyone had unbuttoned their top buttons and loosened their ties; although it was against the strict uniform rules the teacher seemed to have made an exception today.
She was pointing at words on the white board, speaking in a babbled blur of background noise. I had no idea what she was saying, I must have zoned out at least 20 minutes ago. For all I knew she could be re-enacting a fight she had once had with a bear. I smiled to myself as the thought tickled my imagination, then a flurry of movement caught my attention.
From my desk by the window I could see other children running enthusiastically out of their classes as they were released for the end of term. Their laughter was muffled through the glass, like it was some sort of force field deflecting any fun that may be trying to seep into the room.
It wasn’t fair, why couldn’t she just let us go? I looked around the class and could tell everyone else was thinking the same thing. I sighed and sadly attempted to concentrate for the last few minutes of the lesson, using the incentive of the summer holidays to keep me going. All of a sudden my mind snapped back to reality as Miss Pettigrew’s voice cut through my day dreams.
“...Oliver, what do you think?”
The entire class turned to me. I could feel their eyes boring holes into my head as they waited expectantly for my answer. She must have known I wasn’t paying attention, why else would she pick on me? I just wanted to go home.
My cheeks began to redden as the awkwardness of the situation rose with the silence. It was becoming uncomfortable now, my mouth was open and my eyes wide but nothing was coming out. Then I felt a defiance in me, a confidence building. I valiantly ignored my classmates’ laser stares, looked my teacher in the eyes and responded.
“Shut up, Miss.”
The silence was sharp. Faces began to expand in shock at what I had just uttered. One girl I could have sworn even emitted a gasp. It felt like one of those scenes in the cowboy movies; each person waiting for the other to draw their guns, crinkled tumbleweeds rolling in the wind. The silence seemed to last forever, until at last it was shattered.
“Excellent work, Oliver. Yes, 'fermes la Bouche' does in fact mean 'shut up', or 'shut your mouth' in French. Now can anyone tell me...”
I released the breath I had been holding along with the rest of the class. Miss Pettigrew’s voice slowly faded into the background again and I turned to the person next to me.
“That was lucky,” I said.
A Questionable Answer • Opuss № I