Monday, March 27, 2006

Girl at Blackboard

GPV's Story
'twas the last day,school year was over, the hushush noises of the last students leaving the school building decreased and finaly silence took over and surrounded Camilla. She stood front of the blackboard she just finished to clean, her mind drifting away from actual reality plunged into past sequences of the year that went by .....Richie’s answer on the day
of her first class: What do I know about math? Well ,one and one is two Mam- and the heavy laugh of the entire room....When she was called in the dean’s office: First of all, Miss Lawson, let me tell you how much I apreciate your contribution as a mathematic teacher, you’re doing a great job. However......and followed advices on wearings and clothes with that knowing look on the lowest part of her body......and many other similar memories, some worse and some just boring....Deceiving start in High School teaching.
A siren drilled a hole in her rumbling thoughts and she came back to reality still standing, facing the blank surface of the blackboard, then walking slowly, she went back to her desk and picked up her purse.....the sound of her high heels receided as she made her way to the exit and the door wooshed back as it closed behind her.
She drove through the city and was back home in less than half an hour; small apartment of two rooms, bright and clean , revealing a woman’s touch in furniture and decoration.
Shower---àtowel-à-hair dryeràbrush-àeyelashàlipstickàback to bedroom and it was late afternoon, Camilla made up her mind—"I’m not going to live that way".
To hell with gray living, beside gray people saying gray words in a gray city, to hell with Clark saying "Oh shit, you’re much better looking naked than when you’re dressed up"-
Or-"marriage is a drag, I’m for free love"-and-" I’m afraid I can’t make it this week-end,babe..." TO HELL WITH THAT SHIT !!
She put on a skirt, sweater and coat, purse straped on her shoulder she went out and drove to 17 Bank Street, a green door, she rang the bell. The man who opened the door got bluntly straight to the point "This film studio makes only pornographic movies,lady"
"Yes, I know" Said she.


Anonymous Story
She is wearing a pleated skirt. It looked all right on her in the morning, the chocolate color soft and dusty in the grey light. But now that she is staring at the chalkboard, her classmates seeing her pale legs and lumpy claves, she isn't so sure about the skirt anymore.

She wishes she could re-write herself. But making vast changes seems too escapist and much too scary, so she decideds to wish for minor changes in her life. Maybe there are no distinctions between minor and major changes, but at least she would feel better about it, less guilty.

Minor changes: she could erase her skirt and draw in a pair of charcoal trousers instead. She would erase her classmates' eyes, too, and replace them with black and white targets. Somehow, this depiction of the scene feels more true to her than reality. And thinking of reality, she wonders if she has to draw in her legs and underwear again and then draw in the trousers or if drawing in trousers implicates underwear & legs.

Thinking that she is thinking too hard about logistics that do not exist, she picks up a piece of chalk and begins to write.


Dddragon's Story
The nun had told Claire that she had to write "I will not shoot spitballs at Dennis" 500 times before she could go home. The clean board gave her all sorts of ideas ...


My Story
Manuela stood staring at the blackboard. Should she write out her love for him? It was the chance, the perfect chance to proclaim for all and him the feelings in her heart, ready to ignite in wild, cyclonic emotion. She grasped the chalk in her fingers, twirling the dry cylinder to feel the transference of surface. If he were this piece of chalk, I would reduce him to dust with my kiss, to fine, white dust, and immerse myself in him. With one puff I would totter him into a cloud of manly chaos, ready to erupt in a geyser of passion to my cyclone. Her fingernails scratched the chalk, causing snow-like flakes to scatter to the floor. I have so much to tell you, she told him in thoughts, imagining his reaction. About us. All about us. Yes, I will tell you. And how I will tell you!

"Go on," the teacher admonished. "It shouldn't take that long."

"I was just thinking," she said. "I'm not sure of all the words." The tip of the chalk met the blackboard, and she wrote out the first lesson: "- Wie ist das Wetter? - Das Wetter ist schön."

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