Fighting to concentrate

I have the physiology shelf exam tomorrow morning at 8am. I'm struggling to keep my head in the game. Yesterday, I went through some physio in First Aid after doing Dr. Linda Costanzo's comprehensive review at the end of the BRS. Today was filled with mini-3 reprodutive physio, and I currently have EKG basics open before me. It's hard to pay attention right now - I just want to be sitting somehwere reading a book. That being the case, I figured I'd add another chapter from that book I'll probably never write - this one through the eyes of a precocious high-school boy (I started ages ago, and can hardly remember what's in it). This is off topic, but aren't you glad we spanked France in the 400m men's swimming last night? That's what they get for smack-talkin'!

Ok, here it is.

Juan-Miguel's Chapter

Try as he might, Juan-Miguel was losing the war. This was no athletic challenge, nor even a game of wits; yet he found himself soundly trumped at every turn in the blistering, staggering war of attrition within his mind. It was as if his id had laid siege to his ego; as if the immemorial great, growling bear deep inside his being – that claws about hungrily and never says “enough” – had cornered the esteemed avatar of his intellect and humanity, and crouched - mere pulse-pounding seconds away from tearing the shivering thing limb from bloody limb. For, though he desperately wanted to concentrate on The Picture of Dorian Gray or the construction of his essay, or what his teacher was saying, or anything – all Juan-Miguel could think of were beautiful, luscious, tear-drop shaped breasts.

Ah, but Lord Henry Wotton was but poor cannon fodder in the onslaught against his raging hormones! For the glib corruptor himself offered not opposition, but seemed at every turn, in young Juan-Miguel’s mind, to offer only maddeningly logical reasons for indulgence. He sat rigid in his desk, gripping the edges with white-knuckled intensity, glaring off into the distance with grim determination, willing himself to concentrate. He had an essay due, and he’d better get to planning it – and slowly, but surely enough, the structure and shape of the essay began to take form. He saw magical, shining-golden lines coalesce as the form of his argument appeared, as he began to delineate the parallels between Dorian’s descent into perversion and the universal loss of innocence and coming of age – but the still rough-hewn, unrefined form of this majestic composition was smashed unto nothing, shattered in a cloud of mortar and of dust, by a beautiful, luscious, tear-drop shaped pair of breasts!

"Fine! I’ll yield to you", he thought, feeling his palms moisten. Just for a little while…..The walls were already breached; he could rebuild later. And he relaxed, straightening his glasses, cradled in the warmth of his thoughts, as the tempting flesh-pears danced before him. He could almost feel them in his hands, filling his palms with a near tactile fullness, his greedy finger molding to the inviting elliptical curve, as if one was made for the other. He imagined a firm softness that he knew would make him tremble, as these stately pleasure domes sat, smooth and delicious, gleaming pure and golden beneath a beaming sun. He heard the siren song not with his ears, but with his heart, with his hands and his loins – the tantalizing, tangible melody teasing him and torturing him beyond what endurance he thought humanly possible. He wanted to touch, to have and to hold, to -

“Oh, and let me remind everyone that the National Merit Scholarship Qualifying Test is being held here in the auditorium two weeks from Wednesday – I’m sure every one of you have been preparing oh so diligently.” Haha! The tide has turned, thought Juan-Miguel! He breathed a long sigh of relief, for with those few words, the English teacher had sent in the cavalry, buttressing his concentration with much needed, much appreciated reinforcements, effectively fortifying the gaping hole in the castle walls. The situation was dire for a second there, but now the fierce specter of academic achievement loomed even larger, darkening the horizon far more than the maddening insistence of his 17 year-old passion. He’d been prepping all summer; there was nothing to worry about.

Mrs. Robledo (decidedly not the object of his lust, to be sure) paced back and forth in front of the class, her thin lips drawing into a tight line, bunching up newly-formed wrinkles.
“But miss….I mean…..what’s a thesis?” A student to the left of Juan-Miguel had, apparently, just woken up. Mrs. Robledo rolled her eyes, making no attempt to hide her disgust. Juan-Miguel followed suit. The teacher lifted a pale hand, smoothing her newly dyed, newly coifed hair, and then extended a half-piece of chalk.

“Come here Eddie. I would like you to write this on the board so that you do not forget what a thesis is. Ever.”

“Yes miss………” A lanky youth with greasy, black hair down to his eyes slipped out of his desk and sulked up to the dusty green chalkboard. He took the chalk and waited while Mrs. Robledo turned back to the class. Juan-Miguel was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t been called on.
“A thesis”, Mrs. Robledo continued, “is the main argument in your essays.” She glanced over her shoulder at Eddie as the chalk tap-squeaked on the board. “An example of a thesis is ‘Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet has become the archetypal bittersweet romance’. You would then use your supporting points to build a cogent, cohesive essay. You all know how to write a paper. If you don’t, I don’t see why you’re in my class – but I can call some 6th grade English teacher.”

Juan-Miguel had stopped listening when she began explaining what a thesis was. It really irked him – some of these kids had no clue what they were doing here, and didn’t really care. Stupid distractions like this were a complete waste of his time – he should have been discussing serious stuff – not taking baby steps. Losers. He sighed heavily, shifting in his seat. You’re supposed to know how to write a damn paper in AP English 3. Losers. Damn public schools. Come to think of it, he could have chosen something a bit headier than The Picture of Dorian Gray. He’d considered expounding on hell and damnation with a look at Dante’s Inferno (Ciardi’s translation, of course), but somehow, he just wanted something more Glib – and Oscar Wilde had that in spades. Besides, Hell was cool and all – but it just didn’t have the allure of the corruption in Dorian Gray. That theme was going to hold a central place in his paper – the idea that everyone, somewhere in their coming of age had a corruptor, be it one person or a group. He scribbled down a few ideas for supporting points, as well as some phrases that he’d want to throw to look intelligent – like sine qua non and inextricably intertwined. Juan-Miguel chuckled at his own inventiveness; those college essays would be a piece of sweet, sweet cake. But at the thoughts of scholarship and writing gave way to the pleasures of corruption and cake, he soon pictured candy and apples and…..damn it…..melons.

Another siren called – this one in the form of a piercing, shrieking bell, marking the end of the period, and the end of another Wednesday. Finally those losers in the back could wake up and go home. He slammed shut his binder, slipped it into his blue mesh backpack and slung it over his shoulder, tucking a pen behind his ear as he joined the crowd waiting for freedom. The same thought popped into his head everyday around this time; the same sad, disappointing idea. “So this is what cattle feel like”. The crush was maddening; people didn’t just walk the halls – at the end of the day, the halls were packed. These were the mindless hordes, the cattle who, directly after graduating, would proceed to go work for a mechanic – if they got that far. Some of them would make it out of this sleepy little town – he knew he was going to be one of them. Swept by the massive throng he shuffled to his locker, pondering the merits of UT at Austin and UT Pan American, in Endiburg.

The halls were decorated with posters and blue and gold streamers, heralding Friday night’s big football game against their cross-town rivals – the West Camino Diamondbacks. School spirit was high and he could see people in the stampede who already had painted faces. He could feel the energy in the air; the East Camino Rattlers had lost the 2 previous “Snakefights”, as the students called the games, and felt that this was their year for redemption.
Mechanically spinning the dial on his combination lock, he grabbed a book from his locker, tucking it into his backpack. Suddenly a body launched itself from the crowd and pinned Juan-Miguel to his locker. Soft, wet lips pressed against his cheek.

“Hi!” She was petite indeed, a head shorter than the not-particularly-tall Juan-Miguel. She beamed up at him.

“Hey Gabby – I was just thinking about you!”

“Oh? What were you thinking?” She tilted her head, giving him a coy, innocent look.

“Just about ….y’know…..the football game and stuff. We’re going, right?”

“Yeah – of course!” She wrapped her arms around him, giving him a big hug. He smiled to himself; feeling her ample bosom pressed against his chest had been the underlying fodder for his frustrated fantasies. Looping an arm around her neck, he gave her a quick peck on her forehead.

She stepped back and he looked down, as always pleased at the sight of her body. Gabby was petite and curvaceous, with full lips and big brown eyes. She held one of his hands between both of hers.

“I like hugging you” she giggled. “You’re like a big soft teddy bear.

“Heh….thanks….” It was great that she wanted to be close to him, but Juan-Miguel would exchange all that softness for the defined musculature which many of his classmates had already attained.

“So how was class Gabby?”

“It was alright….we’re doing orbitals and stuff in chemistry now…..I kind of like it. How’s that project coming?”

“I’m so excited about it – I can’t wait to start! It’s -” but he was interrupted as a beefy arm threw him into a headlock.

“Hey Gabby – have you seen that loser Juan-Miguel? I haven’t seen him anywhere.” Juan-Miguel struggled under the arm, finally pushing it off.

“That’s because you’re too busy looking for potato chips, you stoner!” The three of them laughed. Alberto Garcia stood half-a head taller than his friend, and was nearly three times as wide. He brushed his longish black hair out of his eyes, shifting his books from one hand to the other.

“Man….I really hate this stupid extra practice with Mr. Villarreal – he expects to, like, know everything already.”

“Yeah, but think – it’ll help prepare you for the PSAT – it’s worth the extra practice at least.”

“It’s worth passing…” Alberto mumbled under his breath.

“Alright, well I have to go get started on this precal stuff. I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Laters, Alberto.” Gabby turned to Juan-Miguel as their rotund friend waddled away.

“Do you want to go outside?”

“Ok….right, your mom’s coming at 5?”

“Yeah, I got to wait again.” The halls were emptying out, as students descended upon the parking lot, or else milled around in front of the school, waiting to be picked up. It was still sunny and warm, even at this time in early October. South Texas was like that – it defied winter. Hazy clouds hung lazily over the trees on the small campus, and an ever-present breeze kept the warm air from getting too stagnant. The grass was still cool and green, but Juan-Miguel and Gabby opted for the benches, set in a semi-circle beneath the trees. From here, they could watch the parents pick their kids from the crowd on the circular looping road between the front parking lot and the school. Gabby kicked off her sandals, wriggling her toes in the cool grass.

“Have you started on your paper yet?” She crossed her legs, lightly bobbing her foot.

“Almost….I’m still trying to work things out just right. How are classes?”

“Oh….they’re fine. We barely started Oedipus Rex today…I like the ancient Greek stuff.”

“That one was so good!” Juan-Miguel’s eyes lit up. “It’s like, the archetypal tragedy, I mean, do you know what happens? He -”

“No no no! I heard it’s really good, don’t ruin it for me!” She gave her best little-girl pout, and Juan-Miguel just laughed. He sat back against the bench, placing his arm around her, and shifting as she leaned in to him.

“Ok, I won’t ruin it. It’s amazing, though – one of my favorites.”

“I hope it’s good – so what are you going to write about?”

“It’ll be….ah…..” His train of thought was momentarily and effectively derailed – from this vantage point, he had a frustratingly blissful view down Gabby’s delightful cleavage. He felt the familiar arousal, and quickly crossed his ankle over his knee, glancing off at the line of cars.

“I’m going to talk about Lord Henry Wotton’s suggestive corruption, and how that parallels every person’s coming of age.

“Oh? So everyone gets corrupted?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He spared another peek down her light-blue spaghetti-strap top. Her chest was so…….perfect…so full and round and….

A sharp elbow to his side brought him back to reality.

“Ow! What?”

“You were staring again – you know it makes me uncomfortable.”

“I only stare ‘cuz you’re so pretty, though.”

“Ok but…. what’s wrong with staring at my face?”

“I do……I mean………I’m sorry.” Gabby crossed her arms over her chest, obviously in a huff. Juan-Miguel readjusted his glasses, and leaned over to give her a peck on the side of her head.

“C’mon….don’t be mad……”

“Ok fine, just don’t do that anymore. I like you because you’re not a horn-dog like those other guys.”

“Right.” He nodded, slipped a notebook from his bag, opened it to a blank page, and stared off at the line of cars. They sat there, watching the crowd dwindle, and chattered the time away. One of the things he liked about her was that was sweet and innocent, and he knew that she’d never go to a party, get drunk, and hook up with anyone. “Ah…my nymph”, he thought. “I’ll figure you out soon enough. But if I didn’t have you, there wouldn’t be anyone…” She snuggled against him.
The sun was well on its way down – little more than a rusty orange marble low in the purple-gray sky. The crowd had dwindled to nothing, save for the stragglers. Alberto waddled towards them.

“Vamonos! I don’t wanna be late for mom’s enchiladas!” Juan-Miguel stood up and slung his bag over he shoulder, chuckling under his breath. Gabby stood up and threw her arms around his neck. Her shoulder-length hair smelled like hairspray, but he loved it.

“I’ll call you tonight, ok?”

“Ok.” He gave her a quick peck on her forehead, and headed towards the parking lot with Alberto, casting a quick glance over his shoulder.

They crossed the mostly-empty parking lot in silence and creaked open the doors to a 9 year old, blue Chevy pickup. The old engine struggled to life as Juan-Miguel looked back to the luscious light-blue blur that was Gabrielle Rosado.

“Man, this old piece of junk is gonna die and strand me some day, I just know it.” Alberto eased forward, crunching over loose gravel.

“Huh? Oh...nah, I think you’ll be alright, at leas for a little while.” He reached for the old radio and turned up a lively Tejano song. They were on a main road now, skirting the town of Camino.

“I don’t know if this college thing is for me.” Alberto stared straight ahead, his broad shoulders hunched over the wheel. “I mean….I’d probably do a lot better to start working on something….I dunno….be a mechanic or something…” Juan-Miguel squirmed in his seat, remembering his earlier thoughts about the kids who became mechanics.

“Yeah…..but, I mean, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have to go far from home, and I’m sure you could get financial aid.” They rolled to a stop beside a Whataburger, the breaks squeaking painfully.

“You can say that ‘cuz you’re smart, and you’ll make something of it. What if I go and spend all that money and have to drop out or something like that? Ah…….I don’t know.”

“Don’t give up just yet, you never know what could happen.” But deep inside, part of him agreed with Alberto. Some people just weren’t meant to do certain things – like he was never meant to be an athlete. Alberto had been a linebacker, but he blew out his knee in the last Snakefight. He was avoiding bringing that up – if Alberto couldn’t take him and Gabby, he’d have to find someone else. He hoped Alberto wouldn’t be too bitter about it.

“Yeah, I know, I know. The teachers all say the same thing. But hey – I guess we’ll see what happens, though, right?” The light changed. They moved along, took a left, and rolled right out of town. The road they traveled was like an ancient, mythical barrier, separating civilization from the wild unknown. Juan-Miguel imagined that this road was like the fences that had protected wild-west towns from the hard, barren desert; or perhaps it was more like the reach of a campfire’s soft light – beyond that little circle of warmth and safety was the cold forest, filled with wild animals and things unknown. He imagined the hideous, ancient monsters from before the birth of mankind’s consciousness, snarling and crouching just out of sight, forever kept at bay by this blessed barrier. But here, there was only an old road – with subdivisions and neighborhoods to the right, and endless field of sugar cane to the left, staking out their lonely dominion beneath the big Texas sky.