The Left Side of the Moon

Music Schizophrenic

So the concept of theme songs has come up with Polly, Bookgirl and myself repeatedly. Not too long ago Bookgirl requested that we let her know what our theme songs are. I wasn't ignoring her. I've been thinking about what my theme song could possibly be for weeks now. The problem is, I can't narrow it down to one song.

I've loved the Violent Femmes since I was fifteen years-old. They are the only band I've seen in concert multiple times. I love all of their songs. The only other band I can say that about is U2. Perhaps deep inside I will always be fifteen, because why else would I still love music that is so obviously directed at teenage angst. But I still get incredibly happy to hear Blister in the Sun, Add it Up (not that they play that on the radio, even today), or American Music.

words to memorize, words hypnotize
words make my mouth exercise
words all failed the magic prize
nothing I can say when I’m in your thighs

Yeah, it's not exactly rainbows and sunshine, but then I'm not exactly a rainbows and sunshine type of gal either. Give me the moon on a haunting evening that has you connecting with your animalistic side any time.

I also love Elvis Costello's Veronica. The woman with the carefree mind and devilish look in her eye, through all the stages of life while people shout her name and steal her clothes. Why do I associate myself so closely with this woman? Why do I want to be Veronica?

Is it all in that pretty little head of yours?
What goes on in that place in the dark?
Well I used to know a girl and I could have sworn
that her name was Veronica
Well she used to have a carefree mind of her own
and a delicate look in her eye
These days I'm afraid she's not even sure if her
name is Veronica

He could've been writing about me, I swear. My name's not Veronica, but perhaps I'm just confused or he's confused. Could someone please turn on the lights?

And Green Day's American Idiot, well someone had to say it didn't they? Man, I have to stop myself from pasting the lyrics to the entire song. I DON'T want to be an American Idiot. Could someone please stop the subliminal mind fuck? Can we get rid of the super-brainless blonde bimbo mania, and stop reporting their boozing, tramping, rehab vacations like it's news?

Don't want to be an American idiot.
Don't want a nation under the new mania
And can you hear the sound of hysteria?
The subliminal mind fuck America.

Do you think G.W.'s listening? We're so over you attempting to keep us at war by feeding our paranoia to further your redneck agenda.

Well maybe I'm the faggot America.
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda.
Now everybody do the propaganda.
And sing along to the age of paranoia.

Yeah, I know, he doesn't get it. But a girl can dream, can't she?

I also love I'll Be by Edwin McCain, a love song for real life. Not one of those songs that you can't hope your marriage will aspire to, the kind that can only exist for the moment in make believe world. The image of John Cusack holding the boom box and blasting In Your Eyes through Ione Sky's window, will forever make me melt. The Everyday Romeo, aspiring to love this girl - against all odds, trials and tribulations. It does not matter that she is out of his league financially and intellectually, that her father hates him, that no one believes it will work. Making the ordinary extraordinary, now that's romance. And the song rings so true. There is no room for pride in love and it is in our lover's eyes that we are our most complete and wonderful selves.

So, how do I pick the song that is my song? The one that represents my truest self or that makes me happiest? I can't. They are all my songs. With their angst, sarcasm and blatant sexual frustrations and political contempt, The Violent Femmes and Green Day are so my kind of people and my kind of music. And Elvis Costello with the devilish girl who laughs in spite of it all, I will always have my inner Veronica. And even though I've been called cold on numerous occasions and no one's going to confuse me with one of the Bronte sisters, there are those songs that melt my heart and make me weak in the knees.

And I haven't even touched on John Mayer, Jane's Addiction, The Cure, Avril Lavigne or Sum 41. And of course there's all the dance music I love - Usher, Beyonce, 50 Cent, Will Smith, Black-Eyed Pees, B-52's, Gwen Stefani - but that's a whole other kind of music. The kind that stimulates your booty, rather than your heart and mind.

One Less Republican

I don't know that this got much national attention, but Lincoln Chafee, our former Republi-crat (you know a Republican that mostly votes Democrat, or do we only have those round here?) Senator, is no longer a Republican. The following is from The Providence Journal.

01:00 AM EDT on Sunday, September 16, 2007

By Bruce Landis

Journal Staff Writer

Former Sen. Lincoln Chafee attends an Eagle Scout ceremony in Providence earlier this year.

The Providence Journal / Glenn Osmundson

PROVIDENCE — Lincoln D. Chafee, who lost his Senate seat in the wave of anti-Republican sentiment in last November’s election, said yesterday that he has left the party.

Chafee said he disaffiliated with the party he had helped lead, and his father had led before him, because the national Republican Party has gone too far away from his stance on too many critical issues, from war to economics to the environment.

“It’s not my party any more,” he said.

Chafee’s departure is another step in the waning of the strain of moderate Republicanism that was once a winning political philosophy from Rhode Island and Connecticut to the Canadian border. For the first time since the Civil War, the six New England states combined now have only one Republican U.S. House member, Connecticut’s Christopher Shays.

Chafee said he disaffiliated from the party “in June or July,” making him an unaffiliated voter. He did so quietly, and until yesterday, he said, “No one’s asked me about it.” He said he made the move because “I want my affiliation to accurately reflect my status.”

“There’s been a gradual depravation of … the issues the party should be strong on,” and the direction of the national party, he said.

That’s no secret. In a Journal Op-Ed piece published on the Thursday before the election, Chafee himself laid out some of the ways he disagreed with his party, notably as one of only 23 senators and the only Republican to oppose the resolution supporting the invasion of Iraq. He went on to criticize the “permanent deficits” caused by Republican tax cuts.

Chafee referred yesterday to the broad-based, bipartisan Iraq Study Group that Congress created, a process Chafee approved of. The study group recommended a gradual pullback of American forces, and insistence that the Iraqi government take more responsibility for security. But he said that since the study group made its recommendations, which he agreed with, “no one’s paid any attention to them.”

As the election approached, Chafee cited his record opposing Republican initiatives like drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.

Yesterday, he criticized Republican leaders for abandoning fiscal conservatism, once a mainstay of Republican politics, by passing tax cuts without spending cuts to balance the resulting loss of revenue.

He said the “starve the beast” strategy that Republicans have used in an attempt to shrink government has undermined social programs that bolster a strong American middle class. He mentioned Pell grants, which help needy students attend college, and Head Start programs, which support the education of low-income children. Instead of supporting those “good social programs,” he said, the party’s approach was “squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.”

Ironically, after all of Chafee’s opposition to the Republican policies he disagreed with, the party helped him survive a primary challenge from the right, from former Cranston Mayor Stephen P. Laffey. National Republican leaders supported Chafee, having concluded that even though Chafee had voted against many of President Bush’s initiatives, including authorizing the Iraq war, he was the only Republican who could win in Rhode Island.

Laffey has since attacked the national Republican leadership from the other side in a book saying that the party’s support for Chafee instead of himself was one of the reasons the Republicans were trounced in last year’s midterm elections.

But even a dissident Republican senator couldn’t satisfy voters when polls showed that President Bush was more unpopular here than in any other state. Chafee lost the Senate seat that he and his father, John H. Chafee, together held for 30 years. The victor was Democrat Sheldon Whitehouse, who pounded on one issue: Chafee had supported the Republican leadership of the U.S. Senate.

Chafee said he’s happy with his current situation — in January, Brown University made him a distinguished visiting fellow at the Thomas J. Watson Jr. Institute for International Studies.

He said he regrets that leaving the Republican Party means leaving the Rhode Island Republican Party, where he said he admires politicians such as Warwick Mayor Scott Avedisian and State Rep. Nicholas Gorham, R-Coventry, for “fighting the good fight.”

However, he said, “The national shadow just got too great for me.”

Little Known Secret

I'm going to let you in on a little known secret, something even most people local to Southern NE don't realize, September is the best beach month of the year around here. I know, you're skeptical, but I'm telling you it's true. Technically, summer just ended last weekend, but even now it's still in the 70's and 80's. And the water temperature in September is the warmest it gets all year, it's been working up to this temperature all summer. The beaches officially close for the summer Labor Day weekend, so they're free. Doesn't get better than free. And just about everyone stops going to the beach Labor Day weekend, so there are no crowds, no trouble finding a parking spot or getting the best spot on the beach.

Now most people have moved on to apple picking, hayrides, pumpkin carving, football and other fall activities because the start of school basically signifies the end of summer for us. But September is the best time to head to the beach. I've been spending my lunch hour walking the sea wall (now with my working ipod) and it is a little piece of heaven. It's not too hot or humid, there aren't swells of people to maneuver around. I don't have to fight for a parking spot. So go ahead, buck the trend, be a rebel - go to the beach instead of the orchard.

The Last Straw

There are many reasons I quit teaching, and I've addressed quite a few of them already. And while all of the experiences and stress that I went through during the two years I spent teaching English led to my decision to quit, there was that culminating moment when I knew I was done and I wasn't coming back for another year. Now, I wasn't all that thrilled about coming back for the second year. And everyone knew it. I discussed it with Blackstone, I discussed it with my mentor and close friend who taught in the room next door, I even discussed it with my department head, also a good friend. And I decided to give it another year, even though I wasn't happy about it and knew going in that it had a good chance of being my last.

I stayed because Blackstone was still in school full time working on his Master's degree and I was supporting us. Now I wasn't making much more than I could have waitressing but I didn't want to waitress again and I needed the health insurance. My department head took my ambivalence seriously, she knew I wasn't happy but she also believed I was a great teacher. She wanted me to stay and give it another year, not only to give it another chance for myself, but also because she was going through her second bout with breast cancer and would be undergoing a mastectomy and chemo and would be out the first semester of the following year. Having me stay on for another year meant one last worry for her during her health problems, knowing she had a competent teacher with at least some experience in the classroom would be a little peace of mind. Now, I'm not saying this was an altruistic decision on my part. I didn't just do it for her, but all signs seemed to be pointing to me doing at least one more year. It would also give me time to figure out what my next step was going to be.

Honestly, my heart was already gone from the job. I did my best to throw myself into the work and keep my spirits up knowing that I was not going to do this forever. But I became more enraged and depressed as the year went on. I was broke, it felt like I was going to toss my college education out the window and I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. I toyed with the idea of getting my Master's in English and becoming a college professor, but that didn't really appeal. I considered getting my Master's in Library Science and becoming a librarian, but at that point it didn't seem far enough away from the classroom. And so I figured I'd teach until I figured it out. That maybe I could find it in myself to do another year if need be. Until one fateful day, when I just knew I was done. If it had been another type of job, I would've handed in my resignation that day. But when you're a teacher, giving two weeks notice is not the same thing as it is in another profession. You're expected to wait until the end of school year. And like I said, then what? Waitress? Sub?

Jake, was one of my honors students. I'm not really sure why. He lacked motivation, was not exceptionally bright and did not have any friends in the class. He wasn't so bad off that I dropped him immediately, but my recommendation for next year would not be to continue in the honors track. He'd probably pass, but barely. The bell had just rung and I was putting the list of absentees in the slot by the door when he came in. I asked him if he had a pass and he didn't. Now this was his first offense late to class with no pass, which meant absolutely nothing. They can be late three times a quarter before they get detention and he knew this. I'm still standing in the doorway now crossing his name off the list when I hear this enormous crash. Jake had walked into the classroom, picked up his desk (the kind with the chair attached) and thrown it at the wall, smashing it. I was speechless, completely shocked and rather scared, as was every other student in the class. He turned before anyone could say anything and left the room. I called the office and reported the incident and then had to try to calm myself and the other kids and get down to business. Luckily, no one had been hurt.

Now, I know something other than me or being late had Jake all riled up. But there's no excuse for his behavior. Jake was suspended from school for one day. I spoke to his mother on the phone and she had the gall to tell me complacently, "Well, he does things like that sometimes." Are you kidding me??!!! It is not normal or okay for a kid to throw a desk at the wall! I knew after that day I was done. This job was just not worth this kind of stress. Jake returned to my class and I never had any further problems with him. I never stopped being afraid of him either.

Halloween Fever

Fall is hands down my favorite season. Fall in NE is a major part of why I could never live in another part of the country. I adore the changes in the weather. Summer here is hot, humid and feels like, well, summer. It's a great excuse to take time off and go to the beach. Even the first half of winter is great. And there's nothing better than spending a day snowed in the house, curled under your favorite warm and cuddly blanket in front of the fire. You're actually forced to take a day of rest. It's fabulous. Of course that last half of winter and first few weeks of spring here are misery. It's cold, raw and you're just aching to feel the warmth of the sun on your body. Sometimes I visit the tanning salon during the months of January, February and March just to warm myself up and infuse myself with a little artificial sun light. And who doesn't love spring? After the long dark and dank winter, the temperature starts to warm, the trees are in bud, the tulips start to sprout, the grass start turning green, the birds are singing and somehow it seems all is right with the world again. But fall is still my favorite.

I love crisp, clean smell of the air, and the colors of the foliage. I love apple picking, home-made apple pie (mine is the best you'll ever eat and that's no exaggeration) and the smell of leaves burning. I love the routine of fall. The kids back in school, helping them with their homework (Trouble's learning to read small words and LT is learning his colors, or more aptly, trying not to). And Halloween is coming and I LOVE Halloween. It is my favorite holiday. I love the corn mazes and spook trails (I can't wait until the boys are old enough to enjoy them), we try to bring them on ones that aren't too scary. Usually when people see you have young kids with you they keep it rather mild. The Jack-o-Lantern Spectacular with all the beautifully carved pumpkins lit up in the dark. I love the costumes and the parties, the scary stories and horror movies.

   

For the past four years we've dressed up the entire family. The first year Trouble was Scooby-Doo, I was Velma and Blackstone was Shaggy. (You can see I'm pregnant in this one, so LT got to be Velma too.) The second year Blackstone didn't get into it, but LT was Superman, Trouble was Spiderman and I was Cat Woman. The third year Trouble was a turtle, I was a bunny (The Tortoise and the Hare), LT was Curious George and Blackstone was The Man in the Yellow Hat (This was the year before the movie came out. I am just a woman ahead of her time. Of course if it had been the next year, more people would have known who Blackstone was.) Last year Trouble was a wolf, I was Little Red Riding Hood, LT was the Hunstman and Blackstone was Grandma.

Rest assured, this year's theme is currently planned and under development, though I think we may have a slight kink in the plan. LT wants the same costume as Trouble. I'm going to wait until we have the costumes and then see where we are. If LT is still adamant he wants a costume like his brother's, I'm going to relent. I'm not causing my kid undo stress by forcing him to wear the costume I chose for him. (I'm still stewing over the year my mother made me be a Smurf and my sister got to be Smurfette.) The theme will still work, it might even work better.

The Counter Fiasco

The counter top people have to come back and re-measure on Wednesday, which puts us back another week. Why do they have to come back? Because my husband and I have never designed a kitchen before and we both work full time. They came last Wednesday and called because they wanted to come early. I told them to talk to Blackstone since he's the one who was supposed to meet them with the contractor. They ended up just meeting with the contractor since they came early. Mistake Number Two: never should have let them come early. We'll address Mistake Number One later.

We had decided to put a back-splash on the counter, easier to clean, more sanitary. Then later we talked with the contractor and he suggested we put tile between the counter and the cabinets. He actually had to rip out part of the wall and put in new sheet rock due to the laminate that had been previously glued to the wall. So, in order to paint we'd need to prime and plaster the sheet rock and wouldn't tile be just dandy instead? We agreed, tile would be just dandy.

The counter top guy comes out and he has me on the phone and tells me that the back-splash height won't work under the outlets. They need to go smaller or we could forgo them since we're tiling. Rather than hang up with him, call my husband and call the guy back, I say to just go with the smaller back-splash since we'd already agreed we wanted it. Well, turns out it won't be so easy tiling between the outlets and the black-splash but since neither Blackstone nor I were there to talk this out and I had to do it over the phone, we didn't figure that out until we talked to the contractor after the fact. So, we figure no big deal, we'll call the counter top people right back and tell them to drop the back-splash. But of course, it's not that simple. They have to come back out and re-measure for the counter without the back-splash and it will cost us $275.

Wouldn't it have been nice if someone mentioned that to us when they asked us to come early? Said something to the effect of, "We'd like to come early and, oh and by the way, if there are any problems that could potentially cause us to have to come back out and re-measure because you weren't there to thoroughly discuss the options with your contractor, there will be a $275 charge for us to come back out." I doubt I would have agreed to let them come early had I known they'd screw us for being accommodating. I'm thinking I'll post the name of the wretched company and write them a scathing letter after I get my counters in. I'm NOT pleased. However, I'm not about to drop them since I've already paid for the darn thing and mostly just want my darn kitchen back already. And how many silestone companies you think are in the immediate area? I'm just not about to even look down that road. I tried calling and arguing this with them but since the contractor signed off on it, they won't waive the fee.

Now the contractor we're using is a young kid that just turned twenty. He's green but reliable and pretty good, but he doesn't know his way around the counter top people and such yet. He has agreed to take the $275 off his bill because he feels responsible, which is good of him. He is  partially responsible since he signed off on the counters and should have made the point to clarify the tile/back-splash situation with us before he did. But he was also surprised that the company charged to come back out. I suppose you could consider a green contractor as Mistake Number 1, but I like him. At least he shows up and doesn't go MIA on a bender for a week like the first contractor we had. Though I wonder if we'd have the same problem if we'd had the company we purchased from perform the installation. Of course we wouldn't have this problem if the darn counter top people had come at the agreed upon time too. The "What if?" game always gets you nowhere.

So far this debacle just confirms my desire to never opt to build my own house. Now Blackstone has this dream of someday building our dream house from the ground up. I'm sure for many people this is a dream they hope to realize one day, but not me. I can just imagine our kitchen gutting times ten. Because as much as there have been delays, extra expenses and endless aggravation, I understand that it's not because we are having an invariably worse time than anyone else re-doing their kitchen, it's just the way these things go. It always takes longer, costs more money, and causes more stress than you initially anticipated. No, my dream is not to build the painfully perfect house. I'll take the house that's close enough and already done behind door number two, Alex. Or perhaps I'll just keep the one that already has our money, blood, sweat and tears poured in it.

But what I'd really like to know is, is my anger at the counter top people misplaced? Am I taking my frustration of a delayed kitchen out on a company that doesn't deserve it? I feel they should have warned us if we weren't going to be able to be there early that there would be a charge to come back out, that they should have mentioned there might even be a need to come back out. But perhaps my perspective is distorted from too much MSG from all the frozen food and lunch meat?

Bleeding Heart

I am not the most emotional person. You can attribute it to my being an INTJ, my stoic Swedish genes, the wall I built around myself through childhood and adolescence - whatever it is, it takes a lot to get me worked up. But once I reach that breaking point where I can't ignore the emotions bottling up inside, watch out cause it's going to get messy. I don't deal with my emotions well and I try to remove myself from volatile situations I can't handle. This is one of the many reasons I quit teaching. There were way to many emotions flying around. It was like static electricity and was constantly getting zapped.

One of the sophomore girls was transfered into one of my classes, she was being dropped a level because everyone, her parents, teachers, guidance counselor, thought it was a good idea for her to take a bit of a breather from her honors classes. She needed a break from her academic work load because she had been raped - by her boyfriend, in her own bed - when her parents were away. At least that's the version I heard third or fourth hand, and I wasn't going to ask her about the particulars. My heart went out to this poor girl. She was only fifteen years-old, a smart girl, great student, cheerleader, but understandably depressed. She was able to coast effortlessly through my class, she did the work, answered the questions; but the light had gone out of her eyes. You could see she was inherently sad and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but trying not to show it. I was not legitimately supposed to know about her circumstances, so there wasn't much for me to do. It made me want to cry every time I looked at her to feel so helpless and angry.

I took the responsibility of convincing one of the ninth graders in my lower-level class to move up a level. He was a decent student, worked hard. It just took him a little longer than some of the more average-level kids. Though often the work he turned in was better, since he actually took the time to think about the assignment and do it correctly. Once he moved up a level, still in one of my classes, he had a difficult time adjusting. Not to the class work, to the other kids, some who saw him as the perfect target for their taunting and jokes. This kid, I'll call him Alex, was so sweet, and he took their jokes to heart. It tore me up because I felt responsible for convincing him to change classes. It may have been the right thing for him to do academically, but socially, it was torture. I think one of the reasons he'd been in the level he was, was to remove himself from these kids. He was hiding out. I suppose it could be that I did the right thing in pushing him into the correct level, making him face his demons. But it felt like I'd taken a kid who was terrified of the water and shoved him into a pool, and was just standing there, watching him fight to keep his head above water.

Alex was talking with me one day after class, it was right before mid-terms and the kid was down in the dumps. The bell had rung and he just continued sitting at his desk after all the other kids had left. I asked him how he was doing and he just shook his head.

"I'm just really sick of it," he told me.

My third sense was tingling.

"Are you stressed about your mid-term? I'm sure you'll do fine," I told him, which was the truth.

"No, it's not really that," he said. "Some days I just feel like . . . " and he put his hand to his head as if it were a gun and he was pulling the trigger, and made an exploding noise.

"Alex, it's pretty serious if you're talking about suicide. Are you sure you're okay? I can write you a pass to the guidance counselor," I offered.

"No, that's okay. I'll be alright," he sighs.

"Well, I'm going to mention this to your guidance counselor anyway. Is there anything I can help with? Let me write you a pass to your next class," I say. "You're going to be late."

He takes the pass and heads to his next class. I already have a room full of new students laughing and talking in front of me and don't even have time to process what has just happened or how immediate my course of action should be. I can't talk with his counselor now, it will have to wait until after school. I didn't really think he was serious, but even when a kid is joking about suicide, it's not good.

Alex and I sat down with his guidance counselor a few days later, which was rather uneventful. We let him know that there was help available to him if he wanted or needed it. But he never brought it up again. I'm sure Alex turned out just fine, but he shook me up.

There was nothing in my training about how to deal with a potentially suicidal student or a rape victim. I was not emotionally prepared to handle it. It was not what I had signed up for.

Manic Monday

Monday was a whirlwind. I stayed home because it was LT's first day of pre-school and I wanted to be home in case there were any problems (though I didn't expect any) and I wanted to pick him up. LT was very excited to finally be going to school like his brother. His only disappointment is that he doesn't get to take the bus.

I used the two hours to myself to finally unpack the boxes for my desk and get that organized. I'm taking two classes this semester and I want to get prepared before things get in full swing. One is an online course, so getting my computer's speakers hooked up was rather important.

I picked up LT who was completely non-plussed about the big deal of his first day and ran some errands. When it was time to get Trouble at the bus stop, it was raining. Bus stop's a tenth of a mile, so I put on our raincoats, grabbed an umbrella and headed to the corner. It started down pouring while we stood there for five minutes. During this time Blackstone calls to inform me that due to the weather, the plane is not flying to Block Island tonight and he'll have to take the ferry to the meeting he has to go to which means he'll have to stay over night since the ferry doesn't run that late. Oh, joyous news. This means I don't only have the kids by myself tonight, I also have them alone in the morning which means I have to wake LT up at 7 and get him dressed to walk to the bus stop again.

Trouble is dropped off and I slip on his raincoat and we start to walk back in the torrential rain. There is one small intersection between our house and the bus stop and it has flooded out completely. There is no way around it unless we turn around and walk two blocks out of our way. We all took our socks and shoes off and waded through the newly developed pond. By the time we get home, we all need dry clothes. Blackstone flies in and out of the house with just enough time to shower and pack a bag. After dinner, I realize at the last possible moment that tonight is the night I'm supposed to sign Trouble up for Tiger Cubs. I tell Trouble to put on a pair of jeans since he's wearing fluorescent green track pants with a red-checked, button-down shirt, and as we're walking out the door I realize he's put them on backwards. I point this out and he tells me he put the tag in the back.

"Your zipper is on your butt," I tell him.

"I don't care," he says.

"Good. Neither do I," I say, and we leave.

The hall in the basement of the church is chaos. They have tried to set up a craft for the kids, but since the scout leaders are working with the parents getting the kids signed up, the kids are running wild. My two were actually among the most calm of the group which is unusual. Somehow they're much worse at home than in a group. During the chaos, Blackstone calls to check-in. A short phone call since I can barely hear him. Then it's home for homework, baths and bed.

I've been thinking about what the next few months will entail. There will not be a functional kitchen until October and I'm back in the office five days a week. We now have Cub Scouts on Monday night, I have school on Wednesday night, boys have swim on Saturday morning and I have my online course. Oh and Blackstone has an average of 2 or 3 night meetings a week. What do think can I fit in piano lessons and karate? Yeah, probably don't want to over due it.

What Will Be The Fabulous New Kitchen

The cabinets are in, but the counter top people aren't coming to measure until Wednesday, so it will be at least another week or two before we have counters. The floor is on special order and we were just notified it will be delayed another week, so we're talking the last week of the month at least. But it's starting to take shape which is encouraging.

Solicited

Fourth period study hall is not a place that she normally stays. She practically always has a pass to the band room, journalism class, the library - but not today. There's a chemistry test she must review for the following period, so today she sits amongst a group of kids she rarely sees, none of whom she knows. This is fine by her, she's not exactly interested in socializing at the moment, or ever really, when it comes to the general adolescent public.

She fiddles with her hoop earring as she studies her periodic table. It's part of a large stapled packet, so full the staple can barely contain it all, and it's full of material she's expected to memorize over the course of the year. God, she hates this packet. She can sit for an hour and memorize one page for a test, and the next day it's gone from her brain as if its refused to hold material its deemed as useless. Her hair is pulled back in a pony tail, her tight black top is cut low and hugs her frame, her jeans are baggy and cinched at the waist with a large black belt. She's wearing the black Nike's with white trim that her mother can't stand, "Black sneakers are for boys." Whatever. She loves to experiment with her look. Baggy jeans and tight top one day, plaid skirt and blouse the next, then follow that with a black lace jumper and purple lipstick and no one has any idea what to make of you. It's like re-inventing herself every day - new style, new attitude, new persona.

"Hey, can I borrow a pencil," the guy seated next to her asks.

She stops fiddling with her earring, and wordlessly reaches into her book bag and pulls out a pencil and hands it to him, barely glancing in his direction. He's a senior by the looks of his facial hair, possibly held back. He looks too old for high school. His curly hair is slicked back and the smell of his Polo cologne is overpowering. Is it possible to wear Polo and not bathe in it? You walk past these guys in the hall and the smell hits you like a brick wall. Do any girls actually find that appealing?

"You're Veronica, aren't you?" he asks. Obviously, the pencil was not the object of his agenda.

"Yes," she replies, continuing to study the sheet in front of her. She has no desire to know this guy or give him the slightest encouragement to continue the conversation.

"So, I heard you like giving blow jobs," he says leaning closer in her direction.

Now, he has her attention. She turns to look at him, stunned and takes in the Cavaricci sweatshirt and gold chain around his neck. It couldn't be clearer if he were wearing a sign that stated "Italian Sleazeball." She knows that rumors are spread about her, that's been going on for years. Most of them started as jokes, but her refusal to debunk them and flair for the not-so-modest dressing of her well-developed figure has fueled the fire. But never has she blatantly been faced with someone who heard and unequivocally believed the rumors, nor has she heard that she enjoys giving head.

She could deny it, it would be the truth. He wouldn't believe her of course, but what difference would that make? Another guy spreading rumors about her and calling her a tease or a bitch isn't going to matter. But the shock of the situation is quickly wearing off, and she's beginning to find this amusing. Here she is, an honor student studying for her chem test being solicited for a blow job. It's hilarious really. Never had a boyfriend, barely any sexual experience to speak of, and this guy thinks she gives head on a regular basis.

"So, do you have plans this afternoon?" he asks, not giving her time to reply to his declaration. She knows the smart thing to do is shut this guy down and fast. Not gently, no niceties. Just rude, effective, direct and to the point. "In your dreams, loser," should do it.

But she doesn't. She is intrigued and almost strangely flattered. Even though she is not attracted to him, truly finds him rather repulsive, she says coyly, "No, no plans this afternoon." As if he's just asked her for help with his homework or to go for a soda.

There is this voice in her head whispering about what a bad idea this is, but she's refusing to listen. She's tired of playing it safe - her days filled with studying, chores, babysitting and rehearsals. Most other girls at her age have boyfriends, date, get past first base. At least this guy presents a break from the monotony, even if that isn't saying much. And her mother would hate this guy, which of course is a bonus.

So she gives him her address and phone number, wondering who this person is that's suddenly taken over her body. And when she goes with him that afternoon, what happens between them is neither intimate nor memorable. She declines to meet him again. There is no reason to. He brings her home and she goes up the stairs to her room and lies on her bed. She is happy to know that all traces of him will soon be gone. She is slightly sickened by the stench of Polo and the taste of him.