For Us This Once - Chapter Two

There wasn’t much left for anyone to say or do that day; either one had adequately prepared for one’s exams or one hadn’t. John did as well as he usually did; rather than cramming the night before as many of his classmates were inclined to do, he simply paid attention in class when the information was first taught and took reasonably detailed notes. School and schoolwork had always come easy to him. His test scores typically ranged from high B to low A if he didn’t study, and mid-A or higher if he did.

Because today’s two exams fell right within his wheelhouse (Junior English and Ancient History), a brief glance over his notes the night before would suffice. Every question he answered with a reasonable amount of confidence. John liked learning, and thus the mental block and test-taking anxiety that plagued many of his classmates left him unscathed. His view had been even from early on in elementary school that he was no smarter than his classmates, only that some of them had developed the identity of being bad at math, of not being able to take tests, or of reading too slowly, and therefore needed to maintain those identities as a means of avoiding failure by never trying in the first place.

John had grown up with them, built forts in the woods with them, played Mario Kart for hours on end with them, and had never once felt that their intellectual and problem-solving abilities were any less developed than his own. They simply had declared reading to be hard and not fun, and so never read; John did. Each passing year had only strengthened their negative self-fulfilling prophesies, to the point where now any real attempt to pay attention or study beyond what was necessary to stay in school was a foregone conclusion. Being the “dumb kids” had its own set of perks, the greatest of which being lowered (or even nonexistent) expectations from parents, teachers and classmates.

“What did you say for the Huck Finn question?” Kip asked as John sat down beside him at lunch. It was taco day, an absolute crowdpleaser, though the dining hall was a bit emptier than usual. Most of the seniors had finished their exams earlier in the week and had already left for break. On this particular day, juniors reigned supreme, and six tacos per person would be the rule, not the exception.

“I just mostly focused on how he and Jim represent the cultural interaction between slaves and poor Southern whites in the antebellum South and how slavery was harmful for both groups, though to differing degrees,” John said as he took his first crunchy bite. “I think it turned out alright, maybe a little bit short though. How ‘bout you?”

“I argued that the Mississippi symbolizes God leading them to better things and a better life,” Kip answered with a bit of bravado in his voice. “I actually got the full two pages out of it.” John smirked behind his taco and continued eating. He’d known Kip for a long time, and could clearly interpret his implication. The Academy, as their school was known, was a private school, and a religiously-affiliated one at that, and the teachers there went absolutely bananas for any use of God in any context outside of religion class. Kip certainly knew this, and had played a smart, though pandering hand. Kip had a competitive fire in him that John typically lacked, and his tacit intention here was to imply he would likely get a better grade than John would.

“Ninety-five or better, for sure, man,” John replied plainly, hoping to diffuse the situation. Their friendship functioned best when there was no game to be won, no sides to take, no point of view to argue.

“I’m sure Mr. Reed will be big on yours too, even if it wasn’t quite long enough,” Kip answered with just a hint of facetiousness. Again, John chose not to answer. Arguments and competitions with Kip no longer interested him. In years past he might have engaged Kip in battle, but no longer. Every skirmish with Kip was at best a Pyrrhic victory, a bloody Antietam, so much energy expended and nothing gained, and at worst an entire evening or weekend ruined. Kip was a feast-or-famine kind of friend; he either split your sides or boiled your blood. Though he was in the minority, John found it worth his while to tough out the difficult times with Kip in order to enjoy the exhilarating ones.

Despite how frustrating it was at times to be around Kip, John understood where his competitive streak came from. Kip came from a big family, with lots of older brothers and sisters, and a big house broken up by divorce when he was still very young. His father, his uncles, his brothers, perhaps everyone with the same last name as him were exceptionally opinionated people who wouldn’t hesitate to mow you down with a barrage of supporting information and personal attacks should you ever make the grave mistake of expressing an opinion contrary to any of theirs. You either believed what they believed, and thought what they thought, or you were wrong, and needed to know every possible reason why you were wrong. You could not agree to disagree, cite creative differences, or acknowledge the lack of objective reality available to subjective human experience, no; they would not stop until you verbally stated that you had been enlightened and swayed irreversibly by their argument.

Of course, the arguments they had with each other were just heated as those they had with outsiders, perhaps even more so. Kip, in order to maintain an identity in this environment, had developed an argumentative ability and knack for cutting down his opponents rivaled only by his brothers and sisters. And they, like Kip, were an absolute blast to be around, so long as you never got them going on any hot-button issue or topic of discussion. A talented family, every one of them a gifted singer and musician, you never had a boring time over at their house. A six-hour game of Monopoly would leave your face sore from laughing so hard; an evening of charades would have you begging for mercy. They were gods of the hearth, titans of the entertaining evening. There was a joy and an intelligence in their music and comedy that one would be hard-pressed to find elsewhere. Even John, who had never been particularly musically inclined before, learned how to sing (and how to be funny) from years spent in their midst. An evening at their house was a show, there was no better way to put it, and the privileged few in the audience knew they were witnessing nothing short of a miracle.

“Where’s Austin?” John asked, changing the subject.

“Already ate, outside hacky sackin’ it up with Sandy,” Kip answered with a hint of resentment in his voice. “Lindsey too, probably.” Despite typically avoiding attention whenever he could, Austin had a girlfriend, without having put any real effort into the matter. Simply put, he was a nice guy, and quite funny, once one sifted through the sadness. Maternal instincts or not, one just felt compelled to protect him, to hold him close, to ease his suffering. He and Sandy had gotten together at the beginning of the year, and though he didn’t know for sure, John suspected Sandy had asked Austin out and not the other way around. Girls liked him, and guys did too, if he gave them the chance to get to know him.

Kip, by contrast, did not have a girlfriend and desperately sought one out. His efforts to entertain and court the ladies came early and often. Though his sharp wit raised his social stock, his strong opinions and penchant for verbal personal attacks severely damaged his value as a dating prospect. As hard as he could make them laugh, no girl wanted to run the risk of being humiliated in front of her friends and classmates. Kip, though very bright, could not see the connection between his behavior and his romantic predicament. He blamed luck, or chance, or the girls not knowing him well enough. With each new relationship in their class, his resolve strengthened and his efforts doubled.

“Wonder how many tacos he had,” John said dreamily.