Life On Broadway

Third period.

I'm sitting at the very front of the room in the first seat of the first row.

This teacher has been my teacher for years, and although she personally can't see past the studious, poised young woman "vibes" I give off, she's had me as a student for almost two years, so she's learned from experience that sometimes I can be a bit raucous. I also sometimes do silly things that a small amount of thinking would have prevented me from doing (Cough cough, throwing a paper airplane that accidentally hits the teacher instead of the student it's aimed at. Cough).

We've all had our fun in that class. I remember last year we all loved 3rd period and all the stupid little high school jokes we'd pull. Every day was an off topic day. Every day somebody would say something hilarious that we'd be quoting for weeks.

That class was awesome.

Now, however, it's about as dry as the Sahara. No fun. No laughs. Just the buzzing of the air conditioner and the pitiful attempts at enthusiasm by our teacher. Dry.

It's not even thought provoking. The subject we are taught could be fun and exciting, but instead makes us feel as though we never graduated grade school.

Depressing, to say the least. People with books and phones under their desks. Homework from other classes. Writing notes and letters to their friends in English. Doing everything but paying attention.

And this teacher sees it all. Nobody's exactly discreet about it. We've all learned over the years that you need a small amount of backbone to bust a kid for breaking the rules, so we're good to go.

Anyways, this class is about as fun sucking as it gets, so you can't help but encourage your mind to wander to happier places.

And so I'm sitting there, my cheek turning red from being propped up by my hand. My hair in my face. My thumbs twiddling. My foot tapping. My headphones on.

And I look around.

And I get up.

And I pop out of my seat and belt out everything that I've been holding back. And I'm singing and I'm dancing and I'm twirling and hopping and skipping all across the room. And I'm grabbing papers off desks and I'm throwing 'em all around so that the class is white with falling stationery. And everybody's looking up at me bewildered. Until finally my friend from across the room gets up and we're harmonizing and we're dancing in sync. And one by one the rest of the class follows en suite. And my teacher's standing at the front of the room watching this whole spectacle unfold in front of her. And in the blink of an eye we change out of our boring school clothes, and the girls have got on classy black evening gowns with white elbow length gloves, and the boys have got on crisp, white tuxedos, with black bow ties. And the desks have magically cleared. So have the walls, in fact, and behind them unfolds an auditorium with blue and green spotlights, props, and an audience.

An audience, clapping and cheering and they are on their feet with joy and laughter and awe at our remarkable talent.

And the spotlight's on me for a moment, until it expands to fit every kid in that class. And we're on the finale and we're in perfect sync and we're harmonizing perfectly. And finally two boys prop me up and I'm on their shoulders and my hands are in the air and we're smiling and we've forgotten all our cares and woes because when it's show biz, everything has a happy ending.

We are in a musical.

Folks, my life is a musical.

My daydream ends as soon it begins, and I'm back at the front of the room in the first seat of the front row and I'm missing out on the notes. I wipe the slobber off my chin, I stretch, I close my eyes, and I take myself to another theater far enough from this hell hole till I won't be able to smell the stench of draining brain power.