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killmeinthemorning · 4 years

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I remember the first time I was allowed to draw on graph paper.

It was a rather drab day. The heaven wept gently o'er the winds of hell and carried their icy bite only deeper into the thick, warm fabric of my zippered Hoodie.

Another new student had transferred into Ms. Cisneros' third grade class. Patrick.

Patrick often drew vehicles in rear profile. The shape was consistent. A single trapezoid set atop 3 rectangles.

The method was forgiving. The steps were simple, and fun, to follow all while retaining the intended shape of a vehicle.

Not long after seeing the process brought to life I sought to recreate this myself. I achieved my goal and repeated the performance regularly from that day on.

Soon after I would see a retro-styled couple cruising calmly down the boulevard. The driver had not care in the world, and of this I was envious. Even today as I write this, some 17 years later, I envy the joy that man was feeling. Perhaps even more so now.

The coke-bottle physique and illustrious curves of a bygone era aroused in me a sense of elegance and culture and I immediately began revised my soon-to-be art project as my mother and I finished our weeks shopping.

I bolted up all twenty-two poured concrete steps to our second floor apartment, being careful to step lightly on the cracking blocks. The floor had no time to moan or sag as I danced across it at lightspeed, my heartbeat reverberated through every empty pocket between my atoms as I raced to the sanctity of my bedroom. There i could craft my masterpiece.

Many broken hearted hours later I had pounded my fists against the cheap, grainy wooden planks of my desk too many times. My heart sank through the air before me with each failed render. Uneven angles, Over-erasure, and the Solemn Woe of Defeat had soured my youthful exuberance and bred rage in the sugars of it's hope.

My feet swung freely beneath the generic plastic chair once more. The smell of warm rubber and freshly shaven wood hung in the air. Time always seemed to stand still here. No matter how far that little red lever swung it somehow hadn't moved one bit

Today they would be learning something new.

Charts.

Personally I never found charts difficult to interpret or understand, but that was a quality not shared amongst my peers and so here we sat on yet another dreary afternoon.

At the outset I found the notion repugnant. Asking me to recite what I knew presently was not "learning", but rather wasting my time; not to mention painfully boring. Unfprtunately though, the concerns of children are not oft the concerns of their master.

Today though, was different. Today the concerns of the child would become those of the master. Even if only for a moment.

Ms. Cisneros held high in her hand a simple bar graph. The graph described only that imaginary children (whom I must only assume are lost in orchard) possessed a metered number of tree-fruit. This, to me, was banal at best but, something wonderful laid woven into to the imagery behind what nonsensical ideas were scrawled atop. It was a matrix of potential. So many perfectly even cells pressed neatly into a masterful grid. Suddenly my mind was flooded with images of each interlocking square bearing single lines and illustrated angles in their lovely little web. Floating, shifting, emerging and sinking into the abyss of an 8 year old's imagination, constructing what?

How?

Why?

Then Suddenly, it appeared!

Like a single arm of Cthulu thrust above water to collect a tender helpless morsel of prey.

Through the mess of hatches and scrawls rose the image of that Coca-Cola figured Cruiser in rear profile, the very same Cruiser that had plauged me for what now seemed to be an eternity. Only this time, it was neatly arranged in a perfect grid. No more than two lines present in any one block. Each blocked arranged to form an isometric mirror across the vertical axis.

Without even a twitch of the shoulder and nary a second thought I leapt from my seat and burst out:

"Missus "C"! Wjat is the name of that beautiful sheet and Where do I get that magnificent paper!?"

The class fell silent.

All that could be heard now was the gentle whir of the over head projector's exhaust fan; and that familiar, hollow sound of your heartbeat in a vacuum.

My blood ran cold as I realized what I had done.

The severity (may we excerpt as we carry along? Good) of my interruption was unlike any seen before (ahhh the joy that was once the mind of a child). This was a truly heinous act(so i thought). Certainly worthy of expulsion, (its rather quite laughable now) suspension at the least!

How will she react?

What's next?

How long will it be until someone speaks?

How long has it been!?

Finally ice gave way and I found myself drenched in fear, frozen in place when Ms. Cisneros began to speak.

"Well sir, this called "graph paper" She said calmly.

Her voice was soft and bore no malice whatsoever. The waters around me warmed as I realized my error. How could I have forgotten? There's nothing wrong with being excited to learn something new.

"You may pick up the stack from my desk and pass them out to the class when I'm done speaking if you like"

I heard a whisper in the back of my mind, "Nothing to panic about now. Just wait for the presentation to end and make your way to the back of the class".

I nodded silently and collapsed into my seat with a -CLACK- as the loose plastic chair slammed into the steel supports beneath it. Surely I had dodged a bullet. I could still feel the heat radiating from my face. But the outcome was ideal.

Ms. Cisneros concluded swiftly, the subject matter was not particularly difficult, even for a cast of 8 and 9 year, olds and so we were on our way shortly after my momentary meltdown.

I felt every muscle straining against my very skin as I tried not to sprint. Somehow, still, my knees felt weak in all of this. As I approached the wonderful white and blue sheets I froze for just a moment. There they stood before me. The answer.

That was the first time I had ever seen graph paper.

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