Part 3
Oral History, entry 3, unless you count Florence's, then it's entry 4.
In the car, Florence freaked out.
In the car, Florence freaked out.
"Notoo, Notoo! Where are we going?"
"I don't know the exact location, Florence dear," I said, trying to comfort my friend. "You must be calm."
"Calm! You want me to be calm??!!"
If I had known you were going to turn this Oral History into a farce, I wouldn't have let you finish the story!
Hehe, but it's so easy to tease you!
Notoo, I'm warning you.
You get so riled up!
Notoo!
Ok, ok. So basically we drove to our new home and were taken inside. They unloaded us in the kitchen, if the coffee pot is to be believed. I don't see why it had to be a kitchen. I've heard tell that coffee is a writer's survival, so it could easily have been a writer's room. But anyway, we were then manhandled into a backpack with a bunch of other office supplies before being carted off to some room or other, and here is where we've sat for the last couple days.
Notoo, I'm warning you.
You get so riled up!
Notoo!
School supplies.
Office supplies.
We're in a backpack with school supplies.
Office supplies.
We're in a backpack with school supplies.
That's what you keep saying, but I don't believe it. They are definitely office supplies.
The backpack has Disney characters plastered on the front. We're lying next to safety scissors and a box of crayons. And Elmer's glue. Elmer's glue, Notoo.
That doesn't mean anything. We could be heading for an artist's studio.
Who can't use adult scissors?
I don't know! I just know I can't be on my way to elementary school. My destiny is not to go to a children's primary school. It's just not.
You're in denial.
La, la, la! Yes, I am! You cannot persuade me! I will not become the tool of a sticky, stinky hand that only uses me to scribble on a desk when the teacher isn't looking.
You're becoming a pessimist. School is the best place for a pencil!
I refuse to be graffiti on the side of a desk!
School is so much more than that.
Nothing "fantastic" happens at school. Nothing grand and glorious and world-changing. Unless you count the amount of paper consumed on "practicing." Notice my air quotes? Yeah, that's because they don't know anything yet, so they have to keep practicing and practicing and practicing. And practicing.
You're only looking at the downside.
Look at that safety scissor over there. It has no sharp edge. It has no excitement. No snap and sizzle. It's bland and dull. That's what school life does to pencils like us. It takes all the fun out of living.
That's a horrible philosophy!
You've got to understand, I want to do something with my meager life, Florence. Not spend my days in a school room! Those who can, write or sketch; those who can't, go to school. That's what the mechanical pencil at the store taught me. I refuse to believe that I can't do anything more than be a school child's pencil. I--I--well, you couldn't understand.
I do understand. But you're wrong about school. You shouldn't have listened to those mechanical pencils--
You listened to Cliff Notes with all his snotty "I'm better than you. I can quote Shakespeare's soliloquy. To be or not to be, that is the question!" What does that mean, anyway? To be a pencil or not to be a pencil? I am a pencil, and I'm proud of it! Cliff Notes was a jerk, but I didn't tell you to stay away from him, did I?
No, but I knew he was a pompous know-it-all, so I learned what I could and didn't listen to the rest. The mechanical pencils probably had some good ideas, sure, but what they told you about school--that was horribly wrong! School is where children learn.
Florence, I've been spending all my moments learning and soaking in information and talking to staplers and hole punchers and, yes, to the mechanical pencils. You know why? Because I wanted to learn! I'm not against learning. I love learning! But I've learned everything now. I'm ready to do what I was made for. I'm ready to be used by an expert, not by some kid that still doesn't know his ABCs. I mean, seriously, can you imagine this beautiful specimen, this ribbon of graphite, fresh out of the factory mind you, being degraded to writing 1+1=2? I'm serious, Florence. I can't. I won't.
I refuse to be graffiti on the side of a desk!
School is so much more than that.
Nothing "fantastic" happens at school. Nothing grand and glorious and world-changing. Unless you count the amount of paper consumed on "practicing." Notice my air quotes? Yeah, that's because they don't know anything yet, so they have to keep practicing and practicing and practicing. And practicing.
You're only looking at the downside.
Look at that safety scissor over there. It has no sharp edge. It has no excitement. No snap and sizzle. It's bland and dull. That's what school life does to pencils like us. It takes all the fun out of living.
That's a horrible philosophy!
You've got to understand, I want to do something with my meager life, Florence. Not spend my days in a school room! Those who can, write or sketch; those who can't, go to school. That's what the mechanical pencil at the store taught me. I refuse to believe that I can't do anything more than be a school child's pencil. I--I--well, you couldn't understand.
I do understand. But you're wrong about school. You shouldn't have listened to those mechanical pencils--
You listened to Cliff Notes with all his snotty "I'm better than you. I can quote Shakespeare's soliloquy. To be or not to be, that is the question!" What does that mean, anyway? To be a pencil or not to be a pencil? I am a pencil, and I'm proud of it! Cliff Notes was a jerk, but I didn't tell you to stay away from him, did I?
No, but I knew he was a pompous know-it-all, so I learned what I could and didn't listen to the rest. The mechanical pencils probably had some good ideas, sure, but what they told you about school--that was horribly wrong! School is where children learn.
Florence, I've been spending all my moments learning and soaking in information and talking to staplers and hole punchers and, yes, to the mechanical pencils. You know why? Because I wanted to learn! I'm not against learning. I love learning! But I've learned everything now. I'm ready to do what I was made for. I'm ready to be used by an expert, not by some kid that still doesn't know his ABCs. I mean, seriously, can you imagine this beautiful specimen, this ribbon of graphite, fresh out of the factory mind you, being degraded to writing 1+1=2? I'm serious, Florence. I can't. I won't.
Notoo . . .
I mean it, Florence. I won't go to school. If they take me to a school, I'll--I'll--I'll escape!
But Notoo--
No! I don't want to talk about it any more.
Dear Oral History. Notoo refused to talk to me all yesterday and all night simply because he's scared of going to school. My first thought was, "Well, of all the proud things to do. He won't even listen to reason, and yet he called Cliff Notes snotty? He's becoming just like him!" But of course I couldn't tell Notoo that. No, because Notoo was giving me the silent treatment. I couldn't believe it! How could I explain to him what I had learned from the crayons and glue and yes, even the safety scissors? They told me stories passed on to them about a wonderful world. A world of color and creativity. A world where everything is fresh and new and little minds are stretching and growing. Notoo doesn't realize that a classroom is filled with more potential and possibilities than he can imagine. He wouldn't be part of one author or one artist's world. He'd be part of a whole classroom of future whatever-they-want-to-be-when-they-grow-up. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could share the truth with him. But he has shut me out. Why won't he listen? Why, Oral History? Why?
Notoo--
No, Florence, I won't talk about it.
But, Notoo, I--
Stop. Just stop. I don't want to talk right now.
Ok.
I miss my friend. He hasn't talked to me all night long. I know he is still mad at me. But what did I do? What terrible thing did I say that makes him refuse to talk to me? I don't know what to do. I wish I hadn't said anything. I wish I had let him think what he wanted to think. But it wasn't true! He can still have a good life even if we end up at a school. Why can't he understand that? The sun is coming up. I can feel the heat through the window. It's morning. What will happen if Notoo and I get sent to a school today? Will I lose my friend? I don't know. I'm scared.
Notoo, I think we're being moved.
I know.
Maybe you're right. Maybe we're going to an office.
No, we're going to a school.
I'm sorry, Notoo.
For what? It's not your fault that my life is over.
Oh, Notoo.
All my life has been sitting on a shelf or sitting in a backpack on the floor. Sitting still. No movement.
But this child who is wearing this blasted Disney backpack I'm in is bouncing around so much it's like the rolling cart episode all over again. I think I'm going to be sick.
Oh, it must be entering the classroom now. The teacher sounds far too perky. "Welcome! My name is Miss Rose. I'm so happy to be your teacher this year!" Bleh. Whatever. Agh! C'mon, set me down with a little finesse, not with a clump. When will this agony be over? More fluorescent lighting. At least that is familiar. So long, crayons. So long, Elmer's glue. So long, scissors. Ok, here comes my turn. Up, up, and away! Over the top of the backpack, and oh, sheesh, turn down the color, teacher. Yellows, reds, blues. Believe me, this explosion of color is not going to make my work any easier, and if this child is anything like how it walks, it's going to need all the help I can give it.
"It" is a girl. It's a she.
Whatever.
What's that? A pencil box? Aaaah! We're being dumped into it!
Florence!
I'm sinking, Notoo!
Hey you, get off me. Florence, are you okay?
I'm here! Next to the big, blue smelly marker.
Ouch! Ack! She's dumping crayons on top of me! Ow! Aaah!
I think I can see you, Notoo!
I can't see anything but colored wax and paper. Are you okay?
Yeah, I'm okay. Wishing I was still next to you despite all your grumpiness, but okay.
I had a reason to be grumpy. Look at us now. Shoved into a unorganized plastic junk box.
I've had just about enough of your griping and complaining, Notoo. It's bad enough that you called our new owner an "it." And how you perceive school is absolutely ridiculous. Yes, ridiculous! But how you treated me the last couple days is unacceptable. You can't treat your friends like that. Do you hear me? You cannot shut me out of your life. We're from the same pack. I know you're disappointed, but you have to figure out a way to bear it. All right? This is where we are, and complaining isn't going to help anything.
I'm sorry, Florence.
You should be.
No, I really am. I'd give anything to be able to just see you right now.
I know.
But, Florence?
What?
I think when we get out of this box, I think if I work hard enough, I can get up enough inertia to push my way out the door. It's not too far away, I don't think. And maybe if one of these kids accidentally kicks me--
Oh, Notoo!
I mean it, Florence. I won't go to school. If they take me to a school, I'll--I'll--I'll escape!
But Notoo--
No! I don't want to talk about it any more.
Dear Oral History. Notoo refused to talk to me all yesterday and all night simply because he's scared of going to school. My first thought was, "Well, of all the proud things to do. He won't even listen to reason, and yet he called Cliff Notes snotty? He's becoming just like him!" But of course I couldn't tell Notoo that. No, because Notoo was giving me the silent treatment. I couldn't believe it! How could I explain to him what I had learned from the crayons and glue and yes, even the safety scissors? They told me stories passed on to them about a wonderful world. A world of color and creativity. A world where everything is fresh and new and little minds are stretching and growing. Notoo doesn't realize that a classroom is filled with more potential and possibilities than he can imagine. He wouldn't be part of one author or one artist's world. He'd be part of a whole classroom of future whatever-they-want-to-be-when-they-grow-up. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could share the truth with him. But he has shut me out. Why won't he listen? Why, Oral History? Why?
Notoo--
No, Florence, I won't talk about it.
But, Notoo, I--
Stop. Just stop. I don't want to talk right now.
Ok.
I miss my friend. He hasn't talked to me all night long. I know he is still mad at me. But what did I do? What terrible thing did I say that makes him refuse to talk to me? I don't know what to do. I wish I hadn't said anything. I wish I had let him think what he wanted to think. But it wasn't true! He can still have a good life even if we end up at a school. Why can't he understand that? The sun is coming up. I can feel the heat through the window. It's morning. What will happen if Notoo and I get sent to a school today? Will I lose my friend? I don't know. I'm scared.
Notoo, I think we're being moved.
I know.
Maybe you're right. Maybe we're going to an office.
No, we're going to a school.
I'm sorry, Notoo.
For what? It's not your fault that my life is over.
Oh, Notoo.
Part 3b
So much bouncing.All my life has been sitting on a shelf or sitting in a backpack on the floor. Sitting still. No movement.
But this child who is wearing this blasted Disney backpack I'm in is bouncing around so much it's like the rolling cart episode all over again. I think I'm going to be sick.
Oh, it must be entering the classroom now. The teacher sounds far too perky. "Welcome! My name is Miss Rose. I'm so happy to be your teacher this year!" Bleh. Whatever. Agh! C'mon, set me down with a little finesse, not with a clump. When will this agony be over? More fluorescent lighting. At least that is familiar. So long, crayons. So long, Elmer's glue. So long, scissors. Ok, here comes my turn. Up, up, and away! Over the top of the backpack, and oh, sheesh, turn down the color, teacher. Yellows, reds, blues. Believe me, this explosion of color is not going to make my work any easier, and if this child is anything like how it walks, it's going to need all the help I can give it.
"It" is a girl. It's a she.
Whatever.
What's that? A pencil box? Aaaah! We're being dumped into it!
Florence!
I'm sinking, Notoo!
Hey you, get off me. Florence, are you okay?
I'm here! Next to the big, blue smelly marker.
Ouch! Ack! She's dumping crayons on top of me! Ow! Aaah!
I think I can see you, Notoo!
I can't see anything but colored wax and paper. Are you okay?
Yeah, I'm okay. Wishing I was still next to you despite all your grumpiness, but okay.
I had a reason to be grumpy. Look at us now. Shoved into a unorganized plastic junk box.
I've had just about enough of your griping and complaining, Notoo. It's bad enough that you called our new owner an "it." And how you perceive school is absolutely ridiculous. Yes, ridiculous! But how you treated me the last couple days is unacceptable. You can't treat your friends like that. Do you hear me? You cannot shut me out of your life. We're from the same pack. I know you're disappointed, but you have to figure out a way to bear it. All right? This is where we are, and complaining isn't going to help anything.
I'm sorry, Florence.
You should be.
No, I really am. I'd give anything to be able to just see you right now.
I know.
But, Florence?
What?
I think when we get out of this box, I think if I work hard enough, I can get up enough inertia to push my way out the door. It's not too far away, I don't think. And maybe if one of these kids accidentally kicks me--
Oh, Notoo!
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