The Life of a Sophisticated Moron

The Life of a Sophisticated Moron

After repeatedly slamming down the sleep button on my alarm I lay there thinking to myself that I should at least make some sort of effort to get my day started. I jump out of bed and suddenly fall back again when my eyes start to blur and my forehead feels like a bull’s-eye being punctured with and arrow. Note to self: Never make a sudden movement after sleeping for nine hours. After about thirty seconds and I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out anymore, I manage to trip over my backpack, pulling down all my bed sheets with me, stub my toe on my art desk, step in who knows what, and ram straight into the closet door all before managing to turn on the light. Wow! That would fit well into one of those cheesy kids movies because it would be really funny if it didn’t hurt so much. Question of the day: Why did Murphy have to make up that stupid law anyway? Well, I guess it just helps those, like myself, who can’t stand the taste of coffee a way of waking up in the morning. Okay, my name’s Anna Tucker. So if you didn’t know, the name Anna is of Hebrew origin and means graceful. Ha! Me, Anna Tucker, the biggest klutz in the world graceful? Random fact of the day: the name Anna also means living fragrance of nothing. I kid you not. It just goes to show that whoever made up the meanings of names sure had a sense of humor. So I’m a normal teenager living a normal teenage life? Well I guess you could say I was a normal teenager living a normal teenage life.

I live in an itty bitty town called Bridgewater , which is a billion and two miles from anything of significance, in the lovely, vast state of Iowa. Honestly, what ever happens in Iowa? Our newspaper consists of two things; what’s going on everywhere else in the world, and the Obituaries. Please, why can’t you just say the people are dead? Why do we have to come up with words like “deceased”, “passed away”, or “obituaries”? Not saying we shouldn’t respect the dead or anything, but we’re all going to bite the dust sometime, so there’s no use avoiding it. Anyways, I’m a sophomore at Bridgewater High, which is connected to Bridgewater Middle and Elementary Schools. Random fact: Sophomore means sophisticated moron, which just about sums it up. Going to the only school in our small town and having a class of 23 students leaves a real distinction of the groups. First there are the “Popular Preps” who everyone looks up to like royalty; then there are “the Floaters” who aren’t really unpopular yet are not officially dubbed into the royal group but would often times do anything to be a part of it, there is the “Nerd Herd.” Who really wears short shorts supported by high-waisted leather belts and plays Pokemon even though that phase died out like what 4 years ago? Finally there are the “Rejects,” who really don’t fit in any group but they are the farthest thing from popular. They’re just there, if you know what I mean. I think that we’re all idiots but we can have it just so planned out that we look like we have it all together. So the name, sophisticated morons really does fit and I’m not offended at all. There is not much more to tell about our school except that nothing ever happens at any of the Bridgewater Schools!! There is no grafitti on the walls, no ones ever been caught smoking or doing drugs, no girl has gotten pregnant. We really have the reputation of being an upstanding school. That all changed on December 7, 2004.

You probably recognized the date December 7th as the date of Pearl Harbor, just a different year and if you didn’t-well, you know it now. I had always read about tragedies such as Pearl Harbor in history books and magazines but I really didn’t care. I’m not saying I never I felt bad and all but just as long as it didn’t directly affect me I was fine. My life has been pretty much tragedy free. I’m not saying that I was never sad or lonely but I normally got over it quickly and it was never a huge deal. Tragedy at our school has always been stuff like two girls wearing the same shirt on the same day (heaven forbid) or the cafeteria ladies cooking “chef’s surprise” and serving three days in a row. (Now that’s enough to make you cry!) December 7, 2004 changed my view on tragedy and even life completely.

Mr. Klob, the World History teacher, is just like his name. He’s one big blob who wears a polo and penny loafers. His voice drones on like a herd of croaking bullfrogs. Random Question: Do bullfrogs even live in herds? If you have ever seen the blue jean commercial where the girl jumps up and exclaims passionately “HISTORY? I LOVE HISTORY!” Let me tell you one thing, that girl was definitely not in Mr. Klob’s fourth period class. Mr. Klob is totally oblivious to what goes on in his classroom. He doesn’t realize that while he is glued to his daily crossword puzzle, students take liberties to do absolutely whatever they want. There are always a few who actually do what they are suppose to do - but again, Klob the Blob takes no notice.
One of those people is Kendra Maize. I’ve known Kendra ever since Kindergarten. I can remember the first day of school when we met for the first time. Being the outspoken person that I am, I went up to her in my sweet 80’s leggings and bowl cut hair that my sister claimed looked like a piecrust and introduced myself. “Hi! I’m Anna, what’s your name, do you like my sweater, I don’t but my mom made me wear it for the first day of school, wanna go play dress up?” Kendra has always been the opposite of me and maybe that’s why we get along so well. She’s very quiet and I never stop talking. She always follows the rules, and I tend to test the rules and their enforcers. I don’t let anyone mess with me but Kendra just quietly ignores when people call her names like “Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes, “ or just act like plain jerks. Words of Wisdom: Some people are never anything but jerks. I guess our friendship proves that opposites attract, in our world today, you can never really be sure if that’s true; I guess it just goes to show you how screwed up this culture really is.

In an instant life can change. You can go from counting the spit wads on Mr. Klob’s ceiling, to counting your blessings, from being thankful that there are only four minutes left until school gets out, to being thankful that you are alive to live those four minutes, from planning the future, to wondering if you’re even going to be there living that future. I’ve experienced this dramatic change personally so I’m not like those people who pretend they know it all when really they have no clue what the heck they’re talking about. You could say that I learned this lesson the hard way but I think learning it the hard way is the only way to truly grasp this lesson.

He just stood there in the doorway, arms extended, gun raised, a malicious grin swiped on his face. Mr. Klob looks up for the first time from his crossword, wondering who would dare disturb his daily solitude. You can see the panic inch up his face soon enveloping his whole body, as he begins to comprehend the situation, but he never moves a muscle. The door slams shut as the gunman moves into the classroom. As he maneuvers between the desks I recognize him as Nick Jeffery. Nick Jeffery has always been one of the lowest on the totem pole, as he fits into the group of “Rejects.” Spontaneously he spins around and shoves the gun barrel into Tim McDaniel’s chest. No one breathes as Nick asks, “You play sports?” as if it wasn’t obvious by his Nike sports apparel. “Y…yes, “ he stutters. No sooner had he uttered the last syllable then a deafening gunshot echoed off the stark walls. My head sinks into the table as I wince not wanting to see the results of a bullet shot at close range. Each person breathes a sigh of relief as Nick passes by them, but not all are lucky enough to have the abiliy to breathe as Nick asks questions like, “What’s your favorite color?” “Pink…” “Too bad mine’s black.” Another bullet finds its mark. “What radio station do you listen to?” “102.7.” “Aww shucks!” One by one I watch people who I have gone to school with for my whole life slump over their desks, never to live another day. Why isn’t Mr. Klob doing anything! my head screams. “Just keep breathing!” I tell myself over and over. All of a sudden my senses go completely numb as Nick stands directly behind my chair. There are too many emotions running though my head to know how to even react. I want to scream, cry, and pray but instead I just sit there. Kendra quickly stands up without a word and walks over to my chair. Nick wears a look between a scowl and confusion as Kendra embraces me from behind. My mind becomes more twisted as new emotions fly across my brain. “Kendra don’t,” I say in a barely audible whisper. In that same whisper she replies, “I love you Anna.” Those are the last words I ever heard her say as Nick realizes what she is doing. “Why you…” he mutters as he pulls the trigger. I pass out as I feel Kendra’s body slump over mine.

I have always been the type to laugh at horror movies, and blood and guts no matter how scary others claim they are. When you’re living in your own horror movie you forget how to laugh all together. I was rushed to the hospital, when I would not gain consciousness. I never knew exactly what happened to the five bodies of the victims, (probably because I was unconscious). Once I regained consciousness, I just sat there in the hospital bed as no one could break through the wall of shock, hate, and sadness I had built around myself. I couldn’t cry, though I wished so hard that I could. I couldn’t sleep. I jut sat there silent, unmoving. When I was transfered back home my room resembled a second hospital gift shop as it filled with enormous amounts of candy, cards, and stuffed animals. You never know you have some many friends until you get hurt or something bad happens to you, which is really lame when you think about it. There are sometimes it’s because you got hurt that people want to pretend that they’re best friends with you. Maybe it’s because they want to impress people but again, that’s really lame.
My parents would come to my room in shifts reading me the cards sent by concerned friends, family, teachers, and even complete strangers who claimed acquaintance with me. The cards were like, “We miss you”, “Come back soon”, “We’re praying for you.” Honestly, what are you going to say to a person who’s lost their best friend? “Sucks to be you.” “Better you than me.”
The night of December 12th, I was finally able to get to sleep for the first time. When I say sleep, I mean a deep sleep. I’m not talking about like half an hour or 10 minutes; I’m talking about a long 9-12 hour sleep.
You know when you wake up in the morning after having a dream good, or bad. You can only remember parts of your dream and it never makes much sense? For example, swimming through a hurricane for fun, eating your clone, or pulling someone’s beard off. The next morning I woke up with a vivid image in my head untainted by a dream like film. It was as day. In my “dream” I saw Kendra sitting on my bed. She had that “now-young-lady” look on her face that only Kendra could master. She only said one sentence but that was enough to break through my barrier. She said, “Anna, I died so you could live your life, not sit on your butt in a bed all day.” That was all, but it was so clear, so like Kendra.

I had missed the funeral but I’m glad I did. I don’t think I would be able to stand seeing people all in black, all sad, because that’s not Kendra at all. The Monday after I had that dream I went back to school. Everyone gave me so many hugs or just came up to me and started talking. No one ever mentioned Kendra though. It was as if people expected me to start balling or just collapse totally. I wanted to just pretend to break down, just to get them to back off and leave me alone cause when you cry no one likes to come and stand by you.
As weeks went by school resumed it’s normal pace. Many people say that they think about something sad that has happened to them “every moment of the day” but you do learn to get on with your life and you learn to laugh again. You don’t think about it every moment of every day but it changes the way you live. Kendra told me to get my butt of the bed and live and so I have, never forgetting what she did for me.