Certifiably Insane

He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head, a dreamy glint in his eyes, and a small smile dancing on his lips. Mrs. Anderson, the fourth grade art teacher, clenched her mouth shut into a thin, white line to keep herself from scolding him. Had I been the one leaning back, she'd have been all over me, taking away my watercolors, all but screaming at me. I steamed in silence, furious at the new kid who was ignoring all the rules and getting away with it. In silent, disgruntled protest, I, too, tipped backwards, my feet dangling and kicking the underside of the table as Michael was doing.
'Curtis!' Mrs. Anderson said sharply. 'Put your chair on the ground this instant or the next chair you'll be sitting on is the one inside Mr. McGinley's office! And get back to work on your self-portrait!' My mouth opening in shock at the unfairness of it all, I slammed the chair legs to the ground, a thunderous noise echoing around the art room. All heads turned towards me in shock, the silence deafening to my ears, a red flush creeping up around my neck and cheeks. I skimmed my classmates' faces, from Paul's gaping mouth to Luke's look of pure terror to Mackenzie and her contempt to Michael. Michael, with a smirk on his face, seemingly laughing at me, sneering as if he knew that I was about to get in trouble because of him.
'Curtis Drake Matthews!' Mrs. Anderson broke the silence in this utterly petrifying hushed voice of hers that sent shivers tingling down my spine. Her voice was emphasizing every syllable, straining to keep her furious yells choked down. 'Come here,' she harshly whispered, her quiet, infuriated voice echoing more than my metal chair had on the tiled floor. Trembling, I worked to keep the streams of tears away, swallowing and clamping my teeth together, purposefully disobeying to protest the unfairness. 'Now!' she loudly said, her anger finally getting the better of her when I stayed firmly planted in my chair.
'I'm sick and tired of you going out of your way to break every rule I've made! Yeah, I know about your claim to fame last year, of singlehandedly breaking every rule that your teacher had. Well, Curtis, Mrs. Benson was quick to inform me of your antics. For example, I know about how you stole Mason's phone to break the 'No texting in class' rule because you yourself didn't have one. Or how you purposefully got the class a pet fish, and then tormented it at every chance you got to break her 'Leave the class pet alone' rule because she forgot to take it off the list when the previous class's turtle died. Or how you brought Mrs. Benson a mug of coffee from home only to hit it with a baseball in order to break the 'Whatever you do, never spill my coffee' rule because Mrs. Benson had started to drink tea instead. So, Curtis, I know all about you, and you are not going to do this to me!' I was close to tears by that point, realizing my previously perfected way of slowly pushing buttons one at a time hadn't worked for the first time in all my years of education, as my teacher was absolutely fuming, well past the point of snapping that, until now, I'd always avoided just in time.
Shuddering in fright, I slowly proceeded to the front of the classroom, Mrs. Anderson beet red, her veins throbbing, her curling, vicious snarl prominent. She grabbed me by the shoulder, and, by shoving me along, we made our way into the hallway, now seeming incredibly daunting. As I walked along numbly, the hallway seemed to widen and elongate, while the maplewood door at the end seemed larger and more dangerous than ever before. Each step felt like a mile, each different colored checker on the carpet a country. As we passed by the windows, the normally bright and cheerfully waving trees appeared to be violently shaking; their branches were sharp, ready to skewer their next victim, and the surrounding sky was a dismal gray. That fifty meters felt like the longest walk of my life, and the ever growing maple wood door was looming, signifying the utter horrors to come. And Mrs. Anderson's grip on my shoulder was like an eagle's talons gripping a quaking mouse that would soon meet its demise, not helping my imagination that had long since run away. For as I dragged myself down the hallway that I thought of as the path to my death, I envisioned hours of torture at the hands of the principal. I saw myself bound to a chair, bloodcurdling screams piercing my skull, which then switched to an image of the entire school pointing and laughing at me as I hung my head in shame, trying to melt into the ground, and then changed again to the most extreme case of me being lowered excruciatingly slowly into a pit of snapping, monstrous crocodiles.
However, it turned out not to be even a thousandth as bad as I had imagined, Mr. McGinley merely firmly scolding me, which was quite easy to tune out. For punishment, all I got was a 'detention,' which was just missing recess, as well as being made to apologize to Mrs. Anderson, which turned out to be the much harder punishment.
I clenched my teeth, looked down at the ground, and mumbled, 'I'm sorry.'
And, like every adult in the history of mankind, she was quick to sternly respond, 'For?'
To which I turned my face up at hers, meeting her cold blue eyes, and grumpily whispered, 'For leaning back in my chair and then coming down too quickly.' I then added, 'Hardly worthy of a severe punishment, I think. But whatever you say has to be true, right, Mrs. Anderson?' in a mockingly innocent voice, my own daring eyes never leaving her own.
'Young man, unless you want me to arrange another visit with our dear friend Mr. McGinley, I'd advise you to lose the attitude.'
'Well, if he really is 'our dear friend'' then, by all means, do so,' I smartly responded under my breath. For a fourth grader, I was really insolent as well as bright, and, despite not being good at 'people' skills, my responses were unlike what most teachers expected from me. In fact, most teachers were frightened by how intelligently disrespectful I was, including Mrs. Anderson. And so, like many adults had done for years, she shook her head before leading me back to class, not bothering to respond to my comment.
For the next couple of days, I was still seething at how Michael kept on getting away with everything, although I only saw him in art. After three more classes of biting my tongue to contain my words of rage, I was done swallowing my words. He had crossed a major line for me when he both ignored the teacher's questions five times in a row (something I'd always wanted to do) and shaved a box of crayons down to dust (which was not okay since they were the best drawing tools of all time).
We were supposed to be drawing farm animals and I was working on a cow. I was proud of how it was coming, actually behaving myself for once, when I happened to look up and noticed that on top of being rude and destroying art materials, Michael was just staring off out of the wall-to-wall window that overlooked a wooded area. And what enraged me even more was that he appeared to be looking at a hummingbird, my favorite bird, one that I'd obsessed over for the past six years.
Unable to restrain my anger, which was actually jealousy at how easy it was for Michael to get away with anything and everything, I suddenly burst out with, 'Mrs. Anderson! Michael's not doing the assignment! He's looking at the hummingbird!'
'Curtis! Mind your own business!' she scolded, eyes blazing.
'That's so unfair! This is dumb! If he doesn't have to draw a stupid cow then I'm not either!' I threw my black crayon to the floor before stubbornly putting my feet up on the table, as Michael was, and stared out the window.
'Curtis! Out in the hallway this instant!' she said, emphasizing her words with an edge on each syllable as she had just a few days ago, before rising from her chair when I remained seated, her veins once again throbbing, her eyes once again flashing.
'And what if I don't?' I protested loudly, looking at her directly, arms crossed.
'Mr. McGinley's. Go,' she ordered, losing all her patience.
'And I suppose Michael can just sit there? Oh, wait. No need to ask. He can get away with everything. The rules don't apply for him. Sorry, Mrs. Anderson. I completely forgot.'
'You don't know what-' she started, before being cut off by Michael.
'Mrs. Anderson, it's okay,' he broke in, clearing his throat.
'It's not okay! You get away with everything I get in trouble for! If I did what you do, I'd be suspended! It's not fair! You don't do your assignments, you lean back, you put your feet on the desk, you never answer when you're called on, and you ruined an entire box of crayons! You never do anything!' I burst out, furious.
'Look, Curtis! I do my assignments!'
'No, you don't! You just sit in your stupid chair, staring out the window!'
'I've done every single one! I made a self-portrait, just like you did. And I'm making a farm animal, just like you are. But a pig, not a cow. Cows are dumb!'
'No, they're not! Cows are better than fat, smelly pigs! And no, you never do the work! You never even get any paper!' I yelled, letting all of the bottled-up anger that had been brewing inside me out at him all at once.
'Just because you don't see me do them doesn't mean I don't!' he screamed, matching my volume and intensity. Mrs. Anderson was at a loss about what to do, her mouth gaping, her eyes wide, her cheeks pale. But she eventually decided to just let us work it out, shakily sitting down, her head in her hands, her mouth moving wordlessly.
'Well, then, how do you make them? With your mind?' I mocked him.
'Yeah, idiot! Of course I made them in my mind! How else was I supposed to?'
'Don't call me an idiot, idiot!' I shouted. 'And how else are you supposed to make a pig other than in your mind? That's tough! Maybe with a pencil and paper like every other human!'
'Maybe I'm not like other humans! And I'll call you an idiot if I want to!'
'Oh, so you're an alien whose hands don't work? No, wait, I know! You're so dumb you don't even know what a pig is so you can't draw one!' Our classmates were just as shocked as Mrs. Anderson, but smiling and laughing at our screaming match. By then, other teachers were crowded around the doorway, looking in agape as our art teacher put a finger to her lips, wanting us to work through it. Or scream through it.
'Yeah, great logic! I'm not an alien or an idiot like you! I'm blind! So, yeah, I don't draw! I can't! But you're right, I actually don't know exactly what a pig looks like. I just have a vague idea. But I do the assignments, and I get away with stuff because I'm blind! So just shut up!'
'What?'
'I'm blind, Curtis! I can't see! My eyes don't work! Or are you so dumb you don't know what blind is? Who am I kidding? We already know you're an idiot!' he burst out furiously, straining to be as loud as he could.
'Well, I think you're the idiot! What kind of a person can't see?'
'That was mean,' he said quietly. For the first time that day, I actually felt bad, maybe even for the first time in my life. I mentioned I was terrible at 'people' skills, and, in fact, it was so bad that I never knew or even cared about the impact that I had on other people.
'I'm sorry!' I yelled.
'Hey, haven't you ever been told not to make fun of the disabled?'
'Yeah, but never not to make fun of idiots! And you're an idiot, and your dumbness overpowers your disability, so there!' I screeched, once again not thinking.
'You're so mean to say that! How can you make fun of me? But in a weird way, I don't hate you! You're literally the first person who's ever insulted my blindness, caring about me more than my disability! Everyone always tiptoes around me, and it's awful because they are afraid to say what they really want to! Everyone is scared to death of hurting me! Like our teachers! Like everyone in the whole universe except for you!'
'Well, I hate you! I don't care that you're blind! You shouldn't get special treatment! It's not fair! And I don't care about you at all, including your blindness! So you're wrong, again!'
'Well, as my mom tells me when I'm out of control, aren't you a piece of work?'
'Maybe I am! What are you going to do about it?' At that point, we were both beet red, screaming just for the sake of screaming, the bellowed words having no real meaning. We had these comically furious expressions, although Michael couldn't see mine, but we both were panting in exertion, taking heaving gulps of air.
And then, strangely, we both burst out laughing, at our stupidity, at each other, at the ludicracy of the situation, but mostly at ourselves. We must have seemed like cackling psychopaths, what with the mad looks in our eyes, the most hysterical laughs bursting from our mouths, and the occasional howled cries of garbled insults. For a good fifteen minutes, we couldn't control ourselves, which scared some of our more nervous classmates, but the others ogled in wonder and delight. The teachers were utterly astonished, as I'm almost certain nothing like this had ever happened in Schultz Elementary, for having two fourth graders engaged in a screaming match, one blind and the other socially lacking nonetheless, would have been a sight to see anywhere, but especially in the rundown town of Milton. That day was the first, but most certainly not the last, time all of our classmates, teachers, and any unlucky innocent bystanders who just happened to be closeby labelled us as 'certifiably insane.'
But, that day, I realized it wasn't so much that I was socially awkward, as the guidance counselor had deemed me, but more that I needed a friend who was as intellectual and yet as idiotic as I was. Because Michael, with all of his blindness, idiocy, and insanity, became my first friend. We became inseparable, constantly whispering to each other and randomly bursting into bouts of laughter at the smallest things, whether a teacher's mispronunciation or the peculiar chirp of a bird or one of his 'head drawings,' for which I had to describe the smallest detail of the subject of his masterpiece.
We talked about everything, most of the time our conversations labeling us as 'certifiably insane' (as our fourth grade audience did first) if anyone was as to overhear just a sentence of our maniacal discussions. We continued to insult each other and to get in pointless screaming matches every day we were together, earning ourselves hundreds of odd stares each week, especially when I poked fun at his blindness. Then, Michael got all the pity, me the icy glares, and he just put on a sad face, only me reading the satisfied smirk plastered beneath the trembling blind boy act. We insulted each other, took out our anger on one another (both violently and verbally), but at the end of each day, we never said goodbye without having the same inevitable and unstoppable fits of laughter. He's weird and an idiot, but I wouldn't trade him for any other person. In fact, I wouldn't trade him for the world. He's completely insane, absolutely absurd, makes fun of everything I say or do, and whacks me (or at least what he thinks is me) with his cane (the one I failed to notice in 2nd grade) every time I annoy him, but I treat him similarly. I'm constantly mocking him, using his blindness to put him in scary situations, throwing things at him and then laughing because he can never tell until the moment of impact, and then laughing at him once again as I easily dodge his crazed, aimless punches. You might think our relationship was completely twisted, but to us, it's just what we need. For whatever reason, I love him for insulting me, screaming at me, and having insane, abnormal thoughts. And he loves me for just the same reasons. You might not understand our friendship, like all of our conversations, but just get that it's true.
Michael and I, we agree we make the strangest but the best pair of best friends in the history of mankind, and possibly even before that. We may have debated the actual reasons why in shouting matches, but this is my story, not his, so my side (the true one, I'll add) is the one I'll share.
I have correctly concluded how you know you have yourself a best friend, although Michael might beg to differ on the 'accurate' part. But he does know in his heart that I'm right. Because best friends, they're the people you can always make up with, they're who you can be weird with, they're who you can make fun of and know they won't care.
Because, you see, you know you've found yourself a best friend when together, you earn more stares and make more people run away from you in terror than a crazed unicycling clown (it happened, don't ask). Because you know you've found a best friend when every day, you hear hushed whispers about the two of you and questions about your mental health. Because you know you've got a best friend when you have received more injuries than hugs from them, more insults than compliments said by them, more rude faces than smiles aimed at you, but all you feel for them is love. Because you know you've got yourself a true best friend when together, you're 'certifiably insane.' And Michael and I? I won't even hesitate, and I'm sure that you wouldn't either, to say that we fit that definition perfectly.