Friday, June 24, 2016

Zion Heart

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next act for the Central River High year-end talent show is a classic rock acoustic guitar piece. Please put your hands together for Miss Eleanor Paris!”

From behind the curtain, hearing Mr. Jeremy Land’s voice on the microphone accompanied by applauding hands sent chills through Eleanor’s body. She thought back to all of the times older kids shoved her against lockers and called her sexist names. She thought back to all of the teachers who doubted her guitar-playing abilities. And now here they all were to see what she was made of.

The redheaded, beige dress-wearing Eleanor took a deep breath to calm her nerves and treaded through the curtain to take her seat on the stool. She took a moment to survey the crowd before her. Some of the boys were chuckling silently and pointing at her. Some of the girls put on their best bitch faces with their arms folded. Another deep breath later and it was show time.

She rested her acoustic guitar on her lap and adjusted the microphone to her height before she started strumming away. She was gentle with every chord, almost putting her worst critics in a siren’s trance. And when she sang her lines, she had a voice of pure angelic gold.

The child lay in the starlit night. Safe in the glow of his Donald Duck light. How strange to choose to end a life. How strange to choose to kill a child. Hoover, Blaupunkt, Nissan Jeep, Nike, Addidas, Lacoste and cheaper brands. Cadillac, Amtrak, gasoline, diesel. Our standard of living, could this be a reason…that we would choose to kill the child? That we would choose to kill the child?”

Those dark and heartbreaking lyrics put thoughtful frowns on the faces of her audience. No more were they giggling and pointing. Eleanor had these dopey teenagers at full attention. She strummed her chords with even more passion than before only to find her microphone silenced as she sang the second verse. She patted the microphone head a few times and then pounded it with her fist to try to get it working again. The once doubtful students were now in shock.

“I assure you, Miss Paris, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your microphone.” There was nothing wrong with Principal Gary Weinberg’s microphone either as he sat in the back of the auditorium with a disgusted look on his pudgy face.

“However!” he said with a booming voice in his Jewish accent. “There is something wrong with that song you’re singing! For all of our younger students who didn’t live with this kind of music, that song was written by former Pink Floyd bassist Roger Waters! His recent comments in the news about the Jewish people reek of racism and hatred! This school prides itself on its anti-discrimination policies! Because you, Miss Paris, have played a song by a raging bigot with the intent to incite trouble, you by proxy are in violation of those rules! Get off the stage! As a matter of fact, get out of my school!”

The student audience went silent as Eleanor ducked her head in shame and shed silent tears. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of the same people who put her down so many times. She wanted to get up from her stool and hide in a corner somewhere, but her legs were shaking with anxiety.

The dark haired, purple dress shirt and jeans-wearing Mr. Land approached the stage and gave Eleanor a gentle hug to try and comfort her. All it did was make the tears pour like a flooding rainstorm. “It’s okay, Eleanor. It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Mr. Land pounded the microphone until it started working again. With a stern look on his face and his finger pointed at Principal Weinberg, he ripped into him with, “As a history and political science teacher, I thought I should correct you on something. If you actually paid attention to Roger Waters’ comments, he was attacking the Israeli government for their treatment of the Palestinians. It had nothing to do with Jewish people in general and certainly had nothing to do with little old you, Principal Weinberg! And quite frankly, I agree with what Roger Waters has said!”

Principal Weinberg laughed in jest and said, “Oh, this is rich. You’re actually debating me on this. You think you know more about my culture than I do.” Gary’s face turned serious when he said, “The fact that you’re even arguing this with me is hysterical. Actually, there’s nothing funny about it. It’s disgusting. It’s disgraceful. It’s unbecoming of someone like you, Mr. Land, who’s supposed to have an intricate knowledge about worldwide cultures!”

Eleanor held her hand up like she would if she wanted to be called on in class. She weakly said, “Um, excuse me, Mr. Weinberg, but this isn’t about…”

“Shut up, Miss Paris!” yelled the Jewish Principal as he stood up and pointed a commanding finger at her. “I’ve said pretty much everything I wanted to say to you! Now take your guitar and play that vile racist crap somewhere else!”

“Don’t you talk to her like that!” shouted Jeremy. “You never talk to your students that way! And by the way, if you’ve actually paid attention to anything Roger Waters has done over the course of his life, you’d know that you’re reminding everyone of how depressing your school system has become! Do you know why he says, ‘We don’t need no education?’ It’s because people like you make school a dangerous place to go! These students depend on you for guidance and wisdom! They don’t want to be talked down to by a power hungry, bottom feeding snake in the grass!”

That last line got a round of applause by the student audience while Gary Weinberg smiled sarcastically and shook his head. “You guys like that?” The audience cheered louder. “You want him to keep going?” They cheered even louder. “Well, he’s not going to do that! You’re fired, Jeremy!” The audience went silent and formed frowns on their faces. “As the Principal of this school, it’s my job to keep order around here! Are you surprised by the fact that I fired an insubordinate employee? You kids are lucky that the worst that happens to you is detention! In the real world, if you don’t conform to the rules, you sleep on the corner! Get out of here, Jeremy! Out right now!”

Mr. Land, seething with hot rage, threw down his microphone and broke it in two before marching his way down the aisle and through the exit. Before making his departure, he said, “You can take the microphone replacement out of my severance package!” He slammed the door with a thunderous thud.

Eleanor Paris remained sitting on the stage with tears in her eyes, snot in her nose, and a contorted frown on her face. She knew she was next on Weinberg’s shit list, but didn’t have the strength in her convulsing legs to get up and go. The Principal encouraged her with, “Well, what are you waiting for, Miss Paris? Get going! The final curtain has dropped on this talent show! Move it!”

She stood up and staggered off the stage, tripping many times in her high-heeled shoes. There were times when she just crawled across the floor with the helpless audience watching in pity. This demeaning scenario put her mind back to those dark places. This crippling anxiety was what she felt whenever another student physically or verbally assaulted her. It was what she felt when she doubted her own guitar playing abilities. It was amazing she could hold onto her guitar at all with her shaky fear as she took the walk of shame.

Eleanor Paris was ready to give up the fight against a corrupt system and walk out of the door with tears dominating her beautiful visage. She held onto the door handle for support and took one last sorrowful look at Principal Gary Weinberg’s jowl-covered face. This man had just fired his best teacher, expelled his best student, and silenced an entire crowd of students before turning them into conformist, putty-faced zombies. Come to think of it, what did she have left to lose? Who the hell did this guy think he was? What the fuck was she going to do about it?

She turned to face her tormentor with a different reason for trembling. It wasn’t anxiety; it was anger. Pure, white hot, volcanic anger for the authoritative bullshit that served as Roger Waters’ creative fuel. Eleanor steadied her lips and asked, “What was that thing you said about kids only getting detention for punishment? Well, seeing as how detention and expulsion are really just vacations in disguise and summertime is already here…”


An evil, quivering, rage-induced grin spread across Eleanor Paris’ face as she raised her guitar in the air and smashed it over Gary Weinberg’s head, knocking him to the ground and giving him a reason to abuse a bottle of Advil the next morning. The students and teachers alike gasped in shock while Eleanor shrugged her shoulders and said, “Do we really need an education from a guy who just lost fifty IQ points?” The student audience burst into raucous cheers while the teachers were frozen with fear. 

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