“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.
