Mehrzad watched the second hand complete its final revolution. With the ring of the bell, the schoolroom was filled with a muffled chorus of chairs shifting on indoor-outdoor carpet. Mehrzad watched the sunlight flare through the exit, and watched his classmates stream out into the light. He felt the sweat collect between his fingers and the edge of his books, and reached for his violin case.
His teacher, Ms. Mayer, glanced at him from her desk, and he uncoiled from his desk. He watched the carpet sweep beneath him as the doorway approached him. He turned into the covered walkway, and once clear of the door, stalled beneath the overhead vent windows. When he heard Ms. Mayer grab her things, he resumed walking out to Monroe Drive.
Oregon Holocaust Memorial by P. Medved
“I don’t like it when funny-looking queers make me wait,” said Stewart. “what have you got for m–what’s in there?” Stewart ripped the violin case out of Mehrzad’s grip. He opened it, pulled out the violin, and began strumming it like a guitar. The bridge collapsed under Stewart’s pounding. He complained, “this thing is cheap!”, and shoved it into Mehrzad’s arms.
Stewart walked off and Mehrzad put the broken violin into its case. He picked up his books and continued home.
Mehrzad watched the second hand complete its final revolution. With the ring of the bell, the schoolroom was filled with a muffled chorus of chairs shifting on indoor-outdoor carpet. Mehrzad watched the sunlight flare through the exit, and watched his classmates stream out into the light. He felt the sweat collect between his fingers and the edge of his books, and almost reached for his violin case.
Ms. Mayer glanced at him from her desk, and he uncoiled from his desk. He watched the carpet sweep beneath him as the doorway approached him. He turned into the covered walkway, and once clear of the door, stalled beneath the overhead vent windows. When he heard Ms. Mayer grab her things, he resumed walking out to Monroe Drive, then he turned around and headed for the Cortner Street gate.
He sprinted across 11th Avenue into Hidden Valley Park. Several carp carcasses were partially visible through the murk. He stepped to the bank and poked a carcass with a stick several times, watching it bob in and out of sight.
He threw the stick in the pond and walked along the bank. The grass was a sickening dark green along the shore. He noticed the ditch as he came around the far side of the pond. He followed the ditch down to his street, and turned home. He watched asphalt and concrete pass beneath his shuffling feet.
© 2008 Dan J. Jensen