Eye of the Beholder (Ezzy's Education: Part 35), by Garrett Murch
Ezzy was excited to get back her American flag with rainbow stars that Wednesday, the day after she handed it in. She planned to stick it on the wall above her bedroom desk. She looked at the clock in what had become Ms. Scales’ art classroom. Class was almost over. She made eye contact with Ms. Scales. I don’t think that was a friendly look.
Ms. Scales soon began returning drawings to students. When the bell rung to mark the end of class, Ezzy was the only student to whom Ms. Scales had not returned a drawing.
“Ezzy, one moment please,” Ms. Scales said as students began to exit. She walked over to Ezzy, who had stood up. She said nothing more until the other students had left the classroom. “Here is your drawing, Ezzy. I’d expected better from a person like you.”
Ezzy looked at the drawing and the slip of paper with her grade on it. A C? It wasn’t that bad, was it? She kept staring at the slip of paper.
“Now Ezzy, I know you’re not used to getting a grade like this, and I want to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
“Redeem myself? I’d like to know what is so terrible with the drawing. I just saw Dizzy Jabs got an A and all she drew was a basic silhouette of an eye in black pencil.”
“Now Ezzy, you must calm down. If you had followed instructions, you would have been just fine.”
“What instructions did I not follow?”
Ms. Scales sighed. “Oh Ezzy, the drawing needed to represent justice.” “And mine didn’t?” She is so condescending.
“Ezzy, you drew an American flag, the flag of a country riddled with injustices, both past and present. Surely someone like you must know that. But I want you to know I only lowered your score one full grade for that.”
“So the quality of my drawing was a B?”
“Ezzy, that is quite beside the point,” Ms. Scales said, failing to hold back a laugh. “You also decided to go heavy with red, white, and blue—admittedly with little rainbow stars. Surely you understand going heavy with red, white, and blue is not consistent with Justice. So I had no choice but to lower your score by another full grade.”
“I can’t believe this,” Ezzy said. This is outrageous. I should report Ms. Scales. But to who? No one would listen. Certainly not the school board. And Principal Jones, does he even exist anymore?
“As I mentioned, Ezzy, I am offering you a chance to redeem yourself.”
“How’s that?” Ezzy asked. Redeem? For what? What did I do wrong?
”If you bring me a new drawing tomorrow that truly represents Justice and obeys the voluntary guidelines, I will discard this grade and replace it with the grade you receive for the new drawing.”
“I have biology and chemistry exams tomorrow, and I’m cleaning houses after school. How am I going to do that?”
“It’s your choice, Ezzy.”
Ezzy’s glare suffocated the silence, and she became aware of the tension in her body.
“Oh,” Ms. Scales said, “have you heard the wonderful news about Verica Navratil?”
“I have not. What is it?”
“It appears she will fully recover. I’m told she is regaining her memory. I can’t wait to have that delightful child in this classroom. She is so good at following instructions.”
Ezzy’s body relaxed somewhat, she smiled at Ms. Scales and left the classroom. Well that truly is good news. Thank god.
* * *
5:34 p.m.
Rushing inside when she got home from cleaning two houses late that afternoon, Ezzy went straight to her bedroom and sat at her desk. She had not really thought about what to draw to get her grade up. Justice? That’s so vague. What do I think of as justice? That’s not even an option with Ms. Scales. Should I just draw one of their meaningless Justice symbols? No way. I’m not doing that. Maybe I should try and represent what imposing their understanding of justice on everyone is doing? Ezzy got an idea.
More than two hours later, after telling her parents she did not have the time to eat dinner with them, Ezzy held up her creation. The entire drawing was in black pencil. It was the image of a human form dressed in a camouflage pattern of black, gray, and white. The human form held a small bathtub holding a baby, both of which were hidden in the same camouflage. Water poured out of the tub, and the baby was poised to do the same. The form had a single eye on its forehead with the word “Justice” written below it.
Ezzy had written small words throughout the drawing. Written on the bathwater were the words “racism,” “sexism,” “bigotry,” “prejudice,” “injustice,” “toxic masculinity” and “bad cops.” Written on the baby were the words “freedom of thought,” “freedom of speech,” “individualism,” “merit,” “creativity,” “excellence,” “equal treatment,” “justice,” “good masculinity,” and “good cops.” She titled her drawing, “Don’t Throw Out the Baby.”
Ezzy looked at her drawing some more. It’s okay, I don’t care what Ms. Scales thinks of it. She had a nagging thought about how a low grade in art might affect her admissions to college. She needed to finalize which schools she would apply to and thus needed to know which schools she had a reasonable chance of being accepted by.
She slipped her drawing into a folder. Come what may.
* * *
While Ezzy was completing her drawing of the baby and the bathwater, Trendon Bravissimo and Blitzer Langston sat on the rear bumper of a horse trailer parked in Blitzer’s driveway. They held beer cans and a nearly empty cardboard twelve-pack laid on the ground in front of them. They wore sad, vengeful smiles.
“I still can’t believe you were able to get a cow,” Trendon said.
“How many times do I got to tell you: it’s not a cow,” Blitzer said. “It’s a Polled Hereford. A bull that don’t have horns.”
Trendon swallowed beer and said, “Whatever you say. It’s hilarious. Man, that cow shit stinks.”
The trailer shifted and both their bodies convulsed like a bull rider’s. “He’s getting restless.”
“He’s ready for action,” Blitzer said. “If that school wants to steal our horns and say we’re not bulls anymore, ban meat and shit, well they, they got another thing comin’.”
They clinked their beer cans together.
“Sure you can get us in the cafeteria?” Blitzer asked.
“Pretty sure,” Trendon said. “Unless they’ve changed the security code. Won’t be any police there now. Should be all set says a guy who would know. We’ll know by tomorrow night.”
“That bitch,” Blitzer said. “Loo-sinda Barron.”
“We may not go to college,” Trendon said, “but we’ll give her the old college try.”
“Hey, what have we gotta lose?”