Speech (Ezzy's Education, Part 36), by Garrett Murch
On Wednesday morning, Ezzy rushed through the student parking between two groups of screaming students. One group screamed, “Patriots are terrorists!”
The other, with many members wearing “Trunk Lives, Inc.” pins, screamed, “Trunk will return! Trunk will return!”
I’ve got to get my new drawing to Ms. Scales’ classroom before home room.
Ezzy’s head—and eyes—faced immovably forward as she strode in her rugged, brown leather boots. No more AirPods. No more looking down. No more hiding. She stopped just inside the classroom doorway while Ms. Scales spoke with a few students, including Lucinda Barron. Figures. I wonder what they’re scheming?
“My mother recommends we call it an act of self-defense and free expression in the face of oppression,” Lucinda said. She glanced at Ezzy.
Ezzy tapped her boot and crossed her arms while keeping hold of the folder that contained her drawing. It? What’s it?
“I think your mother is right,” said Ms. Scales, who wore an oversized black shawl that had the words “Pray for the Unjust” embroidered on it. “That’s what we’ll say.”
Is Ms. Scales wearing a prayer shawl? No way, the way she makes fun of religion.
“And we’ll recommend giving him his hatchet back,” Lucinda said.
What on earth? Who? Hatchet?
“His hatchet is essential to expressing his opposition to injustice and oppression, so that makes sense, naturally.” Ms. Scales said. “Well, this is all a relief, Lucinda. I was ready to start a GoFundMe page for the child.”
The home room bell rung. Damn it, I’m so late.
The students with Ms. Scales left the room, Lucinda brushing Ezzy’s shoulder as she passed by, never acknowledging her presence. What a b—
“Good morning, Ezzy,” Ms. Scales said.
“What were you all talking about?” Ezzy asked. “It sounded important.”
“Oh, one of our passionate friends is suffering from the trauma of Monday’s terror attack with the truck exhaust,” Ms. Scales said. “We are making sure he’s taken care of.”
“I heard someone mention a hatchet?”
“Well, yes, a student felt frightened so he brought one into school last night.” “Did he use it on anything?” Ezzy asked. I wonder who it was?
“He expressed his opinion and defended himself against a Patriot’s locker.”
Huh? “Expressed his opinion?”
”Yes.”
“Whose locker did he attack?” This is insane!
“He expressed his opinion, Ezzy, on Patriot Link Conary’s locker.”
Ezzy tucked her chin and angled her face at Ms. Scales. “Expressed?” I’m not going to bother asking who it was. I’ll find out soon enough.
“No one was harmed by his speech,” Ms. Scales said.
Speech? Well phew. I wonder if Link knows? Is he being protected? “Did I hear something about the hatchet being returned to the kid?”
“Ezzy, I believe you have something for me?”
Changing the subject. Naturally. “Yes. Here.” She handed Ms. Scales her folder.
“Thank you, dearest Ezzy. I look forward to seeing how you’ve thought more deeply about Justice and evolved. A smart girl like you must have figured it out. You can pick this drawing up at the end of the day.”
“Have a good day, Ms. Scales.” Shoot. Ezzy rushed to home room, texting Link along the way, “Are you okay?”
Sitting down in homeroom, her phone vibrated. “Yep. Fine. Happened overnight, I guess.”
I can’t believe they’re giving that guy his hatchet back. Outrageous.
* * *
Later that morning, Verica Navratil laid on her side atop her bed’s red comforter, resting her head on her hand. None of this makes sense. Trunk is dead? Why? We didn’t kill him; it was just a roofie. Why did I get in a truck with him? He tried to kill me?
“Verica?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Lucinda Barron is here. She is hoping to see you.” No! I don’t want to see her. I can’t. “Okay, Mom.” “Would you like to see her?”
Between deep breaths Verica replied, “Yes.”
“Now Lucinda,” Mrs. Navratilova said, “Verica is continuing to struggle with her memory.
Some of what she’s been saying is a little confused.”
Lucinda entered as Verica sat up on her bed, struggling to breathe. Am I having a panic attack?
“Hello, Verica,” Lucinda said. “How are you feeling?”
I’m feeling warm. And angry and I don’t know why. “I-I seem to be doing better and better. I still don’t understand a lot. Or, I mean, I guess there’s stuff that happened I don’t remember.”
“It’s probably not worth remembering,” Lucinda said. “I think I killed Trunk Langston.”
“Verica. You did not. Trunk tried to kill you.”
”That’s what my parents say. I remember what I did to him so you would win.” She hung her head. “How is Kayla?”
“Kayla is fine,” Lucinda said. “You shouldn’t stress yourself with all these concerns. You should be getting rest.”
“But I-you-you!” Verica yelled. Her eyes grew before they narrowed. “Me? What about me, my dearest Verica?”
“You’re the president now.”
“Yes, I am. Thanks to your dedication to the cause of Justice. Your loyalty will be rewarded. Do you remember that?”
Loyalty? Cause? Dedication? “Is Trunk dead because of me?”
“Of course not, Verica.”
“He is. He’s dead because of us.” Verica squeezed both ends of the pillow she was sitting on.
“Calm down, my dear Verica. He was Trunk Langston, remember? What difference does it make now?”
“You-you-yoooou—”
“Yes, Verica?”
“You can’t be president. You cheated.”
“Now Verica. We were a team. We will continue to be a team. And it is never cheating when you’re pursuing the higher purpose of Justice. Remember?”
“No. I need to tell... You need to-to resign.”
“Verica! How will justice be served if I am not president?” Lucinda crossed her arms.
“Today.” This is insane. What have I done?
“Verica, please lower your voice. It’s important you relax.”
No! No more. It’s all coming back now. “If you don’t resign, I’ll tell everyone what you did.” Verica pulled her pillow out from under herself and held it like it was a shield.
“You mean tell people what you did,” Lucinda said. Their eyes locked. “How would you ever get into college if you did that?”
Breathing easier now, Verica said, “I don’t care.” Oh my god, that’s not true. I care. Dear god, I care. What am I doing? What have I done?
“Verica, my mother wants to write you the most powerful letter of recommendation for your college applications. You do know how connected and influential she is, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“Are you willing to throw away your dream of going to a good college?”
“You have to resign. At the bare freaking minimum, you have to do that!”
“Verica! Listen to yourself.”
“Listen to yourself. If you don’t resign, I’ll tell everyone what happened. There has to be some consequence. You are not fit to be president.”
Lucinda ended their eye contact. “Okay, Verica, okay.” She took a long breath. “I feared you might react this way. Conscience can be so inconvenient.” She shook her head and smiled with her mouth closed.
I do need to go to a good college though. But I can’t watch Lucinda think she can win this way. But Trunk was the worst. But still. I feel sick. I’m so tired.
“Lucinda, resign!” Verica attempted to yell, her voice too weak to make much sound.
Lucinda sighed. “You are awfully bold for just a number two.”
“Resign.” Verica tried to clench her fists and her fingers shook.
“How about this?” Lucinda asked, her voice lowered. “What if I step down as president to take that silly guilt off your mind. But no one ever, ever finds out what happened. Not now, not twenty years from now. If you don’t tell on me, then I won’t tell on you. And I’ll never have to condemn you for acting as a rogue, misguided lone wolf. Verica, stop crying.”
Verica looked up at Lucinda and wiped her tears. “You are evil.”
“How dare you speak to me that way! You pathetic little—”
“It’s true.”
Lucinda turned away from Verica for a moment. She turned back and said, “You do not understand, Verica. It’s a different path we few must take to the White House.”
“What white house?”
“The White House. The presidency. Of the United States.”
Verica opened her mouth but decided to say nothing. She’s delusional. Dangerously delusional. How did I not realize that sooner? Did I know all along? What is wrong with me?
“Do we have an understanding?” Lucinda asked.
Verica groaned and said, “You will resign today.”
“I must come up with a great explanation, Verica. I promise I will tomorrow.”
“No later.”
“And you will never remember why you were in a truck with Trunk Langston, even if and when you do. You know what I mean. Do we have an understanding, Verica?”
How did I end up in a truck with Trunk? Doesn’t seem possible. “And your mother will write my recommendation for top colleges?” I’m selling my soul. But it’s to go to college. I have to. Absolutely have to.
“The best recommendation ever,” Lucinda said. “And there are some great schools out west, and in the Midwest for that matter. I think getting away would be good for you. Understand?”
“I’ll understand when you resign and I have my letter.”
“Excellent. Consider it done. You drive a hard bargain, Verica. I must say I’m impressed.” Verica stared at Lucinda. I feel dizzy.
“Well, I must return to school, Verica. We had a nice little run. A bumpy first step for me.
For you too, I suppose.”
Verica held up her hand so their eyes could no longer connect. “Goodbye, Verica.”
* * *
At the end of that school day, Ezzy returned to where she’d started it: Ms. Scales’ classroom. When she attacks my drawing, should I turn the other cheek or should there be more of an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth response? Before Ezzy answered her question to herself, Ms. Scales was upon her. She handed Ezzy back the drawing. The letter D was written in red right on the drawing, not on a separate slip of paper like before.
“A D? Are you serious, Ms. Scales?”
“Ezzy,” Ms. Scales said. “I’m concerned about you. About your mental state.”
“I feel great about my mental state.”
“Your drawing suggests otherwise.” Ms. Scales adjusted the neck of her dark-purple tunic; she no longer wore the shawl she donned that morning.
“I know you would like to explain what’s wrong with me, so please go ahead.”
“I would.” Ms. Scales sighed. “Oh, Ezzy. Your use of camouflage suggests you’ve developed a militant mindset, and I find that troubling.”
Ezzy rolled her eyes.
“A decade ago,” Ms. Scales said, “I would have added that camouflage signals support for murdering innocent animals, another injustice, but so many of you females have gotten into hunting nowadays, alas my hands are tied. But I digress.”
What a buffoon. “You called me militant. Please explain.”
“Yes, thank you, Ezzy. But even more troubling is the message you convey in this drawing.” “Can you elaborate?”
“Of course,” Ms. Scales said. “The message of a baby being thrown out with the bathwater is you don’t want to throw the baby out.”
“I know that, Ms. Scales.”
“But in your drawing, you wrote on the baby, the words “individualism,” “excellence,” “merit,” and even “good masculinity,” whatever that is.”
“I know I did.”
“Well, Ezzy, those are triggering words. And moreover, they aren’t even real. The ideas represented by those words are myths designed to prop up an unjust system.”
“I disagree, Ms. Scales. I believe they are real.”
“Well they are myths. But most concerning to me is your suggestion a Justice re-education, I mean education, somehow hurts creativity, freedom of expression, and freedom of thought. Justice does no such thing to expressions of Justice.”
“I see,” Ezzy said. Can I go now? “Why didn’t you just give me an F?”
“Ezzy, you know full well students get seventy-five points if they submit their assignments with their name and the correct date. You did that and I must treat you the same as every other student.”
Talk about injustice! Is Ms. Scales all there?
“I think you would benefit from counseling and therapy, Ezzy.”
Ezzy waited a moment to respond. “Why thank you, Ms. Scales. You have proven the point of my drawing.”
”Harrumph!”
Ezzy left the classroom. Soon she smiled. I’m like a fish that shakes the hook out of its mouth to avoid getting caught. I feel lighter. It feels great!