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After dinner they cleared the table and pint the dishes in the sink. Dinner itself, preparation and consumption, had taken a lot of time and energy. Gerard had to get home. He had a week's worth of homework looming over him. As he was leaving, Shelley told him to wait a moment, she had something for him. She went upstairs and came back moments later with a gray ball of clay.
She handed it to him.
“Life is like a ball of clay. You sculpt and mold it the way you want it to turn out. You have total control of everything that happens to you. You can choose to listen to what others say about you, or pretend that they don't exist. You can hide, or you can fight back.”
“Thank you.” He said and descended into the dark night.
Edison was irritable the next day in English class. HE was irritable because Mr. Grant had quit teaching and they had a substitute teacher. He was also irritated because Gerard hadn’t answered the phone when he had called last night. I called you three times. Once every hour.
“Where the hell were you?” He asked.
“Walking around. I went to the graveyard, did my homework.”
“I don’t get why you do it in the cemetery for god sakes. It’s homework. What are you going to grow up to be? A gravedigger?”
“A mortician more like.” Gerard answered.
Edison shifted his attention to the substitute who was going on about something rather dull. Something about school rules.
“And we’ve got her for a teacher. She’s even dorkier than me.” Edison said, sounding forlorn.
IT was true. She looked a lot like Velma from Scooby-Doo. And she wore awful smelling perfume. According to her, Mr. Grant had quit due to a nervous breakdown. Someone whispered that it had been old age. Gerard regarded him as a burnt out English teacher who was going through a mid-life crisis.
The sub informed them that they would get a new teacher within the next two weeks. And that, yes, they did have to finish reading Tom Sawyer. Through her monotonous speech, Edison played games on his calculator, and Gerard stared out the window and swore silently.
After school, Gerard and Edison went to a local café. Edison had his coffee with sugar, and Gerard had hot chocolate. The café smelled like cinnamon and cream, but the smell was very strong and after a while became nauseating. It was very crowded, mostly with college students. But there was one person both of them recognized. Five tables down sat Mr. Grant, their ex-English teacher.
“He looks awful.” Said Edison. There were red rings under his eyes, his face was dirty, as was his greasy hair. He was wearing a ratty old T-shirt and sweat pants. He also looked like he had not shaved in weeks.
Gerard ignored Edison’s loud whispers and pointing.
“I bet his wife kicked him out! I wonder if he has a wife. Gerard, can you believe it’s actually him. He looks like he’s been run over. Should we go say hi?”
“No! WE are not going to go over and say hi! He’s looney, and looney people tend to be dangerous. No, Edison. That is not a good idea. He doesn’t seem to be feeling all that well.”
“Oh come on. It’ll just take a second. Oh, no. Look he’s leaving.” Said Edison disappointed.
Maybe we should leave before Edison gets hysterical about something else, thought Gerard. Edison turned back in his seat, and sipped his coffee with a sour face. His expression
