When The Rock Came Sailing Through The Window: A Sketch

When the rock came sailing through the window,  Mr. Bevins had been talking about what Hamlet meant when he asked if it was easier to play him  than it was to play a flute. I was just about to understand it.  It was just beginning to make sense, and then I heard glass shattering and the rock rolled up between two seats in the front. We all watched it spin across the floor like a grenade until it finally stopped. Cy Kerr yelled out Holy Shit, and Mr. Bevins told him to sit down, “Is everyone okay?” his voice was high and quick. He was freaked. I remember that. His face was red.

When the rock came sailing through the window, John Fraybeck had his foot on the back of my chair.  He had been jiggling his leg on and off all morning. Every time I turned around to tell him to fucking quit it, he looked at me with such honest surprise I knew he didn’t know what he was doing. He was just a body that couldn’t contain itself. The only thing that could get him to stop was the sound of violence, but even then he was only steadying himself.

When the rock came sailing through the window, I remember it was grey outside. On and off grey it was.  The heat from the furnace came in blasts and then made a banging sound like a hammer against a metal pipe. I could smell Sheila Bouras. She smelled like BO and onions. She was tall and had no idea that one day she would be beautiful. She sat in her chair like a giant question mark.

You know that point in understanding something when the fog is clearing and it’s almost like you are remembering; you almost have to stand still as things come into focus. That’s what it felt like. When the rock came sailing through the window, I knew it was you. I remembered in quick succession: your mouth when you spoke, your arm as I held onto it, and the snow coming down so hard we couldn’t see.