The Village Institution

            In frustration, my teeth gritted together as I scanned through the multiplication tables once again. One and one made another one but then how could three and four make twelve? Everyone else seemed to get it when Mrs. Honey taught it in class. Defeated, I pressed my forehead down on to my palms, whimpering as the wind slashed through at the same time.

            Years ago, my teacher sprang into class later than usual and rushed up toward the front of the room. Clark Bill, the smartest boy in class, had worn a knowing smile on his face so I made sure to pay attention to whatever she had to say.

First, Mrs. Honey greeted the class in the same manner she did every morning. Then she announced proudly that a city school offered to take a student with the highest scores by the end of high school.

I remembered the silence, how it erupted after she said that. For a farm girl, one can only hope to sell more crops or raise a healthy family in the future. Yet, fate altered and a mad passion seized the hearts of the village kids. In the next three years, everyone turned away from work in the fields to cram their faces into a book.

My own desires didn’t differ from any of the other students’, since Mom and Dad never could catch a day’s rest from work. In the city, I imagined giving them the break they needed, perhaps earning enough to support them financially. From that, I began to fantasize about the city being a safe haven for my family. 

I closed my eyes against the wind, luring the sounds of traffic back into my ears, the vision of law-defying skyscrapers still as magnificent in memory. They opened again to the empty cornfields, the stalks swaying in misery, begging for the sound of a child’s laughter.  Of course the village children had abandoned playtime, it was all so they could run faster to a better future in the city. What was I complaining for? Wasn’t that my own dream? Focusing back on the lesson, I skimmed over the last few lines.

But the words on each page never seemed to want to stay inside and each day I’d find myself in the same classroom with Mrs. Honey blabbering on about Isaac Newton, my mind wandering far away. The lessons refused to make sense, but the other girls reasoned with them perfectly. Hopeless, I was eventually forced to ask for some help.

No one answered my questions though; or rather they didn’t want to. In fact, I began to notice how my dear classmates would make jokes about me. The oldest, Susan commanded most of them, calling me the black sheep every day. At first, I tried not to let it bother me but then one day Clark decided to nickname me the dumb slug.

Needless to say, I started to like going to the school’s closet at lunchtime because at least no one would hear me cry there. Home became an unpleasant place too after my parents wouldn’t quit asking why my face was always wet. My mother tried to comfort me at night but I’d scream at her to go away, to leave me alone.

Finally Delia, my former friend, came by to help with studies. She didn’t ask me about how miserable the last few years have been but brought me instead to her stable. We sat close together in a stall with Delia’s voice slowly guiding me through a lesson.

This routine continued for three weeks before the next test. I felt grateful, indebted to Delia for being the only one who wanted to help. Mrs. Honey, I think, began to notice how fast I progressed too. She'd glance at me during class and smile after school.

It was only when the fires of my happiness burned hot enough when the final betrayal was delivered. Mrs. Honey handed back the graded tests, stopping with the same smile when she got to my desk. I gripped the paper ecstatically, slowly turning it over to reveal the mark. Shockingly, every single question was marked wrong, earning me a score of zero percent.

 The next summer, I stayed home to ponder over  a life with a boring husband, raising the same stupid crops, maybe earning a cent per hour. Fits of rage took over at night because I’d admit then that Delia betrayed me. Nothing hurt more then the certainty of that statement. Perhaps long ago, I should have realized when the rest of the world became so violent, that trust never needs to be given to anyone. Either way, I resorted to drinking bottles of Dad’s old whiskey to soothe myself.

Mother fought to keep her lips shut but finally pushed me out of the house to trade in some chickens in the city. Old waves of nostalgia hit me as I drove the cart all the way to urbanization. Quickly, I found myself lost in the sea of people rushing by and bumped harshly against a stranger with a crooked smile.

He looked over at the cart, observing the chickens peck at one another monotonously. Then he asked how much they were, while stroking the remnants of his shaven beard. In my head, calculations ran around, fumbling to get down the price. Noticing my discomfort, he questioned if I was from the village nearby. Ashamed, I nodded.

“Ay, I see, one of them children from the school are gonna be selected to go to a school here right? “ Despite his strange dialect, I found it comforting to nod.

A conversation flowed naturally between us, with him wondering how we got things done in the country. I chose to tease him; saying that we did everything the city people did here. We seemed to reach the end of our talk when he leaned in and said:

“I know your teacher, Mrs. Honey, quite well and I’ve got the book she uses for tests,” His eyes twinkled, “You’re a sweet girl, why don’t I give you it?”

The moment the book slid into my hands, a surge of confidence ran through me. It was stronger than the fear that haunted me during tests or the taunts kids would say. Despite not knowing who he was, I gave the man all the chickens and left.

School began again and the class structure changed. No longer at the bottom, the rest of the class began to respect me-except for Clark of course. He was still the smartest even without the book, which infuriated me. I pushed myself throughout the night to memorize more of the answers but his scores were either the same or beat mine completely.

Fear gripped me by its claws. Soon, the final exam would approach, bringing down the final verdict. Mrs. Honey stopped urging the kids to study more because she knew it only came down to Clark and I. Unfortunately, I also found myself coughing constantly and nursing a headache occasionally. Still the weeks of studying continued until the day of the exam.

It was only a week before the results were displayed on the chalkboard. Clark squinted at his name, a place below mine and rushed out of the classroom in disbelief. Nobody cared about his absence; he was the loser after all. Then, Delia was the first one to hug me, begging me to bring her to the city. In return, I gave her the most malicious smile I could.

Glorious, I returned home, hoping to see my parents but they were uninterested. Figures, geniuses are always ignored for their greatness. Turning the corner to my room, I paused in the doorway.

Clark stood there holding the book and his face full of arrogance. He looked at me in contempt, threatening me with his eyes.

Anger, a furious blinding hate seized my body. Quickly, I ran at him, hoping that perhaps his head would hit the wall hard enough so Clark would be no more. In a second however, Clark moved aside, allowing my face to smash into the dirty bricks.