Have A Nice Day - 1

My father is in Florida. My cat just died. It's raining. My mother's
in town grocery shopping. She just made a trip two days ago but she
went again earlier because I suggested hamburgers for dinner and
there's only enough meat in the house for two of them. I suggested
spaghetti instead, so she wouldn't have to make the twenty-minute drive
to the store, but she insisted. I wanted hamburgers and I would get
them, and besides, she wanted hamburgers as well. Bullshit. She just
wanted to see the manager of the grocery store, Charles Rainwater. On
Saturday I saw them talking in the produce department over oranges. My
mother had sent me to get spaghetti sauce, probably just to get rid of
me. She obviously has no interest in making spaghetti.

She and Mr. Rainwater went to high school together. They never dated
and weren't friends, but supposedly there's something between them
because they suffered through the same classes and teachers. That's
what my mother says anyway. She says I'll feel the same way ten years
or so after I graduate but I hope to be far from all my friends by that
time.

My mother left about two hours ago. A half hour ago I went outside to
play basketball and found Mary lying in the driveway. Her body was
flat. It had a tire mark running across it. My mother had hit her with
the van when she backed out.

Mary always liked to nap in the driveway. In the past my mother has
checked for her before she started the van, but today she must have
been so caught up with thoughts of Mr. Rainwater that she forgot.

Mary was the last of my family's three cats. Jesus ran away two years
ago after my father hit him with his shoe for knocking an expensive
vase off the windowsill. Jesus ran out the kitty door and hasn't been
seen since. My father took Joseph with him when he left six months ago.
Joseph was all of our favorite. We rarely saw Jesus and Mary at our
house, but Joseph spent most of his time indoors. Sometimes he even
chased the shoelaces we dangled in front of him. My father said he
should take Joseph instead of Mary because he was moving to the city
and cats can't wander around there like they can here. No one was very
happy with my father when he left though, so we agreed that both cats
should stay here.

My father took Joseph anyway. He's just that kind of guy.

So now we don't have any cats left. Mary's still in the living room in
a box, waiting for the rain to stop so I can bury her. My little sister
Annie is sitting at the wake, giving her a proper Christian funeral.
Score one for my mother. She suggested naming our cats Jesus, Mary, and
Joseph to put a Christian influence in our life. We don't go to church
anytime except on holidays because the nearest one is a half hour away,
and anyway my father likes to sleep in on Sundays. Our cats were all we
had. My father told my mother that people usually use the names Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph when they're swearing, but Annie liked the idea so it
stuck. Annie might think Jesus Christ is a black cat, but my mother
insists that it's had a positive influence, and who am I to judge? My
sister may grow up to be a religious woman yet. I just hope she doesn't
pray to her pets.

*****

I'm going to miss not having a cat in the house. I'll have to ask my
mother to buy us a kitten. We can name him after one of the disciples.
John maybe.

*****

The rain has stopped. Annie wants to bury Mary now so I get a shovel
and we head out to the backyard. Annie carries the box the way I've
seen ushers carry the communion trays in church. I can already see the
psychiatric bills.

"Dig the hole deep," she says to me. "At least five feet."

"Are you crazy? It won't even take two feet to bury that box."

"Jamie! She'll get cold."

"Then go get a dishtowel or something to cover her up with. I'm not
digging a five-foot hole."

Annie goes into the house and reappears two minutes later with one of
my mother's best dishtowels. It's covered with yellow ducks. I know
it's from one of those interior decorating places, one of the really
expensive ones with a woman's name as the name of the company.

"Not that one," I say. "Go back in and get one of the old ones."

"We can't. She was Jesus' mother. Mommy says that makes her very
important. She says she's the blessed virgin. The Catholics pray to
her."

"I'm sure nobody prays to our cat, and since she had kittens last year
I don't think she's the blessed virgin. Go get another one."

"No. Mommy says."

"Mommy's going to say you're in trouble if you bury something of hers
without asking. Go back into the house and get another one or Mary's
going to get cold."

Annie reluctantly trudges back through the mud into the house and
reemerges a few minutes later with a plain yellow towel that I'm sure
cost just as much, but I don't say anything. I just want to get this
over with.

After Mary's tucked in tight I put the box in the hole and cover it
with mud. When I'm finished I look down and see that my clothes are
covered with mud, and I've probably got some mud in my hair, so I go
inside and take a quick shower while Annie, who's gotten herself just
as dirty, heads off to the living room to watch cartoons.

After I'm out of the shower and dressed I hear that my mother is
home.

"Jamie?" she calls.

"Yeah?" I answer, walking into the living room.

"Honey, look at Annie. She's a mess."

I look over at Annie. She's sitting in front of the tv, watching the
roadrunner. Her blue dress is covered with mud and she has brown spots
of dried mud in her hair. She's gotten some on the white couch
too.

"I know," I say, turning back to my mother. "We were burying the
cat."

"Why didn't you make her take a bath?"

"She doesn't listen to me."

"She's four years old. You should be able to handle her. Can you put
the groceries away for me? The milk needs to be put in the refrigerator
right away."

"How long have you been home?" I ask, heading for the kitchen.

"About five minutes."

"Are we having dinner soon?"

"Honey, I'm tired. I've worked all day, I just can't make hamburgers
right now, I'm sorry. I brought back pizza for us. I'd eat with you,
but I have to give Annie a bath before she goes to sleep. Put away the
groceries and then you can have dinner. Make sure you do all of your
homework before you go to bed. I'm going to sleep right after I'm done
with Annie. I worked ten hours today."

"What about Mary?" I ask, looking for the milk in the midst of the many
blue plastic bags that cover the kitchen floor.

"Mary?"

"Yeah, Mary. Our dead cat?"

"Well, what about her Jamie?"

"Nothing. I just thought you might have some thoughts on the
subject."

"Well, you've already buried her, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, there's nothing else I can do about it. We'll get a kitten
this weekend, ok?"

"Yeah, ok."

I've finally found the milk. Skim. My mother insists it's healthier
than whole milk. Maybe it is, but it tastes like shit. I put the rest
of the groceries away, help myself to five pieces of pepperoni and
mushroom pizza, and go back into the living room. It's empty. I can
hear Annie in the bathroom giving my mother a hard time. I know they'll
be in there a while so I eat by myself. Afterward I know I should do my
homework but I go to bed instead. I'll finish it tomorrow
morning.

******

My high school is on a fifteen-acre campus in the middle of town. The
school itself is small since there are only two hundred or so students,
but we have more tennis courts and football fields then we know what to
do with. The school board likes to grant money for things like that
even though sports are almost nonexistent. Our athletic program
consists of a football team and both boys' and girls' basketball teams.
The superintendent claims the fields are for gym classes but most of
the phys. ed teachers just have us play dodgeball. The only activity we
have besides our three sports teams is a cheerleading squad and a
debate team of five students that hasn't won anything since 1960. If
there are other extracurriculars I haven't heard about them.

The entire school is brown: classrooms, halls, and bathrooms. The
carpets are of indefinite color. We don't have school colors. Each team
just picks the colors they want. The football team's uniforms are green
and white and the basketball teams' jerseys are red and gold. The
cheerleaders don't have uniforms and are only allowed to cheer at home
games.

*******

The school bus passes my house everyday at seven o'clock. The ride is
about twenty minutes down bumpy gravel roads. School starts at seven
thirty. There isn't much time for anything before going to class in the
morning, so I usually have to do my unfinished homework in first
period. Today I have Latin to do.

"Good morning James," says my teacher Mr. Roberts as I walk into the
classroom. He never uses nicknames, he always uses the name on his
attendance list because he wants to distance us from the names we used
as children so we'll grow up and because he's a strict
son-of-a-bitch.

"Morning, Mr. Roberts," I answer, sitting down in my seat in the back
row. He grabs some papers and leaves, saying he has to copy something,
and I look at the clock, seeing that I only have five or six minutes
before the bell rings and two pages of Latin to translate. Impossible.
I'm stuffing my homework back into my backpack when I see Molly Johnson
walk in. She's the best student in my Latin class.

"Molly," I say, calling her over. She hesitates, but starts to walk
toward me. Molly and I've gone to school together since kindergarden,
but in all that time I don't think I've had more then a couple of
conversations with her. She's very quiet. I don't mean in class,
she

answers questions occasionally, but outside of school I've never spoken
to her. At lunch she always sits alone with a book. I usually don't
talk to her because she makes me nervous.

Molly comes to stand in front of me, but she doesn't say
anything.

"Did you do the Latin homework?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Can I borrow it?"

"Yeah. Sure."

She sets her backpack on my desk and takes out a fat purple folder, the
kind that costs five cents in drugstores. It looks like it's about to
fall apart from all the papers she's stuffed into it. She sifts through
the mess and finally comes up with the homework.

"Thanks," I say.

"I always thought you seemed like an organized person," I add.

I feel like I should at least say something nice to her since she's
letting me copy.

Molly just hands me the paper.

"What are you reading?" I ask. She looks around like she's expecting to
see a book somewhere.

"I mean, you always have a book with you," I say. "What are you reading
now?"

"Catcher in the Rye," she says.

"Oh, I read that. It's good."

"Yeah." She seems surprised that I've read a book.

Steve Peterson walks in and Molly heads over to the opposite side of
the classroom to sit down. I'm not surprised. Steve is loud.

"Jamie," he says, sitting at the desk next to me. "What's going
on?"

"Finishing my Latin homework," I say, showing him Molly's paper. The
rest of the class is starting to come in now.

"Copying? You'll never learn that way James Parker," he says, shaking
his head at me in disappointment. "And I wouldn't be waving that paper
around if I were you," he adds, pushing the homework out of sight even
though Mr. Roberts isn't here. "If Roberts sees it you'll get a
detention. It won't matter that it's not for his class."

"Mr. Roberts is an asshole."

"Won't argue with you there," Steve says, putting his feet up on the
desk in front of him. "I had to serve a Saturday detention last weekend
for chewing gum. Gum." He shakes his head. "Nine o'clock in the morning
for gum."

"You should've talked to the principal."

"I did. He's an asshole too. The school is filled with them."

I shrug, concentrating on Molly's paper.

"So, are you coming today?" Steve asks.

"Coming where?"

"The movies. Liz said she asked you."

"Oh, yeah. She did. I can't go, I have to watch Annie."

"Shit, Jamie. You always have to watch her. Why doesn't your mom get a
babysitter?"

"She says we can't afford it."

"That's bullshit. She's a lawyer. They always make money."

I shrug again.

The bell rings and Mr. Roberts comes in a few seconds later, making
quieting motions. I quickly finish the sentence I'm copying and put
both papers into my backpack. Molly is looking over at me. She probably
wants her homework back.

"Yesterday we were discussing Macbeth's "Out Out Brief Candle" speech,"
Mr. Roberts says. I put my head down on my desk. Maybe I should hold my
breath until I pass out. Mr. Roberts starts reading the speech even
though we already read it yesterday. A tale told by an idiot, full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing. It could refer to Macbeth, not the
character, the play. Good thing to include in an essay on irony in
Macbeth, I think.

"Does anyone feel the same way Macbeth does?" Mr Roberts asks.

Nobody raises their hand.

"So you all feel the opposite?"

No comment.

"What are your thoughts on life?" Mr. Roberts asks desperately.

No response. The room might as well be empty or, as my mother says, he
might as well be talking to a wall.

"Steven?" Mr Roberts says.

I always wonder whether teachers purposely call on the people who don't
know the answer or if they just don't know what the hell is going
on.

"Life is beautiful," Steve says. Everyone laughs.

"Thank you Steven. James?"

"I think there's some point," I say.

"Why do you think so?"

I shrug, but Mr. Roberts doesn't want to let me off.

"Do you think individuals themselves are important?" he asks, trying to
help me out.

"Sure," I say.

"Why?"

"In an infinite universe everyone is the center," I say. It's not
really relevant but it sounds damn good.

"Interesting," says Mr Roberts. "How so?"

"Well, there's infinity on every side of them."

"How does that make them the center?" Liz, the girl from the movies,
asks. She's cute but a pain in the ass. She thinks she's smart, but,
about a year ago, I saw a dead bird lying on the sidewalk and I pointed
it out to her. I said, "Look, there's a dead bird. A cat must've gotten
it."

And she looked up.

"Because that's what the center is," I say.

"Well, what's the definition of a center?" Liz asks.

"You don't know what the center of something is?"

"No, I don't. I want you to explain it."

I straighten my glasses and try to stall.

"Can I use the board?" I ask Mr. Roberts.

"Be my guest."

I go up to the front of the room and draw five dots on the board.
. .

.

. .

"Which one is the center?" I ask.

Liz points to the obvious one.

"Right," I say. "It's the center because it has the same number of
dots on each side of it. Look, two on top, two to the right, two on the
bottom, and two to the left. Now," I continue, drawing another picture
on the board.

Infinity

Infinity . Infinity

Infinity

"The dot is in the center because, if the words infinity were
represented by dots there would be the same number of dots on every
side."

"How does that make every person the center of the universe?"

"If the universe is infinite, at any given point an object, or a dot,
would have an infinite amount of space all around it. If the space were
represented by dots, there would be the same number of dots on every
side of it, an infinite number, which would make it the center."

"Very good James," says Mr. Roberts, beaming at me. "Now, what do the
rest of you think about this?" he asks, turning back to the class. I go
back to my seat and put my head on my desk. Now that I've made a
contribution to the discussion Mr. Roberts won't call on me again. He's
not that much of an asshole.

*****

When you stop to analyze it, it becomes apparent that you spend the
majority of an average day doing nothing much in particular. The school
day itself is seven hours and ten minutes long. There are nine periods
and six minutes in between each period. This wasted time in between
classes totals forty-eight minutes. So already there are only six hours
and twenty-two minutes spent learning. When you factor in lunch -
forty-five minutes - there are only five hours and thirty-seven minutes
left. Then you have to consider that you usually spend the first five
minutes of each class turning in papers and homework and generally
preparing. With nine periods, that makes forty- five minutes, leaving
only four hours and fifty-two genuinely productive minutes.

And this doesn't even factor in the time spent daydreaming or not
paying attention in class, so the actual number is even lower. It
certainly doesn't say much for our school system. When you realize that
there are really less then five hours of the day during which you are
actually learning, you start to see why you don't seem to know
anything, why you always seem to lose when you play Jeopardy at home
with your parents. Your education is not all that great. That's why I
don't try very hard in school. I know I won't learn much anyway. C's
don't bother me because it's a shitty school system.

Unfortunately, my French teacher does care, which is why she's taken me
out into the hall to have a discussion while the rest of the class is
working on direct object pronouns.

"Jamie," she says, looking upset, "I graded your last test this
morning."

"Good grade?"

"You got a D."

"Oh. Well, that's all right. My homework'll bring it back up to a
C."

"Just a C?"

"I really don't think I can get an A with such low test scores. Didn't
I get a C on one a couple weeks ago?"

"Yes, you did." I can tell she's irritated. If she had a vein in her
forehead it would be popping right now.

"But you could get A's if you just put a little effort into it," she
says. "It's obvious to me that you're intelligent. You're just not
trying."

"Yeah, I am. C's are the best I can do. I get them in all my
classes."

"Then you're not trying in those classes either. I'm surprised none of
your other teachers have talked to you about this. With your grades
you're going to have a difficult time getting into college."

"I'm only a sophomore."

"Colleges look at your transcripts for all four years of high school,
Jamie," says Madame Barbosa. She sounds frustrated.

"You speak French well in class," she says.

"Yeah, because I have the book in front of me."

"You understand the language, you just don't memorize the
vocabulary."

"I try."

"How many hours a day do you study?"

"Oh. At least two."

"If I called your mother what would she say?"

"She'd say she doesn't know because she works all day. Ten hours. It's
very demanding work. She's a lawyer, you know."

"Yes Jamie, I know. The point is, you aren't realizing your full
potential. I know you're not."

"I take two languages. French and Latin. That's good, isn't it?
Colleges like it if you take more then one language."

"Yes, but if you're getting C's the classes aren't really helping you.
You aren't learning much. And C's don't impress colleges."

There's really nothing to say to that.

"That's why I think you should have a tutor," Madame continues. "Every
Monday and Wednesday. Then you'll at least have to study a
little."

"But tutoring isn't required."

"It is now."

"But I don't have time."

"Do you have a job?"

"No."

"Do you volunteer?"

"No."

"Any invalid grandparents to take care of?"

"No." I shake my head. "But I have to watch my little sister while my
mother is at work."

"I'm sure your tutor wouldn't mind going to your house. She can ride
the bus home with you."

"How's she going to get home?"

"Your mother can take her."

"She works late."

"Don't you drive?"

"Yeah, but we only have one car. Anyway, I don't think it's a good
idea. And I don't actually have to get a tutor. I'm not failing."

"I'm strongly recommending it."

"Thank you for your interest. I'll think it over."

"I'm really very concerned about your future Jamie," says Madame. She
looks more sad then frustrated now.

"That's nice to know. Thanks."

"What are you going to do after you graduate?"

I shrug.

"Are you planning on going to college?"

"I don't know. Maybe a community college or something."

"And after that?"

I shrug again.

"Do you ever worry about your future at all?"

"No," I say. "I have a while before it's going to be a problem."

Madame just looks at me for a moment, then motions me back into the
classroom. I look up at the clock. The conference took seven minutes.
Only four hours and forty-five useful minutes today.