2004-12-06
Livid
So I glance at her nervous fingers lightly tapping my paper, with her free hand--pen trapped between her index and middle fingers--running through her hair.
"And so you can't understand my handwriting?" I ask, referring to the quasi-Eduardian letters swirling throughout the page.
"No, it's givig me a hard time to read...what's this word?" She points to the middle of the paper.
"considers, I say. She considers herself..." I continue, referring to the paper.
So I focus on Lauren's paper, which I'm finding is decently coherent and far from superficial. And I start thinking of my paper--of whether or not this other girl can even vaguely understand what it is I'm trying to convey. The handwriting makes it difficult, I know...especially because I've never written in those big, bubble-type letters--always thin, slanted, and curvy cursive.
Everything that was supposed to have been stated...truly was stated I begin thinking to myself. I've got point-of-view, irony, diction, and theme--yes, it's all there.
What did I say... my eyes wander to the ceiling with those cold, white lights that greet me in the morning, directing my gaze towards the large, black&white poster of Jack Kerouac. Jack Kerouac, I once more think.
Wait...I stated the irony. I stated both it's purposes: compression and giving the character depth...reader's sympathy.
"No, I guess I don't like the way that's written," someone else says behind me. My hand clenches the pen: bitch! you don't know how to grade my paper! You're not qualified! I say in my mind.
"Now give them back in five minutes...give them to me, I'll give them to the owner," says Mrs. Bryan.
Fine...but what's she writing down on my paper? Three, four, and five? Now I'm livid. Oh, they'll say, she's livid"
So there's the paper in front of my face--a paper defiled by one of my classmates, who is not qualified to grade it. 3, 4, and 5? Do you know what a "4" implies?
You don't! You bitch, you don't! Come here, and I'll make one-thousand copies, staple them together, then slap you with it until you bleed.
I've showed you irony. I've showed you theme. A "4" implies that my paper is completely superficial. It implies that I lack fluid language. It implies that I cannot gather my thoughts correctly and express myself on paper.
In all my years of taking Advanced Placement classes, I have never gotten a paper with a "4".
And if she were in front of me, I'd tell her that I've been writing coherent "7"-"9" essays on Jacksonian Democracy; prompts which would have made her piss her fucking pants.
And you dare give me a "4"?
That's not my actual grade, obviously. Because it was graded by another student--the teacher gets the last word.
I am insulted by the people who have the ignorant courage to judge my work, yet, themselves cannot produce something half as good.
What was that? You didn't understand my handwriting? Well...switch papers!
I wish to be left alone now...forgive mispellings and/or grammatical errors.