Love is a Funnel

Love is a Funnel

I always hated waking up early. I didn’t see the point of school. Why learn about history? It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore. I heard my mother yell for me to wake up and I hated her for it. So I slept on. She didn’t agree with my decision so she dragged me out of bed. At this point, I was so behind it seemed beyond stupid to try to get ready. My mom pushed me out the door and I couldn’t see anything. She threw my back pack at me and I blindly picked it up.

I walked with this bulk strapped over my back and I just despised myself. How could I be this way? After all the favors that I’d received over my life, I was slowly flushing everything my family had worked for. I walked toward the blurred image of the bus stop. I stood on the other side of the street aware of how the others at the bus stop thought I was pathetic. It was truly saddening for me, but I made the journey across the street. The wind was freezing against my face. Why couldn’t Mom have put a jacket on me? I wondered and hoped that she at least placed my glasses in my backpack.

Of course when I stooped down and began to unzip my backpack the bus veered around the corner. It’s stuff like that that plagues my everyday life. How trivial it all is. So I tediously zipped my backpack again and I placed my glasses on my face. My mom regained my trust momentarily, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on her.

I stepped inside the bus where I was greeted by 30-something loudly squawking teens my age and my ethnic bus driver. How exotic! I feel as if I have just stepped onto a bus that leads to my death. More than anything, I feel tired. God, I hate finding a seat on the bus. I certainly don’t want to sit with some stupid, fat sixth grader nor a vain jock that shows nothing, but complete hatred for my existence. So, I, the ugly stupid girl sat in the only empty seat and read the poetry written on the mock leather seat.

Hopefully, I could get past this stupid mess. Unfortunately, the bus reached the school. I was so disappointed in God because I specifically asked him to kill everyone on the bus including me. I hinted in my prayer that a crash wouldn’t be too bad. Now, I was surrounded by stupid jocks, cheerleaders, and nerds. They made me concerned for the future of America. These were the very individuals who had made me laugh at their stupidity. The individuals who didn’t know what politics were. They couldn’t conjugate verbs. This is the kind of crap that makes me want to cry.

So as they lumbered ruggedly off the buses, I thought quietly to myself. It was like walking through a Red Sea of average people except they wouldn’t separate. I entered the school, the government’s new idea of torture, and sighed deeply. What I wouldn’t give to sleep? I shuffled along sleepily and I noticed all the crap that the Art Club put together for whatever fundraiser was going on. I laughed and people around me picked up their pace.

I was practically at my locker and it was about time. I wanted to shut my head in there and sleep. I have a bottom locker and I think it is the stupidest idea ever. I’ve never had a top locker and since I’m in eighth grade it doesn’t look likely. I threw my backpack at the ground. I frowned and leaned to the ground like a flower seeking water. I felt pretty dumb unzipping my backpack looking as if I was some artsy-fartsy interpretive dancer. I heard a faint rustling when I opened it. Oh great, a note! Let’s see what brilliance my mom has to shed upon my fragile 13 year old mind.

Dear Sandra,

I feel like you are growing apart from me. I feel alienated........

Who does she think she is? This note is more reminiscent of a novel. I refuse to read any more. Why is everyone so selfish? I feel, Sandra help me, I don’t know what to do. I feel. How pathetic. I unloaded my backpack and realized that I forgot to do my Science homework. Too bad, isn’t it? I gathered my books and walked to class.

Do all teachers fit stereotypes? I put my books down and I sat. School makes me sick. I want a doughnut. Ms. Lorett entered the room. She is my own standard of English teachers. They’re always beautiful and blonde. That’s what my previous English teachers were like. Ms. Lorett was no exception.
“Okay everybody,” she said, “Okay, time for class.”

You had to feel for her. Most mornings they wouldn’t shut up. I could never be a teacher. She continued to give us an assignment. Assignments are the worst. They’re like the cancer of schoolwork.
“Okay, the assignment is to write a short story about a subject that interests you,” explained Ms. Lorett.
There was dead silence.
“Okay, then,” said Ms. Lorett, “Let’s move on to today’s lesson.”

She proceeded to the board where she took a piece of chalk and began writing. I watched in horror as she completely dissed the intelligence of all the students in the room. It read in dry white chalk: There, They’re, and Their.
“Now can someone please tell me the difference between these three words,” she asked.
I shot my hand into the air. She looked around the room and was obviously ignoring me. I shook my arm, stretching it as far as it would go.
“Yes Sandra?”
“The difference is that T-H-E-R-E is a place name like, ‘I put it there’. T-H-E-Y-R-E is a contraction of they and are and T-H-E-I-R is possessive.”

That wasn’t so hard, now was it? I can’t believe that this is what I deal with. You think slavery was torture? You won’t after you’ve taken regular English. She continued to explain what I already knew and I completely blocked out what she said. I was so bored and since thinking is so boring I got out a sheet of paper. I decided to do something fun, to get a laugh. I started to write.

Dear Greg,

I have a confession to make to you. Do you remember that night? The one where we met at the movies and saw some comedy with Adam Sandler. I must confess that I have been deeply in love with you ever since that night. I would love to be more than friends with you. I would give anything to see you look at me like you did back at that Adam Sandler movie. Call me 861-4674
Love,
Hilary

That will teach that idiot to mess with me. I hope Greg buys it. He will, he’s no boy genius. I can’t wait. Hilary is the premiere cheerleader this year. She told everyone about her one night at the Adam Sandler movie with Greg. She really must be dumb. Nothing happened, yet, she obsesses over it religiously. What a retard!

Finally, time for lunch! I was afraid that Ms. Lorett would never tire of the easiest part of the English language. I grabbed my lunch box and headed for the door. Ms. Lorett lunged at me and said she needed to speak with me.
“Sandra, I couldn’t help but notice that you were a little detached today. I’m not sure if you grasp what we discussed today,” she said.
“Huh?”

Ch. 2

I ate my lunch; all of my dignity was lost. How could she possibly think I didn’t comprehend? I know English so well I’ve started to learn French for fun. I sometimes like to find totally clueless people and just say something French to them and repeat it while making my voice grow to a shriek. In fact, this guy who just sat down near me looked like the perfect victim. His pale face slowly moved as he ate what looked like a tuna sandwich. I was about to speak my crazy French at him, but he spoke first.
“Do you know what we’re doing today in English?”
“Yeah, we’re doing this thing on there, their, and they’re.”
“Really? Didn’t we do that last year?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t here last year.”

At this point he was silent; almost embarrassed. I felt it, too. What was it about him? He talked to me as if he knew me and in doing so he became an oddity. He seemed foreign; exotic. I didn’t even know his name, yet, he dwelled in my thoughts while I chewed.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said finally. I swallowed and wondered what that was supposed to mean.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You have these brief moments.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He was an odd bird that was for sure. I wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this, but it was strangely compelling. Watching him talk was like watching a car crash.
“What I mean is that I barely know anything about you and I want to know more.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know. We could do something. Sometime.”

I almost couldn’t believe what had just happened. I meet some pale guy eating tuna and now I’ve got some sort of a date with him. I gave him my number and I left the cafeteria with my class. Even their annoying squawking was almost overlooked by me. I was in complete bliss.

I floated through the remainder of the day until I realized that eventually I would have to go home on the bus. It struck me and it hurt. What would my mother have to say today? I sighed as my bus was called over the intercom. I maneuvered my way through the hall and nearly was slammed into the wall. People can be so inconsiderate.

My bus driver reached my stop without crashing and I am beginning to think my prayers aren’t making any difference. I lumbered off the bus once again and I meandered towards my house. The sky was a pale blue and the wind was still chilly. I reached the door and it was open. In the distant family room, I could hear some mothers crying and I knew it was that time of the week. The time where she gets depressed and watches trash T.V. uncontrollably. I hate when this happens.

I walked into the room, remembering the morning and how I had behaved. It didn’t matter anymore; that creature on the sofa was not my mother. I glanced at the T.V. and I got the awe-inspiring sight of some girl named Shaniqua telling her mom that she wants to get pregnant and there is nothing she can do about it. I walked to my mother and gave her a look of complete disbelief.

“Why do you watch this crap?”
“It’s not crap! You better watch it or you’ll end up like her,” she said pointing at the television.
“Come on Mom! You know I’d kill for an opportunity to humiliate myself on some trashy talk show!” I said in a sarcastic playful way.
“Just promise me that you won’t do this kind of thing to me.”
“Fine, don’t get all worked up about it,” I said rolling my eyes and thinking ahead to the future.

After an excruciating week of painful slave labor at my school, the weekend finally arrived and even the idiots were pleased. I think they had some important television watching to do. Regardless, the weekend offered a date and I was excited. It turned out that this pale guy was actually Bobby Hou and that he would meet me at the movie theater Friday night.

When I arrived at the movies, everything went exactly to plan which was grand. I didn’t pay for admission and that was all I wanted in the first place. We sat in the back of the theater because that is what Bobby likes and I thought that this was turning out just as I had wanted it.
“So,” I said, “You said that you wanted to know more about me.”
He turned and looked at me. Everything about him was so strange and he pulled at my interest like a magnet.
“I wanted to know what you like and what you hate,” he said.

I was going to answer him, but then I thought popped into my head.
“Didn’t you say Adam Sandler was in this?”
“Yeah, do you like him?”
I scanned the room and there they were. Hilary and Greg were walking straight up the stairs to the very back where we were. They were so predictable. I could smell them from a mile away and I really hate the smell of Abercrombie. Rich clothes stink.

“Who are you looking at?” said Bobby.
I jumped and then smiled.
“Um, I was looking at, you know, just the people.” I said in an awkward tone. I flinched at the sound of my own voice.
“So, you like, looking at people,” Bobby said putting on a dopey unconvincing smile.
“Sure,” I said as the lights faded.

Ch. 3

I got home and my mother had waited up for me. She had known that I was on a date and I wasn’t quite sure that she approved. I didn’t care what she had to say; I just hoped that she would make it quick. I tiredly blinked at her and she exchanged a similar expression.

“Look, Sandra,” she said, “I know that dating is a popular thing to do, but do you have to?”
I didn’t know how to tell her. I wasn’t doing it because it was popular with those mindless cows. I was doing it because I wanted to and I wasn’t going to let her speak to me like that.
I turned to her and I prepared to scream my lungs out, but she just touched my shoulders. She walked me to the couch and we both sat.

“Sandra,” she said, “I don’t want to argue, I just wanted to say one thing.”
“What do you want to say?”
“I just wanted to say that love is a funnel.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She didn’t say anything else, but she rose from the couch and left the room. I sat in disbelief at her. How is love like a funnel? Are they both plastic? I couldn’t get my mind off of my date. It was fun, but something told me that it was only the beginning.

I had met Bobby in the hallway before English the following Monday. He had said that he wanted to see me again and I really wanted to do anything with him. After school, I decided not to take the bus and instead I walked with Bobby to his house. Everything was just so wonderful and I had no idea what I was waiting for. I needed to know more of him. I didn’t want something two-dimensional. I hadn’t known what had come over me.

I had walked over five miles to get home. What would have been a simple drive on the bus had morphed into a journey to Mecca. I slumped along the uneven road gazing forward to my neighborhood. I ached and hurt. I coughed and I ventured into my sweet little neighborhood of Glennwood Fields. I was worried for my life because my mother was not usually accepting of me disappearing. I had deceived her once before while at a theme park. I didn’t like to think about it.

From a distance, I could see my house and I also saw the cars that were parked outside. My curiosity was aroused and I walked faster. The police cars were empty, but I wasn’t worried. I passed by the smiling, yet, drooping flowers as I made my way to the door. I opened it and went inside. I could hear my mother and she was softly sobbing. There were other voices, too. Police, no doubt. I sighed and I closed the door behind me.

They all rushed out of the family room and saw it was me. My mother ran to me and thrust me against her thin, frail body.
“Oh, Sandra! Oh, Sandra! I’m so glad you are okay.”
I was sympathetic towards her, but she honestly needed to let go of me. She looked at me and smiled. She was disgusting. Her face was soggy from tears and snot; she was repulsive.
“Sandra, I was so scared. I called 911 and your bus was in an accident. When they said that you…that they didn’t find you, I was so scared,” she confessed, breathing heavily.

After all of this time, the bus finally crashed. It came as a shock to me and I didn’t know what to say really. I stood there knowing I had prayed for this accident. I saw my mother crying because she thought she had lost me and she made me think about the stupid jocks’ mothers. I thought about the cheerleaders’ mothers and the nerds’ mothers. It was little too much for me. Although, I had expected them to ask why I had not been on the bus, they did not. I just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep. Not just any kind of sleep, but a sleep that seemed to never end. I remembered the short story I had to write and I knew that I had the perfect subject.

I was driven to school on Tuesday and I had English on my mind. I walked into school. I found my desk as usual and I was ready for this. I held my short story in my hands. It looked like a million dollars to me. I didn’t feel so bad about my life; I wasn’t flushing everything away. I could do something about it. My short story which was entitled “Love is a Funnel” discovered what exactly my mother had meant.

If love is a funnel then putting something in the funnel is like a first date. If love is a funnel then the best part is when it twirls around; it is also the craziest. Then, of course, if love is a funnel the last part is when it all falls out through the bottom. I hoped that Ms. Lorett agreed because my grade really needed something great.

After class, Ms. Lorett told me to stay behind. She crossed her arms very naturally and glanced into my face. She opened her mouth and words came out. It was regarding the bus. Last night, on the news it was reported that three children had died in the bus accident. She wanted to know how I was holding up and if I needed to talk to her. She stared into my eyes. I twisted inside and my eyes welled with tears. I took in a deep breath trying not to do anything embarrassing. I started to cry and I gasped loudly for air.
“I just went to his house and…and,”I stammered.
She talked in a soothing voice. She tried to tell me that everything was okay.
“All I wanted was someone who would just love me,” I exploded.
I sat in a desk and I rested my face in my palm. I cried and she looked at me.
“Ms. Lorett, I hated those kids on the bus and now, now three of them are dead.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Ms Lorett exclaimed.
“It was my fault,” I choked.
The intercom beeped and the woman said that there was some yelling occurring in the hall between a boy and a girl.
“Sandra, I know you don’t feel well. Do you want to go to the health room?”
“Fine,” I uttered, giving in to her suggestion.
She took me out into the hall and she pointed and told me to go on my own. I looked down the hall and I saw them. Hilary and Greg were yelling at each other. It was my own fault and I knew it. Why did I even pick them? I couldn’t even remember the reason, but it was clear that Hilary and Greg were falling out the bottom of a funnel.

All I wanted now was a funnel. I wanted the best funnel in the whole world. I wanted one that when the ingredients are put in they are the perfect fit. I want the ingredients to twirl in a maddening swirl of passion until they finally take the dramatic fall through the hole at the bottom. I don’t want to be there when they take that fall because when it is all over there is nothing that hurts more.