TheBearJew
04-17-2011, 03:50 PM
I haven't really gone over this draft much, as I was eager to share it and hear your thoughts. All thoughts, insults, improvements, and critiques will be thoroughly appreciated (well, less so the insults). Thanks for reading!
--------------------------------------------
Their excitement is poorly contained and their shrieks echo through the halls. They walk towards the classroom in shuffled but well-defined groups, the wave of every rumor rippling through their social structure. Inside the classroom, the day is still Friday, but save its mention on the top-right corner of the blackboard, one could not tell it from any other day. From inside the classroom, we watch as the students shuffle in, each pull of the door letting in a sample of the noise outside. Entering the classroom, they slowly muffle themselves, shouts dissipating into whispers.
We watch these students take their seats, their hushed conversations following them, and turn our glance to the teacher, seated at a desk by the chalkboard. One would be hard-pressed to define her as pretty, but she is easy to look at, with smooth skin and inviting brown eyes. She seems engulfed by paperwork, hardly noticing the swarm of teenagers entering her classroom. Slowly, she lifts up her head, browses through the faces at the desks, and stands up. The whispered banter halts as she opens her mouth to speak, and though we don’t look away, we know that all eyes have quickly locked onto her.
“Good morning,” she says, speaking with a soft energy that both soothes and intrigues. The students polite reply sounds to us as more of a mumble, but the teacher doesn’t seem to notice. We key in on a quiet child doodling his name in his notebook. He curled the J in Joey in such a way that it encircles his full name. With such precise observation, we easily observe his doodling to be little more than a mask. Barely turning his head from his notebook, he momentarily shifts his eyes towards a girl sitting on the other side of the classroom. In fear of being caught, he quickly returns his attention to his drawing.
The teacher continues. “Class, Dr. Strandberg is waiting outside. Today, we’ll continue where we left off yesterday, and then we’ll end the day early and let you go back to your vacations. Now, yesterday, we were all a little bit disappointed at your lack of participation. I’m aware that it can be difficult to share your feelings in front of your classmates, but you needn’t feel that way. These feelings are normal. Now, I’m going to head outside and welcome Dr. Strandberg in, and I want you all to keep what I said in mind.” The classroom was relatively silent, and she slipped elegantly out through the door.
Through the window on the door, her hushed conversation with the rounded, white-haired man could be clearly seen. The children began to engage in hushed conversations, ending shortly after the door opened. Both the teacher and Dr. Strandberg shuffled orderly into the classroom.
Dr. Strandberg stood facing the class, thoughtfully scanning and processing their faces and expressions. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and glanced down at a small notepad he held. “So, I recognize that this is a difficult environment for you guys to do this sort of thing in. Let’s set up the chairs in a circle, so that we can lose this- this classroom atmosphere.” His face still positioned so that he could look down at his notepad, he lifted his eyes at the end of his comment, shifting them side to side, reading the students and their reactions.
Though it felt as if longer, a few long seconds passed with the students simply exchanging stares, seemingly unsure as to what to do. “Well, you all heard Dr. Strandberg. Let’s set up the chairs in a circle.” Slowly, a few students started to slide their chairs outwards, and within moments, they all worked in unison, forming the circle the man had requested. They were all seated in a U of sorts, with the teacher and doctor at the opening, their backs facing the chalkboard behind them.
In their new format, the children seemed uncomfortable, almost intimidated by the change. Most looked down at their desks or feigned interest in their watch or a piece of lint clinging to their clothing. The eyes of the brave shot around the room, moving from classmate to classmate, alert to any movement so as to avoid locking eyes. A group of three boys seemed unfazed, and pretentiously sniggered to one another, clearly having utilized the seating alteration to sit beside their friends. The teacher stared disapprovingly at these troublemakers, awaiting their silence along with the doctor, who seemed indifferent to the noise.
“Brian, hush. The doctor would like to begin.” Brian, heedlessly rolled his eyes to his friend sitting beside him, but nevertheless quieted down along with his two companions.
“Yesterday, we began to discuss your reactions when you heard that Timothy-,” the doctor paused, adjusting his glasses. “-or Timmy, had fallen ill. Some of you said that you didn’t even believe that he was sick at first. Some of you said that you felt guilty about things you had or hadn’t done to Timmy in the past. We discussed how these are perfectly normal reactions to loss and part of a common grieving process that we go through when something bad happens to- yes, go ahead,” he said, pointing at a well-dressed girl in the corner.
“We also said that we were surprised, you know, because we never really imagined that anyone our age could, you know,” she paused, glancing around the room, seemingly to add effect, “die.”
The doctor responded with a nod, “Yes, Jordana, you’re quite right, and surprise, or shock, is another common step in coming to terms with the death of one close to us.”
He stood up, moving towards the blackboard. He wrote in block letters:
1) Denial/Shock
2) Anger
3) Bargaining
4) Guilt
“These are the steps we discussed yesterday,” he continued. “Now let me remind you all that these steps- these stages of grief- don’t necessarily occur in the order I place them, nor do they all take place in everyone. Jordana, for example, may feel shocked for longer than others, and may never feel guilt or anger, while Quinn may go through a few stages at once. In other words, this is a general list and order, and while some of you may not have experienced this process step by step, that is normal”
“So now, I want to continue where we left off. We went over a few of the steps, and gave examples. Today, we’ll go over the rest of the steps, and I’d like you all to share a bit more about what you felt with Timmy. I think you’ll all be surprised to find that you weren’t the only ones to feel that way.”
“Any questions?” He stood, searching the room for a raised hand, dejectedly pursing his lips when he found no takers. Looking around, he could see a few of the students were paying close attention, but most seemed uninterested. The teacher glared impatiently at her cell phone, as if awaiting a reason to excuse herself from the classroom.
“Well then, the next step-,” he continued, adding a new word to the board:
5) Depression
“-is arguably the most difficult to cope with. Depression can vary from person to person. One may just feel very sad, while another could be so depressed that he can no longer fathom why he should continue living. You all may have felt isolated, or maybe your mood changed very suddenly from normal to sad. Can any of you relate to these feelings of depression?”
Many of the students looked around the room, longing for the brave soul that would end the silence with a raised hand. The doctor raised his white eyebrows towards one of the three troublemakers. The boy had his elbow resting on his desk and his hand pointed upwards from there, clearly raised, but in a rather indifferent fashion.
“Well,” the boy began, pausing to regain his thoughts, “I think we all had moments where we felt that way. I mean, we all knew Timmy since fourth grade.”
“Sure,” the doctor responded, “it makes perfect sense that you should feel that way. Can you recall a specific instance where you felt particularly saddened?”
The boy paused, looking down at his desk for encouragement. “I guess. I mean, we always used to play basketball during breaks. Timmy was never much good-,” he chuckled uncomfortably, “-but he was tall, so I always would try to get him on my team to rebound. So when he first got sick, and just stopped coming to school, we played this once. And, I looked around for him, and then it just hit me that he wasn’t there to pick. And it sort of bummed me out. I couldn’t even play anymore.” He started playing with the zipper on his sweatshirt, focusing on it intensely, a clear attempt to ignore the glares he felt from his two friends to his side.
“Thanks for sharing, Daniel. Does anyone else have a story they’d like to share?”
A few more students shared their stories of depression. One girl, wiping tears of her cheeks with her sleeves, shared a story of a date she had been on with Timmy and how strange it was that he would never be back. Joey, still doodling in his notebook, silently watched and listened to her display of emotion.
Dr. Strandberg slowly moved on to discuss loneliness, and a few students shared examples of when they had felt lonely after Timmy’s passing. Then, shortly after one boy discussed how he had trouble reaching out for help, Dr. Strandberg looked at his watch. “Well, this is a good time for a short intermission. Take a break for, oh, say ten minutes, and let’s continue from there.”
The students slowly climbed out of their seats, making their way to the door. After exiting they split into groups, excitedly continuing their conversations from before class.
“So, Tara, do you think he’s into you?” The girl Joey had shot glances at earlier bit her lip before responding. “I mean, I’m not sure. He never really talks to me much in school, but he keeps messaging me online. I mean, it’s kind of-.“ She cut herself off, as Daniel had walked over with one of his friends.
“Hey Tara,” he said, nodding his head in her direction. Turning towards Tara’s friend, he nodded his head again “Cindy.” “Hey, guys,” Cindy responded eagerly, her finger twirling her hair. Fasting forward, we see the four flirt for a few minutes.
We then shift our gaze towards a group of five boys. One holds a sports magazine, flipping nonchalantly through the pages, stating confidently “as long as that bum is starting at quarterback, there is no way the Browns will be getting to the playoffs again, let alone the Super Bowl.” Two of the boys wave their hands at him, signaling their disagreement, while another nods his head in approval. The fifth is paying little attention to their conversation, his eyes locked on the legs of a girl strolling past.
“Alright, everyone back in.” The teacher calls to the students, her head and shoulders peering out of the doorway of the classroom. They quickly finish their conversations, and by the time they’re all seated, they are quiet.
The doctor, still standing by the board, adds two more words: acceptance and hope. “Now,” he begins, “the difference between these two steps is key. Acceptance should not be confused for the final step. Why is that, do you guys think? Anyone have any ideas?”
Jordana raised her hand. “Acceptance is merely recognizing that Timmy died. Hope is realizing that we can still live happily, despite all that happened.”
“Exactly. Well said. Now, I’d like to hear some of your thoughts pertaining to these steps. Preferably from someone who we’ve heard less from. How about you, Joseph, you’re yet to share your thoughts with us. Go ahead.”
Joey looked up from his notebook at the man, then slowly around the room at his classmates. “No, I just don’t have much to say about it.”
“Well, Joey, you were good friends with Timothy, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well you must have felt something.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, go on, share those feelings with us. Take your time.”
“Well, I mean, it sucked. But I look at the board, at your steps, and I just don’t get what we’re doing here.” Joey examined his classmates and their expressions, their curiosity obvious.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m looking around the classroom, and I can count the friends Timmy had on one hand. Everyone’s sharing their stories and feelings, but I just don’t get how they can have all of these feelings. I mean, half of the people sitting here barely ever spoke to or noticed Timmy. If he would have moved away, nobody would have given a ****. Why are they sitting here with a psychologist? Why are we all pretending to give a crap?”
The doctor interjected forcefully, “Hey, Joseph, calm down now. No need to get riled up. I understand this is difficult-“
Joey, stood up with raised hands. “I’m calm, I’m calm- I just think this whole session is bull****.” He stormed out of the classroom, Dr. Strandberg following after him.
“Well, let’s take a short five minute break,” the teacher said, ending the shocked silence of the students. As the students filed out the door, one girl stayed back, sitting at her desk. The teacher approached her desk. “Arianna, why don’t you join everyone outside?”
Arianna looked up at the teacher. “Ms. Wilson?”
“Yes, dear?”
Arianna looked straight at the teacher, locking eyes, and spoke gently. “I didn’t feel any of them.”
“Any of what?”
“The steps. I mean,I know I’m supposed to feel these things, but I just don’t.”
The teacher smiled kindly. “That’s alright, Arianna, it’s okay.”
Arianna looked away, unconvinced, and walked out the door. The teacher followed her out, shutting the lights and the door. We zoom out, shifting our view back to the full classroom. The chairs were still organized in a U- fashion, the board still listing the steps. The room was silent. Hammering could be heard through an open window, and car alarm blared in the distance.
--------------------------------------------
Their excitement is poorly contained and their shrieks echo through the halls. They walk towards the classroom in shuffled but well-defined groups, the wave of every rumor rippling through their social structure. Inside the classroom, the day is still Friday, but save its mention on the top-right corner of the blackboard, one could not tell it from any other day. From inside the classroom, we watch as the students shuffle in, each pull of the door letting in a sample of the noise outside. Entering the classroom, they slowly muffle themselves, shouts dissipating into whispers.
We watch these students take their seats, their hushed conversations following them, and turn our glance to the teacher, seated at a desk by the chalkboard. One would be hard-pressed to define her as pretty, but she is easy to look at, with smooth skin and inviting brown eyes. She seems engulfed by paperwork, hardly noticing the swarm of teenagers entering her classroom. Slowly, she lifts up her head, browses through the faces at the desks, and stands up. The whispered banter halts as she opens her mouth to speak, and though we don’t look away, we know that all eyes have quickly locked onto her.
“Good morning,” she says, speaking with a soft energy that both soothes and intrigues. The students polite reply sounds to us as more of a mumble, but the teacher doesn’t seem to notice. We key in on a quiet child doodling his name in his notebook. He curled the J in Joey in such a way that it encircles his full name. With such precise observation, we easily observe his doodling to be little more than a mask. Barely turning his head from his notebook, he momentarily shifts his eyes towards a girl sitting on the other side of the classroom. In fear of being caught, he quickly returns his attention to his drawing.
The teacher continues. “Class, Dr. Strandberg is waiting outside. Today, we’ll continue where we left off yesterday, and then we’ll end the day early and let you go back to your vacations. Now, yesterday, we were all a little bit disappointed at your lack of participation. I’m aware that it can be difficult to share your feelings in front of your classmates, but you needn’t feel that way. These feelings are normal. Now, I’m going to head outside and welcome Dr. Strandberg in, and I want you all to keep what I said in mind.” The classroom was relatively silent, and she slipped elegantly out through the door.
Through the window on the door, her hushed conversation with the rounded, white-haired man could be clearly seen. The children began to engage in hushed conversations, ending shortly after the door opened. Both the teacher and Dr. Strandberg shuffled orderly into the classroom.
Dr. Strandberg stood facing the class, thoughtfully scanning and processing their faces and expressions. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and glanced down at a small notepad he held. “So, I recognize that this is a difficult environment for you guys to do this sort of thing in. Let’s set up the chairs in a circle, so that we can lose this- this classroom atmosphere.” His face still positioned so that he could look down at his notepad, he lifted his eyes at the end of his comment, shifting them side to side, reading the students and their reactions.
Though it felt as if longer, a few long seconds passed with the students simply exchanging stares, seemingly unsure as to what to do. “Well, you all heard Dr. Strandberg. Let’s set up the chairs in a circle.” Slowly, a few students started to slide their chairs outwards, and within moments, they all worked in unison, forming the circle the man had requested. They were all seated in a U of sorts, with the teacher and doctor at the opening, their backs facing the chalkboard behind them.
In their new format, the children seemed uncomfortable, almost intimidated by the change. Most looked down at their desks or feigned interest in their watch or a piece of lint clinging to their clothing. The eyes of the brave shot around the room, moving from classmate to classmate, alert to any movement so as to avoid locking eyes. A group of three boys seemed unfazed, and pretentiously sniggered to one another, clearly having utilized the seating alteration to sit beside their friends. The teacher stared disapprovingly at these troublemakers, awaiting their silence along with the doctor, who seemed indifferent to the noise.
“Brian, hush. The doctor would like to begin.” Brian, heedlessly rolled his eyes to his friend sitting beside him, but nevertheless quieted down along with his two companions.
“Yesterday, we began to discuss your reactions when you heard that Timothy-,” the doctor paused, adjusting his glasses. “-or Timmy, had fallen ill. Some of you said that you didn’t even believe that he was sick at first. Some of you said that you felt guilty about things you had or hadn’t done to Timmy in the past. We discussed how these are perfectly normal reactions to loss and part of a common grieving process that we go through when something bad happens to- yes, go ahead,” he said, pointing at a well-dressed girl in the corner.
“We also said that we were surprised, you know, because we never really imagined that anyone our age could, you know,” she paused, glancing around the room, seemingly to add effect, “die.”
The doctor responded with a nod, “Yes, Jordana, you’re quite right, and surprise, or shock, is another common step in coming to terms with the death of one close to us.”
He stood up, moving towards the blackboard. He wrote in block letters:
1) Denial/Shock
2) Anger
3) Bargaining
4) Guilt
“These are the steps we discussed yesterday,” he continued. “Now let me remind you all that these steps- these stages of grief- don’t necessarily occur in the order I place them, nor do they all take place in everyone. Jordana, for example, may feel shocked for longer than others, and may never feel guilt or anger, while Quinn may go through a few stages at once. In other words, this is a general list and order, and while some of you may not have experienced this process step by step, that is normal”
“So now, I want to continue where we left off. We went over a few of the steps, and gave examples. Today, we’ll go over the rest of the steps, and I’d like you all to share a bit more about what you felt with Timmy. I think you’ll all be surprised to find that you weren’t the only ones to feel that way.”
“Any questions?” He stood, searching the room for a raised hand, dejectedly pursing his lips when he found no takers. Looking around, he could see a few of the students were paying close attention, but most seemed uninterested. The teacher glared impatiently at her cell phone, as if awaiting a reason to excuse herself from the classroom.
“Well then, the next step-,” he continued, adding a new word to the board:
5) Depression
“-is arguably the most difficult to cope with. Depression can vary from person to person. One may just feel very sad, while another could be so depressed that he can no longer fathom why he should continue living. You all may have felt isolated, or maybe your mood changed very suddenly from normal to sad. Can any of you relate to these feelings of depression?”
Many of the students looked around the room, longing for the brave soul that would end the silence with a raised hand. The doctor raised his white eyebrows towards one of the three troublemakers. The boy had his elbow resting on his desk and his hand pointed upwards from there, clearly raised, but in a rather indifferent fashion.
“Well,” the boy began, pausing to regain his thoughts, “I think we all had moments where we felt that way. I mean, we all knew Timmy since fourth grade.”
“Sure,” the doctor responded, “it makes perfect sense that you should feel that way. Can you recall a specific instance where you felt particularly saddened?”
The boy paused, looking down at his desk for encouragement. “I guess. I mean, we always used to play basketball during breaks. Timmy was never much good-,” he chuckled uncomfortably, “-but he was tall, so I always would try to get him on my team to rebound. So when he first got sick, and just stopped coming to school, we played this once. And, I looked around for him, and then it just hit me that he wasn’t there to pick. And it sort of bummed me out. I couldn’t even play anymore.” He started playing with the zipper on his sweatshirt, focusing on it intensely, a clear attempt to ignore the glares he felt from his two friends to his side.
“Thanks for sharing, Daniel. Does anyone else have a story they’d like to share?”
A few more students shared their stories of depression. One girl, wiping tears of her cheeks with her sleeves, shared a story of a date she had been on with Timmy and how strange it was that he would never be back. Joey, still doodling in his notebook, silently watched and listened to her display of emotion.
Dr. Strandberg slowly moved on to discuss loneliness, and a few students shared examples of when they had felt lonely after Timmy’s passing. Then, shortly after one boy discussed how he had trouble reaching out for help, Dr. Strandberg looked at his watch. “Well, this is a good time for a short intermission. Take a break for, oh, say ten minutes, and let’s continue from there.”
The students slowly climbed out of their seats, making their way to the door. After exiting they split into groups, excitedly continuing their conversations from before class.
“So, Tara, do you think he’s into you?” The girl Joey had shot glances at earlier bit her lip before responding. “I mean, I’m not sure. He never really talks to me much in school, but he keeps messaging me online. I mean, it’s kind of-.“ She cut herself off, as Daniel had walked over with one of his friends.
“Hey Tara,” he said, nodding his head in her direction. Turning towards Tara’s friend, he nodded his head again “Cindy.” “Hey, guys,” Cindy responded eagerly, her finger twirling her hair. Fasting forward, we see the four flirt for a few minutes.
We then shift our gaze towards a group of five boys. One holds a sports magazine, flipping nonchalantly through the pages, stating confidently “as long as that bum is starting at quarterback, there is no way the Browns will be getting to the playoffs again, let alone the Super Bowl.” Two of the boys wave their hands at him, signaling their disagreement, while another nods his head in approval. The fifth is paying little attention to their conversation, his eyes locked on the legs of a girl strolling past.
“Alright, everyone back in.” The teacher calls to the students, her head and shoulders peering out of the doorway of the classroom. They quickly finish their conversations, and by the time they’re all seated, they are quiet.
The doctor, still standing by the board, adds two more words: acceptance and hope. “Now,” he begins, “the difference between these two steps is key. Acceptance should not be confused for the final step. Why is that, do you guys think? Anyone have any ideas?”
Jordana raised her hand. “Acceptance is merely recognizing that Timmy died. Hope is realizing that we can still live happily, despite all that happened.”
“Exactly. Well said. Now, I’d like to hear some of your thoughts pertaining to these steps. Preferably from someone who we’ve heard less from. How about you, Joseph, you’re yet to share your thoughts with us. Go ahead.”
Joey looked up from his notebook at the man, then slowly around the room at his classmates. “No, I just don’t have much to say about it.”
“Well, Joey, you were good friends with Timothy, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well you must have felt something.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, go on, share those feelings with us. Take your time.”
“Well, I mean, it sucked. But I look at the board, at your steps, and I just don’t get what we’re doing here.” Joey examined his classmates and their expressions, their curiosity obvious.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m looking around the classroom, and I can count the friends Timmy had on one hand. Everyone’s sharing their stories and feelings, but I just don’t get how they can have all of these feelings. I mean, half of the people sitting here barely ever spoke to or noticed Timmy. If he would have moved away, nobody would have given a ****. Why are they sitting here with a psychologist? Why are we all pretending to give a crap?”
The doctor interjected forcefully, “Hey, Joseph, calm down now. No need to get riled up. I understand this is difficult-“
Joey, stood up with raised hands. “I’m calm, I’m calm- I just think this whole session is bull****.” He stormed out of the classroom, Dr. Strandberg following after him.
“Well, let’s take a short five minute break,” the teacher said, ending the shocked silence of the students. As the students filed out the door, one girl stayed back, sitting at her desk. The teacher approached her desk. “Arianna, why don’t you join everyone outside?”
Arianna looked up at the teacher. “Ms. Wilson?”
“Yes, dear?”
Arianna looked straight at the teacher, locking eyes, and spoke gently. “I didn’t feel any of them.”
“Any of what?”
“The steps. I mean,I know I’m supposed to feel these things, but I just don’t.”
The teacher smiled kindly. “That’s alright, Arianna, it’s okay.”
Arianna looked away, unconvinced, and walked out the door. The teacher followed her out, shutting the lights and the door. We zoom out, shifting our view back to the full classroom. The chairs were still organized in a U- fashion, the board still listing the steps. The room was silent. Hammering could be heard through an open window, and car alarm blared in the distance.