And now for Fields’ WRITE HERE, WRITE NOW entry ...

Dependent

David leans across his desk and prods Emily. ‘Show me,’ he says. Emily is surrounded by a semicircle of friends. But she doesn’t hide. She turns from the cluster and stretches out an arm, which is lean and strong. It is as muscular as David’s own arms, although that’s okay, because she plays basketball and he doesn’t. At the end of her arm is a tightly woven cast, round like the tip of a cotton bud. It looks solid and heavy.

‘Sign it,’ she says. A dense pack of black and pink signatures envelopes the cast. David makes sure to find plenty of space for his own name.

‘When will you get to play again?’ he asks. He caps his marker.

‘Not for a long time,’ she says, and nods wisely.

The teacher walks into the room. She is old, or is at least much older than David is. She could be anywhere from twenty to sixty years old, he guesses. Her entrance is marked by her favourite phrase, which, much like her other mannerisms, David dislikes. ‘Shut up and quiet down!’ she says.

Today they learn about subordinate clauses.

‘Subordinate,’ the teacher says, emphasizing the word, ‘where one clause is dependent on another.’ She asks if anyone already knows this, but no one does.

David knows he should pay attention but can’t. He has to tend to his comments. Michael has been waiting in his notifications the entire morning. David taps with his thumbs. ‘thanks michael.’ He leaves it lowercase. It is cooler that way.

A new comment arrives, and David’s phone sounds ding!

The teacher says without looking, ‘Turn it off.’ David sees that she is writing out sentences on the whiteboard. David tries hard, but he can’t remember how to turn on mute.

The new comment is from Emily: ‘Ur so right.’ He types back quickly, ‘Truth,’ and presses enter. He looks at Emily, who gives a little smile and tucks her phone away.

David is getting a lot of comments. His phone dings! and then dings! again. The teacher pivots. ‘For the last time!’ she says, and walks down the rows of desks. David’s phone glows like a beacon. ‘Give it to me,’ she instructs.

‘I can’t,’ says David. ‘It’s a part of me.’ He sounds fearful.

‘The chances of that—honestly, you kids,’ she says, and grabs the phone.

‘No!’ shouts David, and pulls right back. They are engaged then, in a tug of war. David pulls with all his strength, but it is not enough. The teacher clamps the phone out, and David’s hand rips. A slab of his palm skin dangles from the back of the phone.

The teacher looks downcast. ‘Oh,’ she says. David cries into his shoulder. He cradles his hand.

The teacher looks around. She says to Emily, ‘Take him to the nurse. You know what to do.’ Emily smiles softly at him and puts a sturdy arm around David’s shoulders. She guides him from the room.


END


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