“A mime? What the hell?” My friend said that afternoon as the entire student body shmushed through the doors and into the auditorium of the newest high school in the state.
This was the third school assembly arranged by the well-traveled, very well-read, quite elegant English teacher and theater director about whom rumors swirled.
Voices clattering, the students plunked into their seats.
The lights dimmed.
The curtain parted.
A man –
rail-thin,
attired in a black-and-white horizontal-striped sailor-neck,
long-sleeved shirt,
black pants,
thin slippers with no soles
sauntered onto the stage
arms erect at his sides
hands stiff
toes pointed
The crowd sat in silence.
He bowed humbly
walked lightly
sat gently
gesticulated effusively
emoted silently
His face morphed into glee, despair, then confusion as music piped from the stage toward the audience.
Within moments, his feet moved as if to the sound of tiny pebbles clattering onto the wooden stage.
The mime ducked,
remained in character while he
jerked his head right and left.
raised his hands to shield his face.
Hard pebbles of uncooked macaroni were slung by kids
too young to drive legally – only four of whom would graduate from college – few of whom would marry only once –
and only one of whom would ever return.
After the assembly, the English teacher bounded toward the stage,
waiving a blue box he must have picked-up on the aisle.
He demanded silence, then admonished the crowd for long minutes - about
manners, decorum, respect –
until the principal intervened
to dismiss them.
However, to this day, no one has answered the key question:
Who the hell brings a box of macaroni to a high school assembly?
Thomas Elson’s stories have appeared in multiple journals, including, New Writing Scotland, Short Édition, Selkie, New Ulster, Lampeter, Moria, Mad Swirl, Blink-Ink, Scapegoat, Flash Frontier, Bending Genres, and Adelaide. His story, Trapped Inside, was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He divides his time between Northern California and Western Kansas.
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