Permission

Chris opened the slim paperback book to the last page, hoping the print was large and the page count low. It was the smallest, thinnest book on the rack of choices set before the 10th-grade English class. Thankfully, she got to it first. Other kids were pulling big ones.

Chris didn’t like to read. It was somewhere in the middle of the pile of things she hated about high school. Math and Science sat on top, PE and Home Economics lay below. They all sucked in her opinion, and high school was stupid, a waste of life. She ached for the time when her life’s choices were her own and not in the purview of adults without a clue.

Chris has no memory of anyone reading to her, but there were two books she remembers having growing up. They were bright and thin with cardboard covers. A fat little chicken called Butterball was on the cover of her favorite book. She couldn’t recall the story, but when her father used to pinch her cheek and call her “Butterball,” she didn’t like it. The other book had a red fox with a chicken house on the cover. She somehow sensed the story was perilous for chickens. Why her tiny library was chicken-themed would probably never make sense, since her parents were clueless about parenting, so she never inquired.

Class was mostly quiet as books appeared to be consumed by ambitious, studious teenagers. Chris knew half the class was faking and hated reading as much as she did.

She once hoped the reason for her aversion to school was a learning disability of some sort, but her mom had her tested and was told “Your daughter is just not that bright.” So that plan backfired, for sure, Chris knew, and was disheartened because that meant her mother would now coach her second daughter to be beautiful instead of smart. “Oh, goody,” Chris thought every time her mother spewed fashion or etiquette advice.

“Her sister is the smart one, Chris is the pretty one,” her mother would say whenever the conversation called for a righteous, verbal justification. Both girls bristled but accepted their mother’s minimizing assessment of their entire being.. They were reduced to a single word uttered by the person who was supposed to have their best interest at heart, right? Who else could they believe? No one ever disagreed or objected. No one ever said, “They each can be both, Judy.”

The message was clear, if unstated: “Conform for success in our world. Play by these rules for the best outcome in life. Don’t shame your parents. Be good girls.”

Chris’s sister was considered the black sheep, but still emulated the adults in her life. She drank too much and pretended like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. If she wasn’t pretty, why try? She’d get what she wanted by being more clever and smarter than everyone in the room. And she was good at it.

Chris coped differently. She conformed in the obvious ways. She had great hair, a pretty smile, a cute figure, and just enough naivete to charm everyone, including the teachers who didn’t push her, but accepted her C grades as the best she could do. But she knew better, could do better, but she just wasn’t interested. Why bother? Because she was dumb, right?

Reluctantly, she opened the book again at her desk. It passed the length test, the type was an acceptable size, so she dove in and learned the tiny book was about a bird. A dumb old seagull story. What the heck! She regretted the choice immediately.

A few pages in, Chris identified with Jonathan Seagull, the protagonist. She was proud of herself for knowing that word. Protagonist. She must have remembered that from a past class. Like Jonathan, she didn’t appear to be an outsider in her small world, but she felt like one. She behaved in such a way as to fit in, but inside, she hated her life. She pretended her home life was good. It wasn’t, but it was no worse than some of her friends’ houses. She pretended she liked her friends and that being in the clique was cool, but she hated that, too. But she tried to be kind to everyone.

Soon enough in the book, she learned the differences between her and Jonathan. Sometimes Chris would question her circumstances and ask why. Then she resentfully accepted the answers she didn’t like. Jonathan asked why, too. But he also asked, “Why not?” and then did what his heart told him was right.

Chris stopped reading, put a stubby pencil on the page, and closed the book. With hands folded on top of the book, she looked blankly at the assignment written in chalk on the green “blackboard.” In large, cursive letters, it read: “Find three sentences in your book that make you feel something.”

Other kids were already writing things in their notebooks. Had they found sentences already? Chris looked around the room relieved to see that some were not writing yet. It just seemed too soon to have come across words with impact enough to make someone feel anything.

Her face must have betrayed her thoughts. The teacher caught her bewildered gaze and began to speak. She was mortified to hear him tell the class, “Words that affect, that’s aff-ect with an ‘a,’ one person may mean something, while others may search an entire book and find nothing that moves them.”

“That’s me,” Chris thought. “This is interesting, different, not boring, but I feel nothing.”

After a pause, the teacher continued. “If you don’t find anything that makes you personally feel an emotion, then imagine you are one of the characters and find something that affects, again with an ‘a,’ how they feel.”

“These books were chosen specifically for this assignment, so expectations are that everyone has the tools needed to complete this work.”

A few low groans followed the sound of scratches on paper. Clearly, what some of her classmates had written would not satisfy the teacher after that clarification.

Greg, an annoying classmate sated behind Chris crumpled his paper in a dramatic, slow-motion attempt to get her attention. He was looking directly at her as he stood up to throw the scratched-out lines on his paper in the wastebasket. When he passed by her desk and made eye contact, Chris intently returned his gaze with a neutral face. The visual showdown continued as he slowly moonwalked backwards to the front where the grey metal basket sat beside the teacher’s desk. It was one of his more ridiculous antics. She didn’t like Greg at all, but she enjoyed the attention. Flustering him was a highlight of any school day. This was just another joust with the annoying admirer. Knowing what her next move would be, she struggled to keep a straight face.

Just as he reached the can and was ready to turn away to drop the wad of paper, she winked and made a kissing face at him. The wink-kiss hit him like a punch in the jaw. His eyes grew wide, and he fell backwards, butt first into the can. His left arm caught the teacher’s desk and prevented his small frame from dropping all the way to the bottom.

Many of their classmates saw the scene play out from the beginning. Greg was always trying to get her attention. The sound of crumpling paper alerted them to some sort of interaction, but seeing Greg’s butt in a trashcan was a hilarious surprise. It was a welcome distraction from what many thought of as a too serious and personally invasive assignment.

While Greg’s buddy struggled to help get his butt free of the can, the teacher let the laughter play itself out. Gregg assured the teacher he was fine. Being the smart-alek everyone knew him to be, Greg stood next to the can to speak, referencing the assignment. He spoke to the teacher slowly.

“I….feel….nonplussed by…..this…..turn…..of events.”

“I’m not sure you understand if you’re using that word correctly. In any case, go back to your seat.” More laughter filled the room while Gregg returned to his desk chair, puzzled.

The bell rang. “Class dismissed.”

The seagull book was where she had stuffed it in her backpack the day before. It was not damaged by the trip home and back to school since it hadn’t been disturbed once jammed into the pink pack. Therefore, she hadn’t read any of it since the trashcan incident, even though it was considered homework. Of course, by now, all four grades had heard about the “buttcan affair.” Everyone knew it didn’t take long for that kind of thing to run through 200 kids.

As she settled in her seat, resigned to being stuck reading a bird book, it occurred to her that she wasn’t too mad about it. If Jonathan was asking why not, how was he getting away with that? What price was he paying for breaking the rules?

Bold curiosity was a new feeling for her. “What’s that darn bird gonna do next?” she wondered to herself.

Before she dug into the book, she went to the bookshelf behind the teacher’s desk and chose a dictionary and a thesaurus. The teacher raised his eyebrows as she stepped around his desk. Her set jaw dared him to say anything. He received the message and stayed silent.

Chris knew she was acting out of character. Multiple books open on her desk? Notebook? More than a show of minimal effort? Her friends stared at her. Most kids ignored her. It was slightly surprising to see that her actions attracted less scrutiny than she expected. It was a new feeling of freedom to know most people in the room didn’t actually care enough to clock her every move - only her friends and Greg, of course.

Pulling her stubby pencil from the place marker in her book, Chris continued to read Jonathan’s story. Occasionally, she’d stop to find a word in the thesaurus and then leaf through the dictionary,y writing down choice words and their meanings.

The bell rang and startled Chris out of her intense focus. She silently wished class were longer. “Darn it-wait-what-I hate school! What was happening?” She looked around, slightly disoriented.

“What the hell, Chris?” Kelly asked after class. “Trying to make the rest of us look bad?”

“No, Gawd!” she said to Kelly and the clique, recovering from her confusion. “I happen to like the book, and I’m curious about some of the vocabulary.” She hoped no one else had read the book and called her bluff because there weren’t any “hard” words in it.

It was none of their business if the book made her feel things she couldn’t define. It’s not like her family discussed feelings. Hell, they didn’t even say they loved each other. That would just be creepy. TV families love each other, not hers. Before going home, Chris made sure her book and notebook were stuffed at the bottom of her backpack, away from her mother’s prying eyes. She pushed them deep to the bottom beneath her makeup bag and one, black and red cheerleading pompom. She had lost the other one at a party recently and didn’t want her mom to know. “Nice girls don’t party. You’ll ruin your reputation!”

By the end of the third day, Chris didn’t need the cheat books. She could identify her emotions. Her attitude about the book had changed. Her attitude about life had changed. Sadly, she finished the book on the fourth day, wondering if she had tine to read it again, but decided she’d finish her paper first. She completed the assignment by writing her teacher a letter.

Dear Mr. Collins,

This is my paper based on Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach. I do not wish to address the specific assignment by choosing three individual sentences. This book was full of meaningful sentences, which affected (with an ‘a’) me. If the purpose of the assignment is feelings, I have plenty. Instead, in the spirit of Jonathan, I will break away from the rules but still meet the intent of the assignment. I’m not asking for permission.

In the story, Jonathan disobeyed his father. I desire to be able to do that.

Jonathan stood up to and disregarded the ridicule of his flock. I yearn to do that.

Jonathan broke rules and pushed boundaries. I am determined to do the same.

Jonathan almost died many times, but he kept trying anyway. I envy his commitment.

The bell rang before Chris finished. Her classmates gathered their books and backpacks while she wrote feverishly, waving her friends away with “I’m almost done. I’ll catch up,” not taking her eyes off the paper. When she finished, she packed up her things to leave.

He watched her walk up to his desk, paper in hand. Her chin was a little higher, her shoulders more square than her usual posture, while she stepped confidently up to the desk. As he reached for the assignment, she suddenly snatched her hand away, realizing she had forgotten to put her name on the paper.

She reached across his desk and picked up his pencil to write her name at the bottom of the paper. But instead of properly dotting her ‘i,’ she placed a tiny ‘v’ above it to symbolize a flying bird. Chris ceremoniously laid the paper on the desk and left the pencil on top while he sat back expectantly. “You’re the first one done, Chris. Unusual for you.”

She sauntered toward the door, saying, “In that case, I won’t be in class tomorrow. See you Monday - maybe.”