The Bone Box

"If you can get past the bone box, you'll probably ace this class."

Terry Mason bared his teeth at us as he handed around the course syllabus to the nineteen students in his Anatomy class. "Otherwise, you might as well take up Macrame 101."

I looked around at the other students who sat on lab stools at benches around the room. They seemed to range in age from about eighteen to middle age, by their looks. One guy looked over the hill, with a gray ponytail and crows' feet around his dark eyes. I was twenty-five and hoping to get into nursing school after discovering that my liberal arts degree from Vermont College didn't open doors around Boston.

"What's the bone box?" asked Sally, a blonde girl who lounged in the back row snapping her gum.

"You'll see," said Terry, and brushed his brown hair out of his eyes. At thirty-six, he was tired of teaching at night school but needed the extra income for alimony. We knew that because he complained about his ex-wife in every class.

On the first night, Terry draped his lanky frame in front of his desk and surveyed the class. "All right, folks. Before we dive in, pair up as lab partners." He aimed his finger at me and said, "You're One." He counted each student with alternating "one" and "two" until he reached Sally. "Ones, find a Two and take a bench."

After much confusion and shuffling, the class managed to pair up. I ended up with Mr. Ponytail. He glared at me as if I might bite, then stared at a skeleton hanging on a stand in the corner.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, and I winced. As a kid, I had been terrified of skeletons. In my dreams, they would come to life and chase me around, bones rattling like wind in the trees. But now they were merely learning tools on my career path.

I turned to my lab partner. "My name's Joy. What's yours?"

Mr. Ponytail said, "Kemp."

"Just Kemp?"

"It's good enough for me. Ought to be good enough for you."

I sighed. This was going to be a long semester.

Terry brought around microscopes and slides of tissue samples. "Buckle up, folks. Tonight we'll learn to differentiate squamous cells from epithelial tissue."

So began Anatomy & Physiology 101. I did pretty well with the microscope. A good grade in this class was required for getting into Quincy Community College's RN program.

I wondered why Kemp was taking the class, and he told me at the third class.

"I was a grunt medic in ‘Nam and I want to get an Associate's. Nobody in my family has a degree."

I couldn't think of an intelligent reply. "That's nice.”

Kemp rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

Each week we soldiered our way through the various systems of the human body. Circulatory, Cardiovascular, Digestive, and so on. Kemp started talking more during breaks.

"Been divorced for three years now. No kids. My ex couldn't stand me waking up screaming. One night I damned near choked her to death." He bit his lip. "How about you, Joy?”

I took a deep breath. "Well, I was born in Hong Kong and adopted into a white family. We lived in small towns that I integrated single-handedly. My classmates didn't care that I was Chinese, not Vietnamese. They'd yell, "Gook, gook, go back home!" and make machine gun noises at me. Even my own brothers did."

“That sucks, Joy. When people hate each other, it's easier to kill them. I couldn't do it. Thank God I was never in combat." His dark eyes glazed over. "But the things I saw would freeze your bones."

Each night we learned more biology and grew to appreciate the human body, living and dead. But the smell of formaldehyde filled our nostrils and students started dropping out.

In the first class of Neurology, Terry brought out a pickled brain that looked and felt real. As we passed the brain around, a guy named Ralph turned pale and looked ready to live up to his name. When Sally giggled and handed the gray specimen to him, he dropped it onto the floor. It bounced like a rubber toy and we all groaned. Ralph staggered to the open window and stuck his head out, gagging. People chuckled, but I think we all felt queasy.

Kemp and I helped each other get through the class. One night as we nursed Cokes from the vending machine, I asked, "Where are you from, Kemp?"

"Indian Island. The Penobscot Nation."

"That's in Maine, right?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah, how did you know that?"

"My adoptive mom is from Bangor. Right across the river."

When it was time to learn the bones, Terry brought the skeleton from the corner and plunked it in front of us. "Everybody, say 'hi' to 'Fred.'"

"Hi Fred," we mumbled. Terry waved Fred's left arm. "Fred is your best friend. Gather around and we'll get acquainted." He aimed Fred's bony finger at us. "There will be a quiz at the end of class."

I joined the cluster around Fred, but Kemp stayed in his place and pulled a cigarette from his black leather jacket. Smoking wasn’t allowed, so he rolled it between his nicotine-stained fingers. I felt bad for him, but didn’t know what to say.

The class became engrossed in learning about the various parts of Fred's grinning skull. I have a good memory for names, if I say so myself. I went back to my seat repeating the terms to prepare for the quiz.

Kemp just stared at the black countertop, crushing the cigarette in his big fist. He seemed to be breathing hard and lost in a trance.

My nursing instincts kicked in. "Are you okay, Kemp?"

He didn't answer. I saw beads of sweat on his high forehead. I went ahead and cracked open the book to the skeletal system. Kemp refused to look at it. Suddenly he shoved up from the stool and left without a word.

At the next class, Terry Mason announced, "This is the moment you've been waiting for." He paused. "The Bone Box. Step right up folks, for the greatest show on earth."

He moved Fred aside and hoisted a rectangular wooden box onto his desk. We looked at each other with dread. Terry opened the lid with a flourish. "Behold!"

The box contained a jumble of bones of all sizes. Two hundred and six, to be exact.

"Your mission, should you accept, is to identify each bone. This is a complete human skeleton, and we'll assemble it piece by piece. Fred is lonely and wants a mate."

"Is it real?" Sally asked with a shudder.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. Dig in."

I took one of the long bones back to the bench. Kemp knocked it from my hand, but I caught it. "I'll help us get through this, okay?"

He turned to face me and rasped, “I used to see these sticking out of the pant legs of the wounded guys. Bare bones, flesh hanging down like chicken meat. I can still hear them screaming." My stomach lurched.

Kemp picked up the bone, grimacing. "This is a fibula. Also known as the 'calf bone.' How's that for starters?" He gripped the bone in his muscular fists so hard it snapped in two.

The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot. Everyone jumped. Terry’s curly head shot up from his desk. "What the hell? You just destroyed priceless school property, Mr. Kemp."

Kemp stared back at him with glazed eyes, then shoved up from the bench. He grabbed his jacket and stamped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

He never came back, so I worked solo and passed the test of the bone box, as well as the rest of the human anatomy. I passed the class with an "A" and was accepted into the nursing program.

I enjoyed talking to patients but had lousy hands-on clinical skills. After the first semester, I flunked out and pursued a teaching degree at UMass Boston instead.

Now I tutor veterans at a community center. I encourage them to write and talk about their experiences. Some are tight-lipped, while others will tell anyone they meet. I learn as much from them as they learn from me.

And it had all started with Kemp and the bone box. I tried to fathom what he had gone through as a scared twenty-year-old. What had been tools of learning to me had been sheer horror to him. I wonder where he is now. I wish him well.