Pointless

POINTLESS

We’re all going to die one day. So if that’s the case, then why does anything matter? What’s the point in doing anything? Why have goals, ambitions; who cares about the future? Aren’t we all just lying in a pool of insignificance?

These thoughts fly through my head as my homeroom teacher finishes the sentence she is writing across the circa 1984 green chalk board. What has she written? “Three goals I have for myself this academic year are…” The sentence is in cursive, a writing style even more antiquated than the chalkboard. Fuck her, fuck this dumb homeroom, this dumb school, fuck life. It’s all so worthless. Yet I take out a notebook, obedience ingrained in my DNA. Here goes nothing.

I think for a few minutes, chewing on my pencil eraser as I do so. I just can’t get over how dumb this is! So ridiculous. Yet I jot some things down all the same.

1. Read more books

2. Make more friends

3. Be kinder and more considerate to my classmates

There, I’ve done it. Now I can rest. I put down my pencil, sigh, and turn toward the 8am sun shining through the classroom windows. Oh, to be home in bed, cuddling my soft pink comforter, the sun glittering through my bedroom window, lost in sleep, unconsciousness protecting me from the monotony of reality, free to play in my dreams. But no - here I am, amongst these fools, in this useless endeavor we call an education.

My homeroom teacher approaches me; I’ve already forgotten her name. She reads over my goals, and smiles. She continues to circulate the room, looking over my classmates’ papers. She nods and smiles periodically, showing the same disinterest as glances over each paper. I continue to chew on my pencil, boredom seeping into me, without having even begun first period yet.

Homeroom Teacher tells everyone to stop writing. She then asks for volunteers to stand up and explain one of their goals. Naturally, not one hand goes up. She then says nervously “Kassy, why don’t we start with you?” I have no idea how she even knows my name already. Whatever. I stand up. I feel my gray linen skirt sticking to my butt, the sweat having built on my legs after sitting for some time, and clandestinely attempt to free it. I’m sure everyone’s seen me, and I begin to feel my face heat up with embarrassment. I clear my throat, and nervously turn to my paper. I read my first goal, “Read more books.” Homeroom Teacher then asks me “What is one book you would like to read?” Stupid bitch. I stare at her, and feel a gush of red infuse my forehead, cheeks, and chin. Of course, I can name no books. I am fifteen, and my summer was spent playing video games and watching reality tv. “Well then,” she retorts “What’s one book you read this summer?” I continue to stand there in silence, humiliation saturating my mind and body, wanting to squeeze myself together into a snail-like spiral and hide from the world.

Ten minutes later, the bell rings, and the students eagerly run out of the classroom. Seven hours later, school has ended. I see Mrs. Homeroom Teacher outside, getting into her car. I see her mutter something, her face forming into an expression of frustration. She closes the driver-side door and quickly walks back toward the school. I stand outside with all of the other kids, gathered to chat while waiting for parent pick-ups and buses. I walk toward Homeroom Teacher’s car, exhilaration beginning to tickle my body. As I get closer, I feel a full-on thrill rush through me, my heart beginning to race, tingles in my arms and legs, and a slight feeling of light headedness. I look around to see if anyone is near, although the truth is, I really don’t care. I take out my Swiss army knife from the front pocket of my green North Face backpack and open it up, pulling the silver, somewhat rusted, knife out. I kneel down, and forcefully thrust the blade into the tire. I then attempt to pull it out, realizing that it is pretty well wedged in. I pull harder, and it comes out, air gushing out of the tire with it, the force pushing me onto my back.


I get up, close my knife, and return it to the front pocket of my backpack. I brush off my skirt and legs, turn around, and head toward home. As I walk down the sidewalk, a feeling of calm reigns over me, as I think that perhaps today I added some meaning to the pool of insignificance we call life.