Educating the animals

• Kate Wilson, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2006

“A wise donkey once said, “Parfait has layers”. Oblivious to the individual at the time this statement has more sense than first meets the eye.” The teacher stood, smug smile on her face, looking mischievously over the top of the tinted reading glasses resting on her nose.
“ Your job, children, is to find your own personal meaning to this statement and project your opinion to me in essay form and to your peers in the stature of a two minute speech that you will be presenting….let me see….tomorrow.” She lifted her head a little to high in the air as her gaze swept over the members of her class, daring anyone of them to protest and stand up to her.
No, she thought, they have more pride than that. I always win.
Ms. Trivet glided out of the room, looking back over her shoulder at the class as they merged together to form small, joint-at-the-head, discussion groups with only one topic, her.
Unable to contain her pleasure she hummed whilst walking to her next class, students looked at her with peculiar concern; they were not used to her looking too content. When she arrived at the next class she walked in and sat down at the neat wooden desk that faced the four orderly rows spread across the rest of the room, facing the front or her rather. She coughed to get the attention of the students and smiled to herself imagining the amusement she would encounter tomorrow when seeing the pupils in her earlier class cough up there essays and speeches after doing nothing else the entire night.
“Right” She sighed, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

The next day, Ms. Trivet wore the glasses she required to function and was then ready for every excuse that was thrown her way.
The class was silent as she strolled in, as expected; as per usual. Picking up a piece of chalk she walked up to the chalk board and wrote in large loopy handwriting; Completed Homework, with an arrow pointing down onto the right of the front desk there for the teacher. To the left she drew an arrow with the word; Excuses, written plainly above it.
A long line formed to the left of the desk she now sat behind and she counted three pieces of paper to her right.
Impressive, she noted, more than usual.
She looked into the eyes of the first child in the line, she knew what she saw in his eyes; fear – of her.
She smiled, questioning the boy;
“Tell me child, why is it that there are three essays to my right, none of which have YOUR NAME ON THEM??” She spat the last three words out like a vermin, spraying them all over the young boy’s shirt and fore-arms.
He stuttered an answer out and was sent with his tail between his legs, as a lowly canine would. As did the next thirteen students in line, then it came to the final excuse, her last bitter-sweet taste of success.
She had heard many excuses many of which had been quite amusing; however none could compare or prepare her for the closing attempt at sympathy.
“EEORE!” honked the pupil, “I got hungry at recess Ma’am.”