Smartystan

Smells of mothballs, disinfectants and insecticides lingered throughout the classroom. Garland Sheltham sat at the front of the class. He raised his hand and answered every question. His father Felton Sheltham, had taught him how to read and do arithmetic since he was four-years-old. He was now stocky and could hold his own with the spitting image of Sheltham. The room consisted of only male students. The girls had been separated and placed in their own learning centers. When he raised his hand to answer yet another question and correctly did so, he got taunts that remained hushed so the instructor couldn’t hear them.

“Hey, Dummy…hey Dummy…why’re you even here. You should be amongst the rest of the States,” Barone Barrett intoned. Garland didn’t even turn around to adjust the child heckler. The Dummy comments stemmed from the thought that anyone from outside of Smartystan, who had just arrived relatively recently, could be looked down upon by citizens that had been living in the country-state for years. It was a nod to a much more malicious epithet that Americans had acquired in years past. Garland took it. He didn’t call the teacher to say that he was being jeered at or anything. He simply kept answering the questions correctly.

Barrett was a weasley little kid with soft features and a sneering grin. He had a head of peasy hair and looked like he favored his white mother in skin tone as opposed to his dark skinned father. He gritted his teeth as if sand sat between his tongue.

“Now, class,” Mr. Morgenstern called, “we’re going to continue to learn about the geographic attributes of Smartystan. We must first note that you can get from anywhere from one place to another in the country-state in about three hours or less. The land is mainly flat with the highest elevation located in what was once known as Wilmington, Delaware.”

Now, another kid, a bruising young man with a husky build and showing a chipped tooth named Nicky, threw a paper ball at Garland’s head. It connected. Garland didn’t even turn around. He just kept answering questions and when classwork came around, he just leaned into the lesson and completed the assignment before everyone in the class.

“Well, we have our first entrant into the fore as someone who knows his way around Smartystan. Great job, Garland.”

The class of about fifteen people began to grumble a bit. There seemed to be a sound of disgruntled and envious chatter amongst the other boys.

“What we’re going to have now is a lesson on poetry.” Garland’s eyes brightened. He rubbed his hands together under his desk. The excitement rose up in him. This was his favorite subject besides mathematics. It was great that he could finally express himself through words and make them more beautiful. He felt like this was his charge, his mantle to hold up to the skies.

Mr. Morgenstern continued. “I expect you all to research a poem and memorize it for tomorrow. Now, of course it shouldn’t be too long, but I don’t want any haikus, either.” The class laughed. Even Garland snickered a bit.

“If you can come back here with a memorized poem, and not miss a word, I will grant you two weeks free of homework. You have your assignment. Go forth into the world! Class is dismissed.” Garland walked out of the classroom but was tripped in the process. He counted it all joy. He was too happy about his latest assignment, that no ill words or deeds could distract him. He walked out of the school to his step-mother’s car. Mala smiled and noticed that Garland smiled, too. She drove away back to their house.

“What didn’t you learn today?” she asked.

“I was educated in the art of timing….”

“What are you talking about Garland?” She wanted to break his cryptic message.

“You’ll see.”

The Sheltham’s had a big dinner but Garland focused on his task. He stayed in his room and walked like a diplomat across the floorboards. He even donned a sports coat and placed his hand in his waistcoat to indicate his prowess in speaking the written word. As his family ate their meals, he committed to memory every detail that had been involved in the lines of poetry. He was ready.

That next morning, the other kids went up to the front of the room. They jittered and shuttered and stuttered. They forgot lines, mispronounced words, and couldn’t find the groove.

“Barone, you’re up.” Barone shuffled to the digital board. He cleared his throat. His words sounded flat but everything else seemed pitch perfect. The teacher suspected he may have a brain chip in his head and scanned for it.

“Mr. Barrett, can you please tell me after having been instructed to disable your brain chip for class, you failed to do so?”

“I––you know––I just wanted to excel.”

“Well you automatically get a zero. Have a seat young man. And that goes for all of you. If I detect another brain chip in use, I will fail the entire class.” Garland looked on in quiet despair. He didn’t show it, but he knew that if he didn’t get a chance to deliver this poem, he’d be frustrated for the rest of the semester. He didn’t even possess one. His parents certainly could afford one but he thought he could use all brain.

“Now, Mr. Sheltham. It’s your go.” Garland wore the sports coat and deposited his hand in his waistcoat like he had done in his room. Like a lion just embarking forth from a cave, he prowled around the front of the classroom. Some giggles arose…but when he opened his mouth, all of that ceased. Garland elevated his voice and championed the syllables that the poet had intended to be stressed and quieted. After he had finished the line, “...You’ll be a Man, my son!” He charged towards where Barone and Nicky sat and clotheslined them. They fell right to the floor and writhed in pain. Garland got up and headed towards the door before Mr. Morgenstern could even suggest that he go to the principal’s office.