OI- Overrated Intelligence

McCallum High School 7th period, 04/01/03... April Fools Day (or so you would wish)
After choir, 6th period, I arrive at Mr. Snyder/ Mrs. Adamson's portable to see kids running around, laughing, having fun, but the air doesn't quite feel right. The 2 minute bell rings, and students start rushing to class on the other side of campus. The last bell rings. We rush inside the portables. Still something doesn’t seem right.
Mrs. Adamson brings her students into our classroom and leaves the doors open, all three of them (two to outside, one to her classroom). As she walks to the front of the classroom, the students start to hush, seeing as she is not in her usual manner, her good mood, thus it be called. In her soft voice she takes a deep sigh and begins to speak. Here is what news she has to offer: Mr. Owens, the U.S. History teacher at Kealing Junior High, had fallen ill with the flu. On Friday, he went to the doctor, leaving with nothing more than flu symptoms. At midnight (I assume the same day) he was rushed to the hospital in immense pain. He went into a coma. Mr. Owens had dual pneumonia and spiral meningitis. After two cat scans, little brain activity was reported. He was not expected to recover. Her voice lowered to as much of a whisper as a human could breath out. Even a pin drop would drown out her voice.
As she said this, I saw great tears swell in her reddening eyes. It's a sight I had not seen in over a year. A teacher was crying. I closed my eyes trying to hold back tears of my own. As I looked around, I saw many others struggling to be strong, to hold back their tears that were inevitable. That's when I had to remove my glasses and wipe away the building tears in my own eyes. It felt like September 11th all over again, but the room had a more depressing atmosphere. Every person in that room was speechless, realization of what had happened grasping them more and more each second.
The open window next to my desk let in a warm air. The silence was hardly more than I could bare. I sat there, my hair falling in my face, gently swaying in the gentle breeze. I was motionless, and so was everyone else. You could have literally heard a pin drop. It felt like the silence you get on the first week of school, filling out paperwork. We continued to sit. The sunlight shining in through the windows shown like the last days of summer beckoning to shine one last day. Students cried in their arms, head on their desks, cried with eyes that said "hold me, keep me close", cried or didn't. Some students sat curled into a ball on their chairs, sat stunned, sat hopelessly and helplessly. You could even hear the grass blowing in the wind, mixed with the softball members, baseball members, and passing students.
Eventually we moved on. What made a teacher so great that even the kids that did not have him as a teacher still mourned his early departure from this unjust earth? Why was such a good man sentenced to such an untimely death? Mrs. Adamson was incapable of continuing the class, so Mr. Snyder took over. Students spoke, one or two raising their hands at a time. I spoke a few words, and I pray those few held wisdom and comfort. Here is what I had to say: I didn't go to Kealing. I went to Webb, not even Lamar. From what my friends have had to say about Mr. Owens, he seemed like a really wonderful teacher. *long deep heavy sigh and pause while gathering thoughts* Last school year, I was missed a few days of school due walking pneumonia. I can not begin to comprehend what Mr. Owens is going through right now, *I glance over at Mrs. Adamson to confirm what I am about to say is accurate* dual pneumonia and meningitis. It is just uncomprehendable for me. What hurts me the most is seeing my friends hurt and cry, to see a teacher cry. The last time I saw a teacher cry was on September 11th, 2001, when I watched an ex-marine break into tears. I speak with the most control I could gather up. I glanced out the window at the sun beat, trodden grass. Silence followed as we tried to move on. Students left and entered class with tissues, not able to sit through much more of the class.
The bell rang for the end of the day and students wiped their tears from their eyes. Hugs and the attempt for lifting spirits followed. I went up to Mrs. Adamson and told her that when I was one or two, I came down with Sepsis, which was misdiagnosed as meningitis. I still couldn’t comprehend what Mr. Owens was facing.
I went home and tried to hold my spirits as high as I could around my family. I told my parents, in a half tear choked voice, what had happened. Later that night, I talked to Dulcey who informed me that Mr. Owens was to be taken off life support the next day. I refused to give in to the fact that he had died. As long as he was still breathing, life support or not, I refused to give in. I was ready to yell, scream, and cry harder than I had in a long time. It’s when I wished I had a boyfriend the most. I just wanted someone bigger than me and stronger than me to hold me close and let my cry on their shoulder. I just wanted to be told that it was all a bad April Fools joke, and that Mr. Owens was alive and well.

04/02/03
Students were much quieter as they reached the portables today. Tear stained cheeks and eyes showed much grief. Tired eyes shown shaken emotions. The bell rang once again for class to begin and students filtered to their desks. After taking a short quiz, Mrs. Adamson’s class joined Mr. Snyder’s class once again.
Mrs. Adamson made the announcement I had been dreading to hear all day. Mr. Owens was dead, he had passed on just earlier. His organs were being kept alive for donation. Students seemed to be more at peace then. The only thing I can think is that they were finally adjusted to the idea of Mr. Owens not being alive to see another day.
As we sat in silence today, taking our quiz, I heard the sound of softballs hitting bats. The rhythmic beating of the softball impacts rang out like bells, being rung for Mr. Owens. I stopped to look out at it. I knew he was gone then.