As I sat in class, I could only focus on the time showing in the clock. 12:45, it read. I started to calculate how long I had left in class. Just 20 more minutes, I thought to myself. I was eager to get off the class onto recess after all, I felt like it had been hours since we started the class. That seems to be the common theme across all classes, we can only focus on how slow the time is passing by. We stare at the clock after what it seems like hours, just to realize that only a few minutes have gone by. Although, when it happens the most is in Math and Chemistry more than anything else. From the time I got into school until now, the day seemed endless.
“Klaus, would you like to solve the problem?” my teacher asked randomly to select a student. Or so they say, but they always go for the student that is wandering off in the class. The one that has a blank stare across its face.
My heart raced; it even skipped a few beats. I was not paying attention to the class, not because I didn’t like the class although being in math doesn’t help. I was just exhausted, drained from an early morning, a long, sweaty night.
“Can I get a pass on this one?” I replied while immediately looking back at my notebook as if to say I am currently trying to solve this problem on my own. Of course, I knew that the teacher wouldn’t give up, and would eventually ask me again, if not for this problem, maybe the next one.
“Very funny, Sir, we are waiting on you,” she replied with a sarcastic tone.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ashley, I don’t know how to solve this one,” I replied, hoping maybe for a volunteer for her to let it go and move on to the next poor student that she can get in the front of the class, someone to grab the chalk and stand there thinking to himself, “where do I start?”
“Klaus, just came to the board,” she insisted once more.
I stood up and started to walk slowly towards the board. I grabbed the chalk and I stood there staring at the board, I thought to myself try to remember what she said. I turned around looking at my friends hoping for an answer, but in response I got nothing but empty stares from them as well. The class was hard, and I can only assume that they were as lost as I was in that moment. But they were not in front of the whole class revealing how lost they were, no, they were in their seats probably thanking God for being seated instead of having this embarrassing moment, and moreover for just being bystanders watching how this plays out. I like to think that the earth felt pity for this poor fool and had enough, because just as I was going to lie my way out on the board the bell rang.
“Alright, class, this is all the time we have. Klaus, we will resume on Monday,” she said.
Great, looking forward to Monday. I was relieved, I felt as if a rock sitting on my chest suddenly got legs and stood up and walked away or rolled over to the next person that may stand on that board. The next poor student by some mysterious case wasn’t paying attention to the class. I was spared this once, but I knew, on Monday she was going to call me first, and I was going to stand in that board as lost as I was then. Maybe I’ll study, although listening to my dad’s vinyl records sounds like an even better idea.
After being cooped up in class I was ecstatic to be outside, I walked along the corridors. Going down the stairs. The school was big, and to a new student it seemed like a corn maze. Multiple sharp turns that led to the correct classroom, a big school means that the use of the excuse “I’m sorry I got lost”, was believable. Of course, if the professors knew you then it wouldn’t work, unfortunately as it was the case with me. I turned to the left and walked outside, I could see the soccer field, the pride and joy of the school. I was a part of the track team, and of course being on the track team meant that with my luck the school wouldn’t care that much about the school track field, but nevertheless I loved the sand that spread across the field. I loved the feeling that came after winning a competition, and turning back and seeing the little specks of sand still in the air falling down. For a second, it made me feel that I was the fastest human. It’s funny how one’s memory works, in the moment it is silent and then an abrupt sound comes to fruition, but when we remember a story, we can only think about the silence, and how to fill the silence. And those moments in my mind were glorious, and almost always had a song in the background. Somehow engraved into my memory Arctic Monkeys would appear in my mind, and the lead singer would start going “and I feel like I’m running out of time” and my body would go faster in the field.
As I approached my friends the cafeteria next to us would start playing a song, usually it would be the top 10 worldwide. But from time to time, the one that controlled the music would go rogue and it would start playing Latin music, which was prohibited in the school. And when that happened, I could see the revolt in every single one of my friends faces. I was never able to understand why Latin music had that effect on them. They had this way of thinking that if it was mainstream, it was bad. And to that argument I always said, “but why?” It was my understanding that if you hate a type of music you have to make a convincing argument as to why. As for me I neither liked nor disliked the songs they played; however, it was as if the cafeteria at that moment was giving a background song to our conversation. Years later I can still hear my friends over the top reaction of disgust, the dancing by the seniors passing, and when I by some beautiful accident of life come across those songs in a forgotten spotify playlist I am entranced reminiscing of what it was with only a smile across my face.
After the recess the next class I had was English. And I was thrilled going to that class, somehow, I was expecting something that would throw me off or into a rabbit hole of deep thoughts that would change my perspective on a topic. As it was usual with the class. I walked into the class and looked around; we didn’t have assigned seats so everyone could sit wherever they wanted. I looked at my friend sitting in the front row and thought to myself why not? And sat next to him. The famous Ms. Belis walked into class, she was an odd teacher, but the good kind of odd. The kind that you don’t see very often and leave a lingering feeling of altruistic motivation after. She would often start the class with a question, and after that we could move forward questioning whatever we answered, from time to time she would bring her collection of “Old jams” as she would label them. And when that happened, we would be hypnotized by her taste in music. For days after I would go into my computer and search for the lyrics of the songs played in class, and just play on repeat until I got tired. I would imagine myself years in the future walking along a forest with a faraway river crashing against the rocks as small waves came to shore when I listened to “Dear God” by XTC. Even though my teacher was religious she couldn’t help being attracted to the melody of the song, and that is the beauty of music, you don’t have to agree with the lyrics to like them. It’s about the feeling that ignites deep within.
“Today’s topic- what is something you couldn’t live without?” the board read. what came to my head as an immediate response was, I’m guessing breathing. Of course, I wouldn’t say that, but I couldn’t help the urge to answer the question with a dumb response. Nevertheless, I searched deep within my memories, looking through the albums that read “Great hits.” As I breezed through some of the pages, I remember the moment where I found the one that I was looking for. Even though I was blindly looking I had a small idea of what I was hoping to re-discover.
The memory that I had remember was filled with laughter and dancing, it was my cousin’s wedding. The first time that I had met my uncles, the ones that I was always hearing about. “Your uncles in brazil says hi Klaus” my dad would always say, and sometimes I would even talk to them. Always picturing a faceless body talking nonsense in Portuguese to the phone. But when I met them even though we could only communicate with hand gestures, and dramatics gestures to indicate what we wanted from each other. On that wedding’s reception the language barrier was broken by the music playing. My mom dancing with my dad with only smiles, the song being played was called “Lambada” and the sound was mesmerizing. It bonded every single person in that dance floor. My uncle dancing with my aunt would hold my dad’s hand and turn him around. My dad always the serious figure, was lit by happiness and joy. And the memory stopped, and I went back into that classroom, and all I could think of is how silent the class was. Perhaps everyone was thinking what to say, I wanted to be in that wedding again, dancing with my family, feeling that deep connection with everyone.
I could see my friend not paying attention, and I hoped that he would be called first. Just so I could laugh, I knew it was wrong to think that way, but at the same time I couldn’t think otherwise. As the silence spread and echoed across the walls the teacher called my name first.
“Klaus you can start”, she said with a smile across her face, now writing this I remember her smile and all that comes to mind is how taken for granted we took those moments. Now with a pandemic on the picture a smile during class seems more as a concept than a reality.
“Of course, it’s me first,” I thought to myself. I didn’t have an answer, I stood there in silence for what felt like minutes, looking behind me, and then to my left. I saw my friend’s face, that smirk on his face. He was about to laugh, and I couldn’t blame him. I would have done the same. If only I had a common name, it could be one of those scenarios where the teachers call a name and someone replies, “which one?” That was not the case, at this moment the teacher was waiting for an answer and the silence was overwhelming. So, I thought it would be a good idea to start with one word and let my mind take over. I said without a second thought “music.” And for a second, I let my response simmer, as I thought what would come after.
“Music?” the teacher asked with a little grin on her face. Maybe the answer that she was looking for, who knows. Maybe my dumb answer would lead to something, a profound message that lays in the depths of the unconventional answer.
“If the world didn’t have any music, it would feel silent” I answered.
The world moved forward, and at a super speed it seems. My friends were no longer there, my school was just a memory, a fond one at that. And my answer lingered, echoed when I took my headphones off. Walking from my house to meet up with some friends, or anywhere for that matter. I always had something in the background, most of the time songs that I discovered along the way, and my go to genre was and remains old classic songs. I never knew why, maybe because of those classes with Ms. Belis. And every time I would listen to it, I could hear my friends saying” that is the way to go.” The days passed and some of us remained in contact. But those friendships that at the time seemed unbreakable, somehow grew distant. We were all in different paths, growing, becoming adults. The time when we were kids playing in the soccer field, my time as a track member. They had all become distant memories. Distant being the definition only because everything that is not present becomes far away, the world goes on, and that moment that defines you, just becomes a thought and then a whisper, and finally it dissipates. Just as it came, it goes. I could almost hear my friend Matias listening to old classics like the Strokes, The Beatles, Rolling stones. I could hear how he reacted every single time that “Reptilia” by the Strokes was played by someone. His face lit up, and he sang every single word.
I can even remember an instance when he was not his usual self. We all had those days, those days that if we were not forced to get up from bed, we would remain there, laying, feeling that our bodies are as heavy as the earth itself.
My life was different, I grew up as well and that kid that used to roam around those school hallways moved on with his life. One day that kid walked for the last time across the corridors never to be seen again. I like to think that those that remember me ask about me, trying to remember what I look like, because I know that our brains are very mischievous in that sense. We try to remember the lyrics of a song and instead of remembering “living on a prayer” you say “living…” you go blank and just to fill in you add “like a prayer” and continue. Somehow even though you don’t remember the exact words you know that what you just sang is not right. Our brains are mischievous and unpredictable but from time to time they give us a treat, and for me are those fond memories where the music made me feel infinite.
Hi, my name is Klaus Beeck, and I come from Peru. I study at Saint Norbert College for a major in psychology. I enjoy reading, and writing. More often than not I find myself narrating in my head. I feel that stories are a way to imprint someone’s mind in a piece of paper.
