31 V 2002 - 00:13 - verba15

k. came here from mainland china when she was four. thus she has lost all trace of an accent such as the one her parents still maintain. some things, however, do not lose themselves so easily -- for instance, the scar on her shoulder that is the mark of the tuberculosis shot -- and still other things are trickier things to determine. things that have nothing to do with birth but may have everything to do with culture, and it's hard to imagine her more soft-spoken, sitting in class as her words enter the air, hesitantly, falling ungathered in a neat pile that sits around her. she does not lack in knowledge, only her volume...

where does the rain come from? think about that for a moment. ignore everything you learned in science and focus instead on just how neat it is that water is falling from the heavens. on days such as this, when rain falls even while the sun is shining and the clouds are only dim abstractions in the sky, it seems even more the result of some caprice that says that rain should fall. the weatherman holds out his hands, offering nothing but apologies, for the weather has gone everywhere but snow and hurricane in the past two days, and today is no exception. the rain is hesitant to wash everything before it, perhaps...

advanced placement exams are terrible for those taking them, but to everyone else, they're a blessing. classes, oddly for a time so close to finals, take on a more relaxed feel as test-takers drift in and out, beneficiaries of a kind attendance policy. next year, this will be the only kindness given to the students, as one teacher known for his refusal to stand by any time but that of his own watch has pushed through an attendance policy which wins a suspension for only four unexcused absences -- in other words, suspension if one is sick for a day and forgets to call in. the students have no defense now save fearful wariness...

when a conductor screams 'DEATH!' at the orchestra and tells the second violinists that they are killing him with their mistakes, driving him mad and forcing him to sit at home and break things, the orchestra responds. everyone, understandably, is on edge, for the last concert of the year is tomorrow. the general feeling is that not a word of what he says will be transmitted to the fingers and lips of the orchestra, and yet his madness sweeps all reluctance before it, an imperious command lent greater force by flying spittle and reddened face. are all of his gymnastics worth it? that remains to be seen; the concert, his proving-ground, is tomorrow...

concert day. the newspaper's music critic is there, as is the conductor of the adult symphony. he is nervous. tells us to do our best. amazingly, the orchestra produces something that almost completely erases the memory of the botched rehearsal a week ago, overturns the predictions of doom called after yesterday's rehearsal. there is a definite sadness to the air, too: this is the last time the orchestra will be composed of this particular group of people. college takes its toll, and this is a particularly bad year; the best players in the woodwind, brass and string sections are, after so many years, leaving en masse. afterwards, lamentations and promises are exchanged freely...

iskender twists his body to reach the hackeysack which hurtles towards him. he's only a junior, but with green hair and grimace, he has the currency of a senior. it is claimed that almost every girl has at some point had a crush on him. surely this is a particularly contagious mass madness; it is not hard to find things that make him more than unsuitable. but it is also true that perhaps this too is part of the conspiracy his look can feel. some lucky ones do not see anything in him, wondering only how he takes such needle-ferous photographs of himself and evades authority's grasp, not how his hands might feel...

c. is leaving for japan next year, entering a study-abroad program which will (if she is lucky) allow her to improve her japanese while living in tokyo with a far-removed branch of her family. the look on her face as she contemplates forty-five minutes' worth of equations for tilted conic sections in polar from and three-dimensional vectors is, curiously, the same as the one she uses when speaking of her imminent departure. it is only a year to be away, and yet japan is so far from city and school and family, current lessons so far removed from what the country is. still, she smiles and tries to console others before she leaves...

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