The End of Time
and Other Stories
by
MF Bishop
Copyright 2011 MF Bishop
Freedom
The classroom was restless, with students shuffling their feet, dropping their books and whispering back and forth. The sunlit courtyard beckoned even Miss Peterson, who glanced out the window between settling the class and trying to teach. Nicky was the most restless of all, but instead of twitching he imagined he was on the jungle gym and the merry-go-round. He barely responded to Miss Peterson’s questions. But when recess finally came, his dreams of freedom ended.
“Nicolas,” Miss Peterson said, “you’ve been daydreaming all morning. Here’s a simple task to concentrate on -- I want all the erasers cleaned by the end of recess.”
“But, but, Miss Peterson.…”
“No ‘buts’, Nicolas. You’ve been neglecting your work all week and this morning you didn’t even pretend to pay attention.” She and his classmates left him by the little pile of chalky erasers.
That dumb old Miss Peterson, Nicky thought, everyone else gets to play and I’m stuck in this dumb old classroom with these dumb old erasers. He pouted for a few minutes, but he knew that if he did a good job on the erasers he would be forgiven, and if he didn’t do a good job, he would be sorry. He cleaned the erasers by banging them against the brick wall outside the classroom door. With each bump a small cloud of chalk dust puffed into the air and a fuzzy gray rectangle imprinted on the wall. The rough bricks were dirty beige but near the door they were grey from years of chalk dust. Sometimes a janitor would hose down the wall as he washed the windows, creating a chalky river flowing across the courtyard and into the playground, but the wall stayed grey.
Nicky banged an eraser hard to make a big cloud of dust. He banged an eraser soft to make a little cloud of dust. He made patterns of white rectangles on the grey bricks, a square, a couple of stars. He made a pattern that sort of looked like a car.
Through the door, the classroom was quiet. All the other children were with Miss Peterson on the playground. Nicky could hear the yelling, screaming and laughing -- the playground was only a few feet away and the whole school was out there. Sometimes a kid would run past the end of the courtyard, a blurred glimpse of freedom.
Now the erasers were clean -- a good hard thump made a cloud so small he could barely see it. Nicky gathered the erasers and put them back on the trays under the blackboards. The sounds from the playground were muffled and distant, like his parents’ radio when he was in bed late at night.
Nicky wandered around the room. He wished he was swinging from the jungle gym. He looked for something to swing from, but the room was flat and boring, the only bright spot the large bulletin board near the outside door. The bulletin board was cluttered with objects kids had brought for show and tell; an eagle feather from Montana, a picture of a Great Dane, an ornate spoon hanging from a blue ribbon, two huge moths pinned to pale green construction paper.
Nicky peered at the moths. They were almost as big as his hand, with a dull brown and grey pattern on their wings. But looked at closely the wings had an iridescent sheen. Clark Jensen had brought them in, boasting of trapping them under a hat. He protested if anyone got too close, but now he was on the playground with everyone else. The wings seemed to be made of hundreds of tiny facets that caught the light as Nicky moved his head. He gently touched one wing , then snatched his hand away and cried out as the moth moved. It fluttered weakly then was completely still. Had it actually moved? His heart pounding, Nicky touched the other moth. It too struggled briefly. The moths were alive. Each time he touched them they fluttered. They had been on display for several days, hanging from sewing pins stuck through their bodies. Nicky wondered how it felt. He looked at his own chest and imagined being skewered by a giant pin or by a spear like knights carried.
He pulled on one of the pins. It came out of the bulletin board easily, carrying the moth with it. The moth flapped its wings and swung on the shaft of the pin. Nicky quickly pulled the other moth loose and ran to the door with a moth in each hand. They didn’t move at all. They were so big he could hardly hold them in his hands. With some difficulty, he pulled the pin out of one. He winced as he did it, but the moth didn’t react. When he let it go, it fluttered a few feet and settled to the concrete, but its wings still moved. He pulled the pin out of the other moth and threw it into the air. It faltered, then climbed away, up over the building.
The bell rang, signaling the end of recess. Loud voices and running feet came toward the courtyard. Nicky hurriedly picked up the first moth and flung it as high as he could. It flapped its wings a few times and glided across the courtyard, out of sight. Nicky rushed to his seat.
Getting the children settled took some time, as Miss Peterson admonished some and finally demanded general quiet. Nicky was already quiet. Miss Peterson checked a couple of erasers and said, “Nicolas, you did a good job.” Nicky looked at his desk, then glanced at the bulletin board. The bare spot where the moths had been was huge. The class was fairly quiet. Miss Peterson sighed, looked out the window, shifted in her chair and picked up a book.
“All right, class,” she said, “let’s learn some multiplication.…”
“Aaah,” Clark Jensen’s nasal whine filled the room. Nicky pulled his head between his shoulders and looked hard at his desk. “Miss Peterson,” Clark screamed, “my moths are gone, somebody took my moths.” Nicky clenched his shaking hands.
Miss Peterson put the book down. “My goodness,” she said, “so they are.” She raised her voice. “Does anyone know anything about this?”
Clark started to cry. “They were there this morning,” he blubbered, “I made sure they were stuck there good.”
Nicky hunched his shoulders, bit his lip and looked at his desk.
“Clark, be quiet,” Miss Peterson said. She looked at Nicky. “Nicolas, do you know anything about this?” Nicky couldn’t move. He managed a barely perceptible nod.
“You come with me, young man.” Miss Peterson grabbed Nicky’s arm and pulled him through the inside door into the hall.
Clark was still howling and Nicky felt like doing a little howling himself. Miss Peterson pulled him around to face her.
“Nicolas, I thought I could trust you to be in the room by yourself. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into you, but I intend to find out. Now, the first thing you can do is give Clark back his moths.”
Nicky looked at the floor. “I can’t,” he muttered.
“You can’t? Why not?”
“I let them go.”
“Let them go?”
“Yes!” Nicky started to cry. Furious at himself, but still crying, he said, “They were alive, Miss Peterson, I touched one and it moved and I touched the other one and it moved and they were alive and pinned up there on the wall and, and I took them down and, and they flew away.” All this was choked out between sobs. Now his nose was running.
Miss Peterson sighed and pulled a tissue from her sleeve. While Nicky blew his nose, she stuck her head into the room and said, “Glued to your seats, all of you. I want every one of you glued to your seat.” Once everyone was quiet in their seats, she turned back to Nicky.
“Nicolas,” she said gently, “those moths belonged to Clark. You had no right to let them go. I’m sure you meant well, but rules are rules, and we are not to touch someone else’s things.”
“They were alive,” Nicky whispered, “I wondered how it felt, maybe it hurt.” He hung his head and watched tears drip off the end of his nose and splash on the tile floor.
“You can’t just do whatever you want.” Her tome sharpened. “I’m sorry, I wish I didn’t have to do this, but those moth
s belonged to Clark and you took them. I don’t have any choice; you’ll have to see Mr. Connor.”
The principal! Nicky choked, afraid he was going to throw up.
“Ask Mr. Connor to send Karen to watch the class, and I’ll come and tell him what has happened.” Miss Peterson closed the classroom door behind her. The hall was a long, straight shaft with closed doors at intervals on either side. At the end, so far away it was almost a point, was the door to the principal’s office. Behind the door Mr. Connor waited. Nicky began the long, long walk.