Altruistic Genie

I couldn’t have been happier with my life in a ‘I have everything I dreamed would make me happy only a few years ago’ kind of way. I was on the receiving end of a letter I remembered writing to myself in 8th grade. It was delivered to my 2nd period class, and I opened it to read “How’s the snazzy new car and hot girlfriend? Hope your friends are treating you well. Get good grades, but still make time to have fun. Go to a few parties, nerd!” It was eery getting the letter because so much of it was spot-on. I had a car, though whether or not it was ‘snazzy’ or ‘new’ was up for debate. I had a girlfriend, and boy, was she hot. She was of Brazilian descent, athletic, and tan. I had a solid friend group. I was getting good grades even though junior year classes were a lot harder than my 8th grade self cared to imagine. I was reaching for a good college. And I did, to the relish of my 8th grade self, actually manage to keep my grades up and go to parties. Take that, nerd!

But it was even eerier reading the letter because of how much it had missed or failed to foresee. It was as if I had been checking items off on an imaginary ‘Happiness Checklist,’ and now that they were all checked off I didn’t know what to do next. Realizing that I didn’t feel happy hurt more because of how happy I assumed I would feel when I had a car, a girlfriend, and friends. I realized then, with the sloppily scrawled letter from three years prior still freshly opened and in my hand, that I had been living my life chasing hastily-made long-term goals for myself based on assumptions, often false assumptions, of who I would be and what I would want when it finally came time to pursue those goals. I was doubly shaken up because I had, for the most part, achieved those goals. I didn’t know what to do, what my next move should be. I half-wanted someone like a chess coach pointing out my next move, to guide me.

This epiphany occurred during my morning class. So when the bell rang, I stayed glued to my seat, fingering the paper and envelope, no doubt weighed down by the sheer bulk of my thoughts. Mr. Jordan, my math teacher, approached my desk. The short bald man with thick glasses covering almost half his face was an alright math teacher, though he had a larger presence one on one than in front of the classroom. He coughed a little as he reached my desk.

“Everything alright, Adam?”

I wanted to scream, “What’s my next move?” Instead, I said simply, “Yeah, I just didn’t get that much sleep last night.” He looked at me, smiled, and blinked before nodding and walking away while I put away my binder. Swing my backpack over my shoulder, I stood up.

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I made my way to my friends. There were three of us, me, Jason and Avery, and we spent most breaks at a bench in front of the library. That spot gave us the capability to eat, which we could not do inside the library, as well as the capability to print or staple as needed for our next classes.

This particular break, I had to skim through Catcher in the Rye, which I was supposed to have read before the next English class. I did so from the bench even though I could probably have used a more quiet space more efficiently because of the company and the occasional grape or extra granola bar proffered generously by Jason. His mom gave him extra food, and I reaped the benefit. Avery usually wasn’t hungry or brought his own food. The other benefit of this spot was Natalie knew I’d be there, and it always brightened my day to hug her before class.

When I needed to focus was the only time it was more work than it was worth to interact with Natalie, or Jason or Avery for that matter. I needed to focus. I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Smith because first of all she was my debate coach and it helped to stay on her good side when she was stressed and angry at tournaments, and secondly I was depending on her for a letter of recommendation for college applications next year.

I was hoping to stand out by keeping up with all the assigned reading. Only a few kids did the reading, so it wasn’t hard to be memorable in class discussions if only you knew what you were talking about and made a few points.

I was flipping through the last few chapters of Salinger when Natalie walked up. We said hi, we hugged, and I got right back to reading, hoping that she got that hint that I was not gonna make for a good conversation partner today. She must have picked up on something because she turned to talk to Jason and Avery. I tuned them out for awhile, but I quickly got the impression that they were talking about me. I mean, I heard my name, hushed, a few times, and every time I looked up, I got the feeling that they were looking at me. Not that, exactly, but the ghost-feeling you gett when someone was just looking at you. I smiled at them even though I was afraid she’s telling them I was rude for brushing her off to read. I was a little flustered at this point, but I still tried to tune them out and finish the book.

To my self-conscious relief, the bell rang; I gathered myself and made my way with Natalie. We had the same English class.

“Did you finish the book?” I asked her.

She answered with what I interpreted as a ‘try harder, get your life together’ kind of tone, “Yeah. I read it last night.” I never figured out how she had time to finish all her work faster than I did and keep up with softball, especially because I didn’t play a sport. Unless you count debate as a sport, which Natalie never seemed to do. “Did you finish?”

“Yeah.” I said. “Well, if you count skimming the last five chapters as finishing.” I corrected. She didn’t seem to count skimming the last five chapters as finishing.

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I know Mrs. Smith’s lecture had something to do with what happened next, in some weird cosmic sense of purpose. And if it didn’t, it at least affected my interpretation of events after they happened.

She waited, like usual, for everyone to file in, her face in the direction of a computer screen opposite the class. She somehow always seemed to know when the class was all there. Or, rather, she always seemed to know when everyone who was going to class that day was there. It was like an unwritten rule that when she stood up and faced the class no one else was allowed to walk through her classroom door.

She began her lecture in the same way as always: “I hope you guys all read the book.” I sometimes wondered if she knew no one read the book and was just having some fun, waiting until after class to secretly laugh at us or if she honestly believed everyone read all the books she assigned.

“The biggest mistake people make while reading is to assume books are about only one character. How many of you imagined yourself as Ackley while you were reading? Stradlater? Jane? Phoebe? How many of you pictured yourself as any character other than Holden while you were reading?”

I looked around. My arm, like the vast majority of the room’s arms, was not raised.

She continued. “This is a common mistake people make. But I’d like you to notice that Holden Caulfield doesn’t make this mistake. He feels what Acklet feels when the other kids don’t let him join their secret society. He at least sympathizes with Ackley. Turn to Chapter 22. ‘And they had this goddam secret fraternity that I was too yellow not to join. There was this one pimply, boring guy, Robert Ackley, that wanted to get in. He kept trying to join, and they wouldn't let him. Just because he was boring and pimply.’ There is not a single character in the book who Holden doesn’t treat as equal to himself. Not the cab driver, not the nuns.” She droned on for awhile. She really could be longwinded at times. But for some reason this part of the lecture stuck with me. Honest to God, that woman actually got something through to me.

Something else from that class stuck out to me. After she was done talking, she abandoned the floor to Natalie. She said Natalie had an announcement to make. I was getting all nervous and readying myself to be embarrassed for her, but then she did something that really surprised me. She pulled some brownies out from behind the whiteboard and a poster from under Mrs. Smith’s desk. The poster read, “Sadies?” In golden sparkles. Sadies was the spring ‘girls ask guys’ dance. I was a little dazed, but I remember getting pulled up to the front for pictures.

I felt uncomfortable being the center of attention. But I was really happy Natalie did it even though being at the front of the room made my palms sweaty. I awkwardly asked, “Are there any nuts in the brownies?” as if my girlfriend didn’t know about my allergy. It made the class laugh, though. They probably thought I was joking.

“No, of course not! I double checked the ingredients with Avery and Jason at break.” So that’s what they were talking about. My face turned red as I took a bite. I loved her, I really did.