From the Vault
a story I wrote in high school
On a shelf in one of my bookcases sits an old 3-ring binder. When I say “old,” you need to think 50-years-ago-old, if not older. I think it first belonged to my big brother, who graduated high school in 1973. Now, it holds about two inches of papers from my school days, which ended in 1978.
One of my winter projects this year is to work my way through this archive of teenage angst, and see what’s in there. I already know that most of it is related to my creative writing and composition classes, because that’s pretty much the only type of papers I would have kept from my school days. I think I started writing in 1974, and this binder holds the genesis of what became my lifelong calling: using pen & ink to express not just thoughts, but emotions. And sometimes, just to describe the movies I would watch in my mind.
This particular piece is one of the latter, written during class-time on a Friday afternoon. Our teacher sometimes had what she called “Music on Fridays,” where she would play a record, and we spent the hour writing whatever the music brought to mind. I was 14 when I first wrote this, and while I did some minor edits for clarity when transcribing it, this is pretty much the same as what I turned in from that class session.
She was thrust into a room. The walls looked like giant speakers. The ceiling and floor were transparent acrylic. She looked up at the ceiling and saw another room above her. She could see people peering down at her, and a machine. Someone put a round disc on the machine and turned it on. As music filtered through the speakers, she realized it was a record player. The music increased volume and speed till she was in a whirlpool of sound.
Without realizing it, she started to dance. She, too, started out slowly and increased speed. She whirled wildly about the room for hours. Suddenly the music stopped. She sank to the floor in exhaustion. After the loud music the sudden silence was deafening. The silence lasted about 15 minutes, then it started.
Hardly more than a whisper at first, barely audible. The volume rose, until finally it was a shout. No, it was louder than a shout. The words, which had started out evenly spaced, ran together as they speeded up. Finally they ran together into an indistinguishable river of sound, blocking out everything except their own message.
I am crazy, I am crazy, I am crazy, IamcrazyIamcrazyIamcrazy. She looked about her wildly for a place to hide. The room was bare. Finally, when she thought she could bear it no more, the sound stopped.
One of the speakers slid up, revealing a piece of acrylic. A movie camera was rolled up to that wall, and trained on the girl. Her hair was a mess. It looked as if each separate strand had been pulled in a different direction. She was cowering on the floor, her face in her hands, whimpering like a frightened child. The voice spoke again.
“Genie,“ it said. “Genie, we’re going to ask you some questions. Is that all right? We promise we won’t hurt you. Okay?“
There was no answer from the person on the floor. The voice tried again.
“Genie, can you hear me? If you can hear me, just nod your head. Yes or no. Do you understand?“
She looked up at him then. “Go away.“ she said. “Leave me alone.“
“Genie-” he didn’t get a chance to finish.
“I don’t like you.“ she said. “You’re mean.“
Suddenly the voice grew hard. “All right, Genie. You had your chance to answer the questions, and you wouldn’t. We’ll have to play some more music or something.“ The speaker slid down, closing the view of Genie as she hurled herself against it, crying.
“No, don’t, please! I’ll answer your questions. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Please!”
Out of the speakers the voice said, “You must be punished for what you said. “
As he prepared to turn the record player on, someone grabbed his arm. They stood talking for perhaps 5 minutes. Then the one nodded his head and moved away from the record player. The other one touched a button and a different speaker slid up revealing a locked door. The door opened mysteriously, and two armed guards stepped in.
“Let’s go,“ said one brusquely. The other motioned with her gun. Genie went without a fight. When they got in the hallway away from the camera, one of them turned to her.
“Are you all right?“ He asked. She nodded.
“Fine. “ she said. “Thanks to you guys. “
“Well we couldn’t let them hurt you,“ said the other one. “After all, you’re our most valuable agent. By the way, that was quite an act you put on in there. “
“Thanks,“ replied Genie. “Thanks for everything. “
Together they all went out the door.
I hope it’s not bragging to say my teacher loved it. This particular teacher was incredibly encouraging, to the point that I mention her at length in the acknowledgement of my most recent book. I’m looking forward to reading her comments on other writing pieces as I work through the binder archive this winter.