Twice now, this morning, I have had to avert my eyes and ears to the truth of the world in which I live. On the walk from the entrance of school to my homeroom class, I could not help but hear the morose comments of my fellow schoolmates, and the sneers directed my way. These occurrences should be bearable at this point as they have been commonplace since I enrolled over a year ago, but it doesn’t get any easier in my case. I can remember every comment, every ill-tempered glance, every story-turned-rumor that I have witnessed in vivid detail as if it were mere moments ago, and yet they weren’t. I am the prime example of a human where no silver lining exists. Born with a near-photographic memory, in circumstances where such a thing is more of a curse than a blessing. As a result of such circumstances, I have to numb myself to the contents of people’s conversations, as if they were not about myself or people I knew, but rather about complete strangers whose lives are of no importance whatsoever. This is my truth, at least the truth of which I have been failing to convince myself, it just gets quite tiring.
I am Lev Ross, known to most as ‘Leon’. This is my second year in Intercity High, and my sixteenth year on Earth. The weather today was overcast, ominously suggesting that I should have brought an umbrella for my return trip home, which I conveniently forgot. Bumping into a few people who “accidentally” walked into me, I managed to arrive for homeroom. Our homeroom teacher Mr. Phillips walked in and began taking attendance. Surprisingly, everyone showed up today, quite a rare occurrence. I absentmindedly waited for my name to be called and raised my hand at the appropriate moment. After attendance was taken Mr. Phillips began to speak of matters of ‘importance’, and I use that term very liberally.
“So, due to the chance of rain today I have some bad news to tell you, Athletics Day is being postponed till tomorrow, due to the fact that you have all not brought any of your books and laptops today in anticipation that we would not be within school grounds for the duration of school, we will be having a half-day, since we at Intercity High doubt we can do much actual learning without the relevant school supplies present. After your fourth period you are free to return home”
This announcement was originally accompanied by groans from my classmates but at the mention of the half-day they all became a lot more chipper. I myself began questioning how others would be able to go through the half-day at all considering the lack of textbooks, notebooks, and our laptops. This is not a problem for me as I could remember the contents of the upcoming classes and write down the important stuff later at home, but others would most likely perceive the half-day as a prison sentence, counting down till the end of fourth period.
Homeroom ended, and everyone headed towards the next class which was Biology, a class I personally found no interest in. I assume that at least some of my classmates were in the same boat as I am, but I did not find these ‘buffer’ classes as enjoyable as others. In my first year at Intercity High I attempted to make some friends, like everyone else. Thinking that a new environment would allow me to ‘come out of my shell’. These efforts did not yield any returns, as I had the misfortune of having four people from my middle school in my class, who did not view my attempts at socializing with others favorably. In their minds I was the same Leon who went through three years of torment at their hands previously, so to them attempting to break out of my mold was too much above my station. As such, I could not pass my time in Biology talking with others in hushed tones, and would instead have to retreat into my mind while keeping an eye on Mrs. Stone, who would occasionally say something I would actually need to remember for the upcoming test.
While the world did not appeal to my tastes as a fifteen year-old schoolboy, my mind could create the kind of world that did. I enjoyed few things in life, but books were one of them. I would regularly sit down to read and lose myself in a story, temporarily relieving me of the tension in my body and mind, and be truly happy. This would not be the first time I would spend a class physically in school, but somewhere far away in my mind. Experiencing things that I did not have to experience, but actually wanted to instead. I did not appreciate books my whole life, when I was younger I was a much more active person, and as such did not have the desire to read at all. It almost got to a point in which my mom thought I might have ADHD, and even had me tested for it. But as I got older I was no longer as blind to the cruelty and misery around me, and became a lot less outgoing, resulting in me spending a lot more time in my room. There I discovered that I had a lot more concentration than I thought, and discovered my love for things such as books, video games, etc.
Time flew by in my double-period Biology class, and then we had History. This was a class which I never spent retreating into my mind. Our teacher, Dr. Watkins is one of the most interesting individuals I have ever met. The way he spoke about the events of the past, I would feel as if I were living through them myself. I was sure he would make a great narrator in a movie, if only his voice wasn’t so raspy due to decades of smoking. Today we would be going through a slideshow about the topic we were currently studying in class, and that was the Crusades. Specifically, the ones in the middle east otherwise known as the ‘Holy Land’. I myself was not a very religious person, mainly because faith didn’t really help in my circumstances. Learning about religion however, was quite interesting. Since we had no learning materials for today’s classes we were not going through a slideshow on things that would be on a test, but instead about events during the Crusades which would allow us to understand the mood of the situation all those centuries ago. In particular, the slideshow was about the events of the so-called ‘Children’s Crusade’. As the slideshow went along, Dr. Watkins, would read off the text on the projector screen, while adding his own comments here and there.
The religious fervor that existed in the Catholic kingdoms of Europe at the time is certainly hard to imagine, even for the most religious of my classmates who mostly came from the more rural areas of the United States. Two boys, one in France and one in Germany, claiming to have received messages from either God or Jesus, began preaching that they had a holy mission to travel to the Holy Land, and defeat the Muslim heathens not through battle, but through conversion. Gathering tens of thousands of followers each, they traveled to Italy begging along the way, where they were sure God would part the seas for them to march straight to Jerusalem. When such a thing did not occur, one of the two boys or maybe the people who controlled the boys as puppets decided to book passage to the Holy Land on ships, which is certainly a more realistic means of travel across the Mediterranean Sea. After booking passage through merchants for as many children as are willing, they are then misdirected to Tunisia where the children were sold into slavery.
“Such a cruel fate by modern standards, certainly wasn’t uncommon during the Medieval Ages though...” Dr. Watkins said.
“...The Muslim states in North Africa and the Levant would regularly raid the coasts of the Mediterranean for slaves, and also inland into Africa, where they would use the slaves as a labor force for whatever purposes their states required, this is not too different from the way that Europeans treated the serfs who were bound to the land in which they lived, expected to provide labor for their lord at no cost, for the use of the land in other times for their own survival”
This whole story seemed strange to me, my family isn’t very religious at all, my mother, a descendant of Scottish immigrants to the United States, was raised in a religious household. My grandparents were certainly people who wished to maintain the religious practices which caused our ancestors to flee the religious persecutions into the new world. My mother however, did not attempt to raise me in the same manner as she was raised. I never asked her why she decided to do so, but I suspected that her own upbringing was certainly a factor as to why I have not been in a church since I was baptized upon my birth. The interesting thing is that I wasn’t even baptized in a Catholic church. My mother was, but my father was an Orthodox Christian by birth, and from what my mother told me was someone who at least appeared to be religious on the surface, as such he persuaded my mother to be baptized in an Orthodox church.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The way in which faith could convince someone to believe in something so completely, reminded me of the way in which political debate was going on in the United States. I am not talking about the discussions that would occasionally happen in school, as most of the people in high school had the capacity to, at most, spout political maxims they would hear elsewhere. But the ones that would happen online, or on TV. I would occasionally watch TV, although less and less as I grew up, and from what I could see there people would more likely reject reality if it conflicted with their world view, rather than reject their world view if it conflicted with reality.
Is it not similar to what Dr. Watkins just told us about the Children’s Crusade? Where religious fervor and belief in the almighty would convince people that surely, if they marched to the coast of the Mediterranean sea, that it would part for them as in the story of Moses parting the Red sea.
The slideshow continued on about the events of the other child leading the crusade, who similarly did not manage to recreate the miracle of parting the sea, and instead was invited to settle the lands in which his poor crusaders arrived in, a more lighthearted end to a Crusade than his counterpart's. By the end of class most of the people were dozing off, or watching the clock above the door tick by, awaiting the end of the half-day.
“Remember, the events of the Children’s Crusade will not be on the test, but these things are very important for you young impressionable minds to remember, not because I expect you to recreate such events here in America of course” Mr. Watkins laughed
This elicited a chuckle from myself, as my mind instantly went to the idea of leading a group of teenagers across Lake Ontario, the lake parting into two as a sign from the heavens, to convert the heretical Canadians and their maple syrup cult to the true joys of the Big Mac.
“The Children’s Crusade should not be remembered by us literally as a lesson to never believe that an act of God is not something that can happen, or that God does not exist. But rather that belief in something unquestioningly, whether it be a religion, a political ideology, or a person, can lead to truly tragic ends. I see that many of you are already overly excited by the end of the half-day so I will leave you with this quote, which I hope you will remember.” Dr. Watkins stopped.
“Those who do not learn from history, are doomed to repeat it”
“These are the words of George Santayana. Don’t worry, you don’t need to remember who said it for a test or something, as the substance of one’s words is generally more important than who said them. But I truly hope that you can all at least think on these words, that have made me myself see a lot of things from a different perspective, than I otherwise would have, thank you all for your attention, you are all dismissed” Dr. Watkins said.
Instantly the relatively quiet classroom was a cacophony of squeaks coming from the chairs being pushed back, and the conversations erupting between my classmates. I myself sat in my chair for a while longer, contemplating the meaning of the words that Dr. Watkins just said. He is one of the few professors who I ‘trust’ for a better lack of the term. If others would ask me to focus and think on the words that they say, I would pretend to for a moment, and then go back to the previous thing that was on my mind, but not in this case. I noticed that in our class of twenty plus, a few others did not immediately rush to exit the class, and instead remained seated in their chairs, as I have. This was noticed by Dr. Watkins who shot a glance to each of us that remained seated with a neutral expression on his face. This was most likely to determine if we were genuinely thinking about what he last said, rather than being in a state of mind similar to the one I was in during Biology. Seeing that the teacher was packing up to leave as well, our classroom already a lot less packed than it was just a minute ago, I too decided to think on the words of Dr. Watkins on my way home, instead of doing so in an empty classroom. I was hoping that I would be able to get home dry but realized that the ominous clouds earlier in the day were now crying their hearts out down onto us mortals below, and I would most likely need to take a shower and dry off after I got home.
After I left the classroom I tried to weave through the sea of over 300 teenagers trying to get home, and ended up at the entrance of the school in one piece, with my gym bag full of sportswear. I opened it and grabbed my tracksuit jacket, pulling it over my head in an attempt to have a makeshift rain cloak on my way home so that at least I could have my hair remain dry. It was not that long at the moment, as I did have a haircut a few weeks ago, but I did not appreciate haircuts as much as others might, and as a result always had it cut as short as possible without making myself look like a skinhead, and then waited about half a year before my next haircut at which point I looked like a feral child of the woods or the like.
Donning my makeshift rain cloak, I began to jog in the direction of my home realizing that sprinting would not be the smartest choice as it was over 20 minutes of walking home, and by the time my stamina ran out I’d be incapable of maintaining my full speed and would be out of breath, slowly walking the rest of the way. I was not fit by any standards, and my favorite method to cope with the stress was to eat unhealthily. I could maintain a jog all the way home and that would leave me out of breath by the time I got there but it would be a stretch to say that I could do this regularly. Thankfully sitting in the classrooms of Intercity High was not demanding on my body, and I was well rested.
On the way home I realized how hard it was raining and thought that tomorrow the field that our school decided to host Athletics Day at might be flooded, so I made a note to check my school email tomorrow morning to see if there was any announcement regarding Athletics Day. There were few people out in this drenching weather, surprise surprise, so I managed to make my way home relatively easily, only having to dodge puddles on the way and make sure that cars driving by would not cause the water on the side of the road to end up all over me.
As soon as I reached the door, I took out the keys in my gym bag, and opened it. There was no hope of my mother being home any time before 8 PM, so I had at least seven hours of solitude to look forward to. I took off the tracksuit jacket on my head and hung it in the shower closest to the door to dry off by tomorrow morning (hopefully). I then took off the rest of my clothes and took a shower. Who knows how clean the rain is, especially in the 21st century. I remembered how we were told that in the more polluted parts of the world, acid rain could cause serious damage to one’s health and as much as I doubt living on the east coast could cause such phenomena, the chance that it could, made me want to clean myself before doing anything else.
I stepped out of the shower and looked at myself in the mirror, examining my brown hair and brown eyes not noticing anything different, my face was still the same as ever, with slightly larger cheeks than I would hope for. I began thinking if my body could handle tomorrow's hardships on the field should they come to pass, and why our school was so insistent that everyone participates in it as if it were just another school day. Students with physical disabilities were obviously exempt from such activities, such as my classmate Alan who had asthma. I unfortunately(or fortunately), did not suffer from such an ailment. In fact the last time I was sick I was 12, when I had my appendix removed. I didn’t even have a single allergy and that meant that I would have to eat whatever was on the dinner table with no complaints.
I got dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts and then began to think how I would spend the remainder of the day. First I decided to cook up something for lunch, which went alright. There were some leftovers from last night's dinner and I just boiled some rice to go along with them. After Lunch I went back into my room which was the same as it always was. A bookshelf, a desk, a bed, a chair, and my laptop sitting on the desk. I did not have any posters or any trophies anywhere in my room, and if one searched for a simple teenage bedroom online I have no doubt that it would look eerily similar to mine. I had no homework from school or assignments to complete so I decided to continue reading the book I read before bed yesterday which was a high fantasy book by a well-known author that I picked up last week.
It was certainly interesting, but not as interesting as some of the books I had on my bookshelf. When I discovered my joy for reading all those years ago, I had the fortune to stumble upon books that I enjoyed reading more than anything else. As the years went on this joy could be partially recreated by reading those same books once again but after a while of searching online, browsing forums which suggested interesting literature to read I have ended up in something of a dead end. The book I was reading was interesting, sure, but did not evoke the same kinds of feelings as the ones I read in my initial journey through literature. As I was reading the book my mind went back to the words of Dr. Watkins, or rather George Santayana, and I wondered if it could be applicable to the lessons that were present in fiction. Could one apply the same principle of learning from history, if it was never part of ‘real’ history? Could any of the things present in these books that were seemingly for entertainment be applicable to the real world?
As my train of thought went on, I looked at my phone to check the time, and realized it was almost 7 PM. So I decided to go get some dinner and go to bed early, tomorrow was going to be a taxing day, so any additional rest I could get would come in handy. I went to bed before my mother came home, falling asleep at some point, and in hindsight, realizing how true my thoughts would come to be.