Loretto Leary 2014 Distracted

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Distracted

His head popped up from the cradle of his right hand, and the desk
scratched the linoleum beneath it. Scraaaape! He nodded off, for how long he wasnt
sure, but his quick nap went unnoticed by the teacher, a substitute busy reading her
lesson plan. He rifled through the pages of his English lit book and eyed the girl next to
him.
Psst. What page? he asked the cute brunette beside him.
124, she whispered back, and refused to look at him, or stop blowing bubbles
with her gum.
He felt good being back in class. High school, the last year, and already hed
missed four months of it. Stamina, thats what he needed, enough stamina to get
through his first day back.
His leg ached. Them he remembered, this was a symptom, a side effect. Hed
have to endure it for a while until reality set in. Acceptance. The pain, gnawing at him
from the site of the invisible wound, was a specter emanating from a non-existent place;
amputated, removed, severed, and separated from him now. From a place that used to
be. Hed forgotten that the place where the pain throbbed was no longer there.
The boy with the yellow t-shirt, back there, yes you. Start reading please.
He began reading aloud.
Loretto Leary 2014 Distracted

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The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
His voice, at poems start, was loud and strong, but when it reached the part,
Dont let him cut my hand offThe doctor, when he comes. Dont let him, sister! the voice,
once loud and strong, now timid, drifted along with each word, each sentence, falling
into oblivion, like he did that day, stopping only when it all ended.
Was this on purpose? Deliberate? he wondered. The choice of poem, the
meaning of it, the relevancy? Was this her way of making him feel assimilated after an
absence of fifteen weeks?
Speak up! the teacher called from the front of the room.
And they, since they were not the ones dead, turned to their affairs. But he was
not dead. He read the line, and looked up. Had no one noticed life imitating art here?
Any comments? the substitute teacher asked, looking from one blank face to
another, allotting them the required number of seconds to process the question and
formulate their answers. The faces remained blank, zombie-like, save for the occasional
blink. Phones sent texts from beneath desks; comic books remained hidden in the
literature books, doodlers, day dreamers, distracted by anything that seemed better than
the poem they had just heard.
One hand, near the back row, reached into the air. The boy in the yellow t-shirt.
Yes? she said, standing up and walking back to his desk.
It was really good.
What did you like about it? she said.
Well, its about how a small distraction can cause a big problem. He reached to
scratch the itch below the left knee and remembered it was just a phantom, itching
would do no good.
Okay, she said, and arrived in front of him. Can you elaborate on that?
Loretto Leary 2014 Distracted

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Well, mam he said, I fell into a silo four months ago, and because of a blood
clot in my left leg, I had to have it amputated from the knee down.
Her face lost all color, except white, momentarily, and then her hands hid the
flushing red, hot cheeks, growing redder with embarrassment.
How insensitive of me! she said, and shook her head, wishing she had chosen to
read anything but Robert Frosts Out, Out for her one and only day of substitute
teaching.
I am so sorry, I didnt know, she said, and the students, for the first time in a
long time, gave the teacher their full attention.
No, it is fine, he said, and felt the others stare at his prosthetic limb. This poem
meant something to me. I thought you chose it deliberately, because this is my first day
back.
I didnt even know about your accident, the teacher said, I chose this poem
because it is one of my favorites, thats all. Tell me why you felt a connection with it.
This poem is about distraction. That is what it means to me, anyway, he said. I
was distracted by my cell phone ringing, and I fell into the silo, a drop of, maybe sixty
feet, or more. At least I lived to tell the tale, he said. And if you havent experienced
something like that, then youre dead to the emotion associated with it.
Youre lucky to be alive, the teacher said, and watched him hike up his left pant
leg to show her his new leg.
I am thankful to be alive, in more ways than one, he said, observing the pinched
faces of disgust on the other students around him, eyes staring but not staring.
He rolled his pant leg down, covering up the shiny pink hairless limb.
Life goes on, he said. Its like it never really happened, to anyone, except me.
The girl beside him texted furiously beneath her desk.

Jerk next to me just showed the
class his fake leg. GAG!
Loretto Leary 2014 Distracted

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