Prometheus Bound In ISS
The room I’m in lacks character. Oh, it’s full of characters, all right, but none of them are the prizes of this fine institution. But as a room, it fits the basic definition. There are four walls, a door, the standard issued government purchased desks, a teacher’s station, and on the side wall, a circle where the paint is brighter than the rest, indicating the former location of a clock. Yes, you read that correctly. They removed the clock. Also, no windows.
Welcome to In-School-Suspension; known by students and faculty alike, as ISS. It’s the same acronym as the International Space Station and probably as sterile. Also, beyond the classroom might as well be the vacuum of space for how likely it is I will be allowed to venture out during the school day. This is day seventeen of my internment. Punishment? Consequence? Lots of names from lots of people. The principal. The school board. My father. Everyone has a name for it. But, stuck in a room for the next two months, until the sweet reprieve of summer vacation, would feel just as dull as by any other name. Shakespeare reference. Oh, how Ms. Harrington would be proud. Well, maybe not. My guess is she would be prouder if I were in class today and not reading under the fluorescent illumination of room 104.
I’m not alone. There is a steady stream of other delinquents, but they only stay a day or so. Tell a teacher to ‘fuck off’ and you’ll get two days here. Get caught vaping in the toilet, yes a cliché, but that’s how we roll, and I’ll enjoy your company for five days. We don’t get to talk to one another, but we make eye contact and share the teenage head nod of acknowledgment. I’m not sure of most of their names. Yes, my school, University High School, is large, but in reality, it’s because I’m not really such a bad kid. I don’t smoke. I’ve not flipped the bird at any of my teachers, at least not within their sight, haven’t caused fights, or toilet papered the principal’s car. That last one would have been really fun though. I classify that as more of a prank, but our principal, Mr. Gomez, isn’t known for his willingness to find humor in many situations. No, apparently what I did was much worse. I embarrassed too many people in power.
My crime? Crime might be a bit of a stretch, but sure, I’ll spill the sordid details. I’ve got nothing else to do in here, I might as well recount my path to delinquency and this windowless cell.
First, a bit about me. Don’t worry, this
