Miss Craft stood in front of the class of disabled children. The school's reconstruction really improved the classroom. Right and left handed desks were provided, a dry erase board, textbooks written in the last 50 years, and TV sets with DVD players to keep their attention. It made the high school seem so much better.
"Don't worry if you struggle reading and writing English. When I was learning my fifth language, Mandarin Chinese, I had trouble understanding their characters before I became fluent."
One of the students raised his hand. "I don't get it. I thought x was a letter. Why is it in my math problems?"
She spoke in a sincere voice. "Well x is a variable. That means you substitute it for a number you don't know yet." She wrote a simple algebra problem as an example on the board to explain her point. The bell rang and the students walked out of the classroom without packing any materials since the state declared pencils and pens could be used as weapons by them and they could cut themselves with paper. "Don't forget to read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. We might be able to finish the whole book by the end semester. I can probably turn you all into cashiers!"
Miss Craft spent the next hour correcting their homework, which basically consisted of asking them how they were doing. She was thinking of what her doctor discussed with her. He diagnosed her as having a mild sexual dysfunction which she coined "wet dysfunction." It was late Friday and her best friend Jennifer was out of town. Her other friend Diane was visiting her boyfriend up north. Her doctor recommended that she start dating men again, but she was very unsatisfied with online dating and the men that e-mailed her. She figured if she was going to make any progress it was going to have to be made by her. She was bored of meeting men at church and she had friends in her book club, but none she wanted to date. I'll go out tonight and dance, she thought.
At approximately 8pm she beckoned herself to arrive at a dance club. She politely told a few men that she was meeting a friend here and already had a boyfriend while waiting in line. They were tepid and gave up quickly.
Inside, she ordered a beer from the bartender and listened to the music. The room was large, but dark and lit by a few spotlights shining random lights all over the place. The music is so loud and the lyrics are so base, she thought to herself. She had been to dance clubs before, but was always surprised by their dejection - complete strangers would be all over themselves physically, rubbing parts all over each other.
A younger man walked up next to her. "I like your dress," he said.
"Thank you," she replied. His large biceps and tight shirt were attractive to her. "Have a seat," she said. He sat down on a stool next to her. People were so much nicer to each other now that murder was reduced to a misdemeanor. "So what do you do?"
"Shorty, I'm the president," he said and burst out laughing. She saw the x marked on the top of his hand and wondered how he could be so dumb without alcohol.
"Na, I'm just playing. I'm a student, but I got a job too."
"Oh, that's good. You should stay in school."
"Would you like to dance?" he asked.
"Oh I just wanted a drink. I hate coming to these places because all guys ever want is sex, but my doctor says I should get out more since I have a sexual dysfunction."
"Oh girl I can fix that. Come dance with me. I'll teach you," he grabbed her hand.
"Oh alright, but only one dance."
They walked over to a circle of people, who incidentally weren't texting, checking twitter, or browsing the internet. The kid that approached her started break dancing in the group and they clapped. She noticed how strong he was after he lifted himself upright on his hands. Then he did a full front flip and landed on his feet and kept break dancing, skipping around to the beat and raising the crowd's applause.
Miss Craft looked around at the club, analyzing them all. This is a club full of Philistines. I wonder if anyone knows how to solve definite integrals or how many languages they can speak, if one at all. She began to wonder what kind of shape she was in compared to the other women here. Next, she approached the dance floor and started to spin on her head. Then she spun around on her back like a turtle and ended in a resting position with her head on her elbow completely relaxed.
They both walked outside where it wasn't so loud. There was a piano in the corner so she played Beethoven's Fur Elise for her new friend. "That was bomb what you did on the dance floor. I didn't think you were that type of gal, ma'am."
"Well you don't live on the west coast without learning how to bust a few moves." It was early in the next morning and she wanted to head home to go to bed. The troubador asked for her name and phone number before leaving and she texted it to him.
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