Hey, Grease!

The year is 1960 in Manitou Springs. School is running as normal. Mr. Rohanason is instructing us on how to do basic calculus for the 5th time this year. Fine enough. I’m sitting there, watching him slowly scrawl on the board, the chalk lining imaginary, misshapen bodies, trying to pay attention. That’s how I would stay awake, imagine the numbers, and variables, and parentheses as bodies. Like the chalk liner in crime movies. That guy has a good job. He was probably a crappy sketch artist, so they had him draw with chalk on the ground. I would try to imagine the backstories of every number, and what happened to him or her to be drawn on a board. Stupid, I know, but I do what I can. I also, can’t understand a single word the guy is saying, but I’ll live. After about 30 minutes he finished up and asked if there were any questions. The guy two seats to my right, Joe, said: “Can you say that all again? I wasn’t listening.” Everybody started yuking it up, even earning a quick chuckle from me. Since I was one of the first to calm the hell down, I noticed the teacher snickering. That wasn’t good. Whenever he started snickering, he was about to yell. Quick as a bullet, I shot up and said, “Sir, may I please go to the can?” He slowly nodded, and I shot out of there like The Flash to get away from the firestorm of hell that was about to rain down on these fools. As I was walking back from the can, I could still hear him going bonkers in there, so I passed the classroom, instead opting for the library. Slowly entering the most mystic room in the building, I saw the three people I hated most. Guy, Sheri, and Guillbert. Guy was wearing that one Italian suit he owns, just to rub it in the faces of all the other kids. Sheri was wearing her cheerleading skirt in the middle of February, of all months. Guillbert was wearing that blasted Ivy League style dress-up thing, acting like he’s actually going to get into one of those schools. I started to slink out of the library, as to not get noticed by the trio, but alas Guy shouted to me, “Hey Grease.” With that, I froze. My heart skipped a beat, as I could feel the oxygen stop flowing in my blood. After that near death experience, I slowly turned on one heel and quietly asked, “Yeah?” “Ohp. Never mind, just wanted to see if you were really that ugly.” I didn’t notice that, at the time, Guillbert was slowly trying to get Sheri away from the fight that would soon ring out. Slowly making my way towards Guy, I did the one trick I knew how to do with my butterfly knife. I thought back to what Uncle John thought me. Start with the knife completely closed. Hold the knife out while holding both handles closed. Let the bottom handle drop into the vertical position and swing it back around in one movement. Now it’s open and ready to be used. If Guillbert and Sheri weren’t gone before this, they were now. Guy didn’t move a muscle. “So what Grease? What are you going to do. Stab me?” I didn’t. Turned out, what Guillbert was doing was flanking me, and going to stab me in the ribs. Luckily his switch hit the bone, but it still broke the skin and started bleeding. Everyone in the room, other than yours truly ran out. I tried to leave, cursing like a sailor all the way. I went back to class, payed attention, and passed out from blood loss at the end of the day, as I had not seemed any medical attention. Just another day in the life of a Greaser.