A Man, A Student, Once A Boy:

The Societal Detriment of the Excessive and Rapid Learner

Genre: Lyric Essay

There once was a man, a student. To be completely accurate he was first a boy. Upon entering the very best of schools he became a student and later grew into a man. He began awkward and verdant, much like you and me. But this boy had a distinct trait at a very young age – well before one is expected to develop distinct traits. Things fascinated this boy when other children his age were merely curious. He learned to read far too early. He began school at a considerably younger age than some of the world’s greatest thinkers. He was an exotic learner before the exotic became novelty. He was what people today formally refer to as a scholar, but simply because no other word has yet to develop beyond this definition.

The boy learned aggressively. He insisted that petty things not interrupt him. He was always shooing the distractions; always requiring time to think; always determined to understand and comprehend all the questions that hissed at his ears.

Like we who are boys tend to do, this boy inevitably became a man. The man was an adult, much like you and I. He understood adult responsibilities. Adults must pay rent and taxes and other petty fees. But this man was an elite learner. He made the rationalized decision he was above all this. Or rather he was not ready – his mind needed more time. So he went on learning and others paid his way. These others only asked that he pay them back later – when his mind was ready and would earn him far beyond his own needs. And learn he certainly did; understand he surely did; comprehend he did particularly well, of course.

He understood medicine and knew that a scrape on a child’s hand required privacy and time – time for it to return desperately to normalcy; time for the skin envelop and wrap around itself; time to bury itself beneath new flesh.

He studied music and knew its intricacies. When others heard the sound of a folk singer’s voice intoning against her guitar and thought it beautiful – he knew it meant more. He knew it meant the singer had never been taught to be ashamed of sound. He knew she had never been told to be quiet.

He understood math and knew numbers were universal, like the ideas of time and silence. He knew their capabilities in measuring, but not to be tricked and think them tangible.

He was always in school, always an academic. After many years of instruction his mind was seemingly ready for the world. He proved this to his teachers by flexing his mind, exercising it with theories and experiments and writings. Then on one not-so-special day in the spring, as summer approached, the man gowned for his final graduation. He had earned the last and most prestigious of degrees. Those that loaned him what he needed to sustain his life of learning gathered together. They applauded and celebrated that his mind was complete. They were comforted by the notion that his mind was finally finished. He would do all that they had been waiting for, they thought. They had waited so long in a world where minds were never ready. They invested in this man so that he might find answers. They were often unable to fix what needed fixing. Finally, he would repay them far beyond monetary means. He would be their hero.

But this man (who started off as just a boy) did not want to be a hero. He did not believe he was ready. He felt space in his mind where more would fit and complete what he had built. The man clawed and scowled and searched for more things to learn. But he had run out. He had read every page of every book. He understood it all. There is nothing to finish, to fill in, to crown what he had built. But somewhere in his mind he knew there was. There was the bad – the truth, the things that no one could solve or fix or comprehend, not even this man who knew the most.

He knew how and why hurricanes brewed. He understood that winds that disagree will fight. But he did not know why they fought over cities instead of empty rolling hills less harmed by windy scuffles.

He understood precious things like oil are only called precious because they run out. He knew that these oils had been used throughout history as religious medium because they contained energy. But he did not know why men grew angry at things that run out.

He understood literature and knew the capabilities of well-arranged words. He knew that the stories of others, when told correctly, were a gift of experience for the reader. But he did not understand why men found stories created by the dreamers an experience so valueless.

The man sat in his gown and thought for a long while on that Spring day. His gown was dark and its breast was covered with pins and metals and tassels that marked his achievements and the things he had learned. He looked past the pins at the dark cloth below. The fabric only reminded him that there was still space. There were things he did not know.

But this man did not want to comprehend bad things. He had built his mind with things that were good and useful and that fascinated him. He did not want to make a crown so ugly. Still, he was unable to imagine a life with nothing more to learn. He could not go on. He knew this phrase was considered cliché. He knew this was only because of its unfathomable sound in the ears of people who could go on. And so the man dusted his books, he tidied his very nice place he had taken on loan and loved and understood. He wrote a letter of resignation.

The letter was simple and austere but remarkably personal. He apologized for all he would leave for them to do; for the messes he could not clean up; for the loss they would endure. And finally, for being so embarrassingly unable to repay them. But this was his only true option. If they had known what he had known, understood what he understood, they too would understand and agree. A mind so beautifully built could not be tainted with a tarnished coronet. This is how he felt. He explained to them his largest mistake was in shooing the interruptions. He understood that if he had allowed himself the time to be distracted, his learning would have taken longer. He hypothesized for them: his time spent learning combined with an appropriate time allotted for distraction would have amounted to a lifespan thought to be average. He warned them not to let their children to become students too soon.

He left the note on his desk, the place where he sat the most. He climbed to the roof. His last step was easier than he had expected. Fewer thoughts struck him as he fell and he was not fearful as he had expected. He was surprised to find it was not a quick decent. It was deliciously long and something like swimming. He understood why others had replicated before with safety nets and parachutes. He also understood that they were restricted by their fear of striking the ground.

And in a few days time, as it usually happens, those that had loaned him and loved him so much gathered in confused sadness. They wore black and gray and colors strangely appropriate for the occasion. No one understood. Most shook their heads and cried, somehow seeing the situation as simple and small yet strangely and immensely painful. They all questioned why. They knew that if the man were alive he would be able to tell them. His note was kind and simple but they could not understand its complex hypothesis. Why should they be able to?

There were others who did not question or cry. They did not stand with their heads low and sulking. They fidgeted in their suits and kicked at the ground. They were children, much like the man was before he was a man. They did not understand and they were not expected to. They only grew bored and curious at who the man was and why so many people were sad to see him in a box. There curiosity waned as it grew windy. Hats were blown off and skirts turned upward. The children laughed at the sight. Their parents hushed them. They told them to be quiet and to show respect. The children did not understand. Why should they?

Apparel

Genre: Lyric Essay, Dramatic Monologue

"This is the store and we sell cotton; even these jackets that are nylon, if anyone should ask, have cotton here on the collar; nothing is made in a sweatshop; that’s called vertically integrated; everything is arranged by style and color; we only keep one size in each style, except for black and white; in black and white we keep two of each size on the floor; if you see more than one of the same size, pull it off the floor and put it over there for the men who work downstairs to take away; if someone asks for a size they can’t find, use the radio; ask the men down stairs if they have the size; if they do, tell them to bring it upstairs; don’t look bored; say hello to every costumer; when there are no costumers, don’t stand around; separate the hangers so that there’s an even space between each of them; every time a costumer buys something it needs to be replaced so another costumer can buy the same one; that’s what this rack of clothes is; the men downstairs will bring them up and put them on the rack; these clothes need to go back onto the floor; Samantha, put these back on the floor; don’t cluster with who ever you’re working with; stay in your zone; don’t leave the floor to hang out with the men downstairs; don’t try on clothes when you’re working; don’t steal clothes; I have to check your bag every time you leave so you don’t steal clothes; so if you steal clothes, don’t put them in your bag; a girl in the Chelsea store got fired for stealing clothes; she wasn’t very smart; don’t feel special if the owner hits on you; the owner hits on everyone; don’t check your Myspace on the floor computer; use the computer downstairs; if the men who work downstairs are using the computer, tell them you’re on your break and you want to check your Myspace and make them get off; don’t do drugs at work; if you do drugs, use the bathroom on the floor and not the bathroom downstairs and don’t be obvious and clench your jaw and sniffle; don’t drink with the men downstairs after closing; if you drink, drink upstairs but drink in between those two racks where the cameras can’t see you; the store always supposed to look perfect; when the owner comes everything actually should be perfect; his assistant will call and tell you if he’s coming; if he’s coming you have one hour to make things perfect; if he doesn’t come in an hour you have keep things looking perfect until he comes; when he comes everyone needs to be wearing the right clothes, even the men downstairs; if I’m not here, Samantha will make sure everyone is wearing the right clothes; when he comes he’ll swear and scream and yell at you for not keeping things perfect; don’t look scared when he yells at you; at least you’re not the men downstairs; the men downstairs get yelled at the most because they never do anything."