Science Time

Meanwhile, back at his elementary school, Bryan headed into Mrs. Décorder’s class with a beautiful farmer’s market honeycrisp apple that he’d swiped from the fridge that morning.

“Hi, Mrs. Décorder. We went to the farmer’s market, and I picked out this apple for you.” He handed it to her on the palm of his hand like a child offering a horse an apple, hoping it won’t bite.

“Oh, why thank you, Ryanandbryan!” replied Mrs. Décorder. When she spoke, she kept her painted red lips together, opening only a very small hole just big enough for the words to escape. “I’ll enjoy this with my lunch today very much. Yes. Very much.” She took the apple and placed it directly into her paper lunch bag on the corner of her desk.

Bryan smiled and replied. “Sure. Honeycrisp, Mrs. Décorder. They’re coming in season now.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, they are, aren’t they, though?” she agreed through that little round hole of a mouth.

Bryan sat down and tried to focus on something other than how idiotic he must look to the other kids now arriving to class, some of whom surely caught wind of their conversation.

He sat at his desk and busied himself with his backpack when Ryan came in and plopped down next to him. The bell rang just as Ryan sat, and Mrs. Décorder stood up at the SMART Board to put up a quick-write for them to begin class.

He gave Ryan a shrug and looked up at the board.

The prompt read: “What is time?”

Argh. “What is time?” She knows what time is. I have nothing interesting to say, he thought, staring at his paper. Time is what’s ten hours ahead in Japan. Time is what disturbed his delicious slumber this morning. Time is that big clock on the wall dragging right now.

“So,” began Mrs. Décorder after a few minutes had passed, “Who would like to share some of what they wrote?” The hand on the clock clicked to exactly 10:23.

A few hands went up, and Joanna read first. “Time is a very interesting idea. Before the Big Bang, there was no time at all. It’s always going nonstop, and yet we can’t really see it happening. People and flowers grow old and show us signs though that time is passing, so we know it is real.” 10:25. Time was sure moving slow, thought Bryan.

“Oh, yes, veeeery nice. Yes, tha-nk you, Jo-a-nna,” drawled Mrs. Décorder. “Wh-oo would like to be next? Of course, sunny yellow daffodils are a wonderful sign that spring has arrived. There’s the Golden Ducat, the Petit Four, oh! What about the Rip Van Winkle! There’s a variety! Oh, trumpeter flower! Hear my call! Time, time in-deed.

“Who else would like to read?” She barely paused long enough to call on someone and went on waving her arms up and down as she spoke. “Sun up. Sun down. Sun up, sun down. Day, night. Oh!” she caterwauled running across the room grabbing into thin air as if to catch it. “There goes a second! Oh, wait! There goes another one. Shh!” she lowered her voice. “No one talk. Quiet now . . . oh my, a minute has passed never to return!”

Bryan tore out a piece of paper from his binder and his hand scribbled: “TIME: AT EXACTLY 10:32 EVERYONE PICK UP THEIR SCIENCE BOOKS AND DROP THEM ON THEIR DESKS TOGETHER. PASS IT ON!”

He tapped Ryan on the shoulder and off it went. It was 10:28.

“So, who else will read what they’ve written?”

No one volunteered.

10:29.

“Who else? Will.”

“Um, okay,” replied Will.

Mrs. Décorder just stared back at him with her red painted lips, her green pants, and her red hair spiked a bit like a rooster’s comb, so Will began to read.

“When I think of time—” Will read his story about being late to elementary school two years ago because of construction for a new metro line. Bryan found it about as riveting as flossing his teeth, but he and the whole class sat on edge watching the second hand of the clock move. 10:31.

10:32.

On the dot, the whole room shook like a bomb hit it as every kid—except for poor Will—dropped their science book on their desktop.

A two second pause hung in the air, and then Mrs. Décorder yelled, “DR-OP! COVER!” and dropped to the floor, crawled under the desk, and folded her arms to cover her head.

Silence.

Then came the giggles and a few suppressed chuckles.

After a few moments, Mrs. Décorder came out from under the desk and smoothed her disheveled clothes back into place.

She took out her apple, sat down, and munched on it at her desk. “I think,” she muttered, “it’s time for a break.”