A peek into the mind of my high school self (November 2003!) via a short story I wrote for English in my junior year. Unfortunately, the external harddrive on which all my pre-college work resided went and died on me, so this is one of the few digital bits that remain. Thanks to... get this... a floppy disc! It had two whole word documents on it, the second of which is titled, A Wild Sheep Chase, Chapter 35 ¾.
So why post this? For one, I like traipsing into the mind of past selves. For two, it reflects my high school concerns quite well. And, for three, threads of those high school concerns have wound their way into the present. Things evolve as time progresses, but do they really change?
Note: My high school self had a thing for mushrooms. It showed up in my nickname, in a series I did for art, and of course, this story... So, without further ado...
A Short Little Tale Regarding the Importance of Mushrooms
In a world entirely unrelated to our own, the pursuit of life is not happiness, but mushrooms. Now before you start to think of little people zooming around and snatching more mushrooms to add to the already large piles in their arms, understand this – these mushrooms are not ones you eat. It has never even so much as crossed the minds of the inhabitants of the world that mushrooms are items to be ingested. Mushrooms grow, most certainly, but not in the way you might imagine…
~~ C= ~~
“Ooh, I should have washed my face today,” mumbled Blainean miserably fingering the edges of her face. It was a momentous day for her Class C= and she was one of the few whose appearance did not glow in the sweetly moist air of dawn. She scrutinized her classmates’ shining faces, some of which were already showing traces of sprouting mushrooms. These mushroom bearers could easily be spotted since they were the ones surrounded and adored by gaggles of other mushroom hopefuls. It was well known among the upper-school-aged crowd that the mushroomier one’s face was, (mushroomier referring to the number of mushrooms growing on one’s face) the more one would be regarded with renown and respect in society. It was an unspoken rule of thumb that being well-known and well-liked encouraged the growth of these luscious mushrooms. Enviously eying her mushroom spotted peers, Blainean resumed her moping thoughts… Oh, to look like this today, of all days- to look like this…
It wasn’t that Blainean had a low self-image or that she cared excessively about it… But everybody knew how important the Trip on this day was and as a result, everybody tried to look their best. Yet Blainean, as much of a part of everybody as anybody would ever be, had forgotten about the Trip – and it wasn’t hard to discern why.
~~ C= ~~
~~ C= ~~
Madam Syben, the teacher of Class C=, had a rather insignificant class clearing due to the overeager foliage crowding into the once-orderly circle. Not that it mattered much, mind you; the society thrived amidst the substantial growth of thick trees, leafy plants and rotting logs and to have such life-giving surroundings was all that Madam Syben could ask for. Zealously, she ushered her students (most of who were already towering high above her) toward an almost nonexistent path among the undergrowth.
“Hey, Blainean!” yelled Lesaup, (one of the few classmates whom Blainean could actually relate to) falling into step with Blainean. “Didja see Pofadey today?”
“Mm-hmm…” murmured Blainean uncommittedly.
“Oooh! Let me tell ya. I saw her singing–” she paused for effect, “-singing, believe it or not, right near the end of that weird logway that’s always emp-” she stopped short when she noticed the unsettled frown on Blainean’s face. “Hey, what’s eating you?”
“Nothin’”
“Oh, right, uh-huh- and Pofadey has a head covered with mushrooms.”
Blainean cracked a halfhearted grin which disappeared as quickly as it came.
“So?” pressed Lesaup. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” Blainean sighed. “Well, okay, maybe I am overreacting. But you know how long I’ve looked forward to today…”
“Yeah, I know! I mean, we’re going to be adults! And how often is it that you get to go into one of 'em, what do you call ‘em?”
“Buildings.”
“Yeah, those buildings. Shroom! I can’t believe that anyone would actually build something completely closed in. I mean, I suppose I could understand having a roof – sort of -, but to be surrounded by walls on all sides? Give me a break! Give me fresh open air! Give me luscious mushrooms! Give me-!” Lesaup abruptly broke off of her dramatic tirade and glanced embarrassedly at Blainean. “Heh, sorry Lainy, I got a little carried away. Ahem, do continue.”
Blainean just stared at Lesaup with a bemused expression and suddenly broke out in peals of laughter.
“Thanks, Lesaup, you do have a way of cheering me up.”
“That’s what I’m here for!” exclaimed Lesaup. She stopped and took a deep bow, effectively stopping the whole line of students behind her. “Whoops,” she giggled, “sorry.”
Madam Syben, noticing the disturbance behind her, decided to take advantage of the holdup.
“Aren’t you all excited?” she enthused. “There is certainly no way you would have been allowed in the building if you were younger. That idea is simply preposterous. This Trip marks the end of your childhood and the beginning of a wonderful Trip into adulthood!” Madam Syben clapped her hands together like an exhilarated little girl, turned around and continued to lead the class through the dense forest.
Blainean and Lesaup glanced at each other with stifled giggles.
“So you saw Pofadey singing?” questioned Blainean.
“Yeah! It was the strangest sight. I mean, nobody sings. Nobody!”
“So then you’ll understand why I was so distracted that I forgot that we were going to visit the building for the first time in order to become adults?”
“Um… I don’t follow you…”
“Okay, when I woke up, Pofadey was close to my house clearing singing. I was completely taken aback… (And remember, I had just woken up.) She sees me and she calls to me, ‘What a nice wet day to be alive, Blainean! Come and sing with me!’
“Shrooms alive! That’s just strange!”
“So, of course, I just told her that I really had to get ready for Class. And she gave me this penetrating look and said in her little barking voice ‘Now, now, Blainean, you must realize what singing will do for your soul! It will set you free! If you sing you will be free from the walls of society!’”
“She’s off her toadstool!”
“Yeah, so she goes off on this long tirade, sort of like you, about her song, and the empty logway and gives me all sorts of advice about growing up. I was so flustered that, at the first opportunity (which wasn’t very soon), I excused myself politely, since she isn’t, you know, someone who you can just brush off and still have a conscience, and went to Class as fast as I could without remembering about the Trip.”
“Speaking of the Trip…”
A collective murmur of awe rushed from the students of Class C= as they stepped out into the gargantuan clearing that cradled a colossal-
“Building…” breathed Blainean.
The building was a grayish white color and it beckoned with an ethereal glow. No one had ever seen so much white conglomerated into a single entity. No one had ever seen so much sky gathered in one place. Even the wispy fog seemed to be surprised. With no trees to cling on to, they hung on for dear life to the rounded dome of the building like straggling white hairs on a bald man’s head. The Class did their best to regain composure as they were ushered underneath the spreading umbrella dome and into an ornate set of mossy green doors.
The students fidgeted nervously inside but the appearance of a dignified old man before them was enough to make them stand smart. The doors shut behind them as the old man beckoned them to follow him.
Now I see why those who are younger can’t come in here, thought Blainean to herself with a slight shiver. It was a horrible feeling to be surrounded on all sides by solid walls. The light breeze and fresh air that the students always took for granted were replaced by a stony silence and a stale earthy smell. They stopped moving and the man began to speak…
~~ C= ~~
It had been seven months since the incredible experience in the building and yet Blainean could not shake off the feeling of those unyielding walls edging around her. She was now one of the few of her peers who did not have a constant stream of mushrooms sprouting from their faces. Lesaup, ever the well-liked one, had no end of mushrooms to her name. She certainly wasn’t affected by the walls. It seemed that the walls could never get off Blainean’s mind because of the Pofadey’s passionate outburst about singing and the walls of society. Something in there made perfect sense to Blainean, but, for all the mushrooms in the world, she could not put her finger on it. A part of her wished that she were more like Lesaup - well-liked, self-confident, and mushroomy – yet another part of her dwelled on the walls.
“How wonderful to be in such humid, life-giving surroundings wouldn’t you say, my dear?” greeted Pofadey, snapping Blainean out of her thoughts.
“Yes, I would say so too, Pofadey,” Blainean responded with a grin.
In seven months, Blainean had come to know the eccentric old lady as a close friend. (It all started with a conversation about the walls of course.)
“Pofadey?” said Blainean tentatively. “Why don’t you have – well, um – mushrooms? I mean, aren’t mushrooms the very core of our being?”
Pofadey regarded Blainean with the same penetrating stare that had become so familiar.
“You know what?” Pofadey mused. “It is time for us to take a walk.”
Arm in arm they walked out of Blainean’s house clearing and towards the empty logway. Pofadey took a deep breath and began to speak:
“When I was your age, I cared so much for mushrooms. I saw how happy my mushroomy peers were and I wanted what they had. So I did all I could to imitate what they had, but all to no avail. Anyway, I wasn’t very confident and I wasn’t true to myself. It was only years later, while walking down this very logway with a heavy backpack on, that I suddenly stopped, dropped the backpack, and started singing.”
Blainean let out a high pitched laugh that bore astonishing resemblance to the barking voice of Pofadey.
“Just like that?” Blainean asked incredulously. “You just suddenly stopped and dropped?”
“Well, yes and no. Yes, because I suppose it did look rather sudden. No, because I had been thinking for a long time about what these mushrooms really were. And to me, it seemed like those with the most mushrooms were the ones who believed in themselves the most and followed their own path. You see why I never had many mushrooms? I was trying to copy them, but I was not them!”
“I sense a lesson here,” said Blainean wryly.
“Of course!” chuckled Pofadey. “To continue, I dropped my backpack because of that sudden realization. The song came only when I decided to be myself.”
“And what about the mushrooms?”
“Well, they certainly grew more than they had before.”
“So,” Blainean’s eyes began to light up, “are you saying that the more I follow myself and become my own person, the more mushrooms will grow because they have a satisfied environment?”
“Smack on the spore, my dear.”
By this time, they arrived back at Blainean’s house clearing. As Pofadey departed, Blainean shouted after her:
“Wait! You’re the most self-assured person I know… why don’t you have a head full of mushrooms?”
“Think about the walls, my dear,” smiled Pofadey with a departing wave.
Blainean sighed. Think about the walls yet again. What was it Pofadey said about singing? It set her free from the walls. Walls? Walls were limiting. Blainean’s own desires for mushrooms were limiting. If she sang, she could break down the walls. If she followed herself and not the mushrooms, the walls would disappear. Perhaps the mushrooms were the same thing as walls… Suddenly a tune came to her lips…
And all the logs have turned
And Pofadey is wavin’ farewell
When the Fungi finds you
May this song remind you
On the mushrooms you should not dwell…
…and the walls started to crumble…
**The tune is to be sung to the song “Breakfast” by the Newsboys**
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