Assignment #1: Character Analysis – Find out who you are
The last year of a stage in one's life is a very special one. One starts making plans for the future, reflects the years that have passed and asks oneself some important questions.
What does the image look like that I have created of myself? Did I have a certain intention in mind that I wanted to display? And if so: what exactly did I want to achieve?
Did I disguise just to please and impress other people? Did I just want to be me? Or did I manage to break with my familiar behavioral patterns and thus got to know aspects of my personality I haven't known before?
But the most important question is: do I still have the chance to change my spots?
Internal monologues of this kind are normal for young people who are about to graduate from school. Because what comes next is real life. This direful issue your parents always warn you of, hoping that their offsprings have been prepared properly for the serious side of life.
Our story starts on a warm day on the edge of September, sometime in the late seventies. The sun sent its glittering rays down onto the streets of St. Canard, where numerous figures scurried all-around.
Young men perspired in their black business suits while goose-stepping towards the subway station, their important-looking briefcases dangling back and forth in time with their footsteps. Mothers pushed buggies through the parks, other people took their dogs for a walk or utilized the remaining minutes before work to thumb through the pages of the daily newspaper.
The hectic pace carried forward in a likewise intensity among the students of St. Canard High School. It was the first day after summer break and the girls and boys of the school set out for their educational establishment. The focus of attention now lay unmistakably on the graduates-to-be.
Who would muster the most awards by the end of the year? Who wouldn't graduate?
Not only did the juniors and the teachers ask themselves these questions, but also – or: especially – the worried seniors.
One of them sat in the school bus and looked out of the window anxiously. Her shoulder bag, chock-a-block with books, lay in her lap. The head of the rat girl was leaned against the window pane and moved slightly to and fro. Except for her, there were only junior students on the bus. She was the only senior. There would surely be restrained giggling all-round when she got off the vehicle and walked towards the school building. The boys would shake their heads, smirking, whereas the girls would examine her with deprecative looks and mumble something like "wallflower" or "freak". Maybe they would also call comments after her or trip her up on her way to the classroom. But on no account would there be someone waiting for her at her locker. Eleanor Johansson had no friends.
Thus began her last year in the school she hated so much. And the school seemed to hate her, too. Because how else is one supposed to depict the status that Eleanor held as a showcase geek? She, the one who was permanently picked on because of her looks, the one who was surrounded by numbskulls. Was wondering about the future really that uncool? Was it condemnable to take an interest in natural sciences and languages and to integrate them into one's leisure time? Was it that odd to like school? (Just to impropriate knowledge, of course!)
The bus jerked to a halt. The rat girl had been lost in her thoughts so much that she hadn't noticed that they had already reached the school. She sighed and rose from her seat halfheartedly, just to be hustled by a horde of seventh graders who ran towards the door and out screeching. She couldn't deny herself a smile. These kids were so light-hearted, things like status symbols didn't exist in their minds. And they didn't have to join the social fabric yet. It was a lot more difficult for Eleanor, who was at the age of 17. Unlike the majority of her class, she neither possessed a driver's license (what for? Cars polluted the environment!) nor had she any friends who could take her along. Hence, she was dependent on the bus and raised a laugh day-to-day. And there was no difference today. She already heard them when she put her foot on the first step.
"Look who's coming there! Hey, Eleanor!"
The other girls jeered and whistled at her, but Eleanor didn't look. That would make things even worse. She accelerated her pace and tried to keep the color of her face as neutral as possible. The shrill laughter reverberated until she had opened the door of the main building and had disappeared behind it. The rat girl stopped and breathed out. She was supposed to stand above these things after all the years, wasn't she? She was not to care about that any more, right? Yes, she should actually have gathered the strength to stand up to her bullies. But Eleanor hadn't. Already in her earliest childhood had her parents drummed into her to meet the expectations of others first. Not until then were her own needs to be fulfilled. And since it seemed to be her classmates' expectation that she acted amusingly, she saw no chances to break the mold.
It was still quite early and Eleanor was alone in the chilly, protective belly of the school. She peeped outside. As a matter of fact, her female classmates didn't dare to come inside yet. They rather wanted to show the new sunglasses they had bought on vacation in France to their friends, the boys and the world overall. She saw Preena Lot, the most popular girl of her class and definite candidate for the prom queen crown, as she presumably told her astonished friends with excessive movement of her hands about her exclusive club vacation. So what, Eleanor thought, I've been to Egypt this year! You would never dare to travel there for fear of your make-up! But what she had experienced wasn't really interesting for girls of her age. She was at least sure not to make acquaintance of one that would get into a camp for archeological excavation.
Eleanor averted her curious gaze and started rummaging her bag for her schedule. Regardless of her good memory: she just couldn't bear in mind which period followed which. The first two lessons today were French. Great, I may enjoy the company of the honorable ladies a little longer, she thought disparagingly. She decided to spend the remaining time in the girls' restroom, where she could be sure not to be disturbed by anybody.
Relieved not to have met anybody on her way, Eleanor pushed open the door of the restrooms and intuitively occupied a cabin in the middle. The last one would have been way too striking. She locked the door and sat down on the toilet lid, the bag in her lap. She stared down onto the tiles and tried to recognize patterns in the stains on the poorly cleaned floor. This usually helped perfectly to get rid of the bad thoughts. But today it just didn't work. She had to admit that the question whether or not something would change this year bothered her. She didn't expect to become friends with many people, but she nevertheless hoped to engage somebody's sympathy for at least a bit. Because, in all honesty: they were mature enough to demonstrate due respect for each other, weren't they?
"No," a voice popped up in Eleanor's head, "why should things change now, of all times?"
Shoot, why did she always have to be so negative? She shook her head in order to make her subconsciousness shut up.
With a bang the door of the restrooms flew open and a group of cackling girls entered. They could hardly restrain themselves. The rat girl stiffened and could barely save her bag from slipping off her lap and thus bespeaking her presence. She tucked up her legs, put the bag atop and listened.
"Did you see her?" one of the girls shrieked. Unmistakably, that was Preena's voice. And it was clear to Eleanor that she was the topic of conversation.
"Sure! One just can't ignore such an insult to the eye!" responded another voice, a rather hoarse one. It belonged to Celeste. The rat girl bit her bottom lip. Celeste had pretty much been the only girl Eleanor had once been kind of close to. They had sat next to each other in 8th grade and she had helped the duck girl to cope with her weakness in Math. Celeste had thanked her with regard and occasional conversations. But unfortunately, a real friendship had never accrued from the loose contact. When they had reached puberty, Celeste had changed in sudden bursts. Boys had suddenly become her focus of attention, she had seemed to start aiming at the other sex completely. This had self-explanatorily sparked Preena's interest for her. She had already had several boyfriends in 7th grade. Eleanor was consistently astonished at the fact that her current boyfriend Hamilton hadn't turned into a bore yet. Anyway, with this turnabout the prospective friendship – if at all considerable as such a thing – between Eleanor and Celeste had died away.
"The poor thing somehow got stuck in the fifties, no doubt," Preena estimated. "I mean, have you seen how she walked about? Does nobody advise her of us having proceeded chronologically?" A fizzing sound could be heard. She seemed to re-arrange her aesthetic hair-do with some spray.
"Maybe you should undertake the task of doing that," Hannah assumed. She was one of those who permanently took up a subordinate role to others because they didn't have a mind of their own and left the thinking to others.
"No bad idea ... ," Preena answered. There was a long break. Eleanor could literally hear the girls' brains work. At last Preena said, "I think I already have an idea how we'll do it." Her voice sounded bittersweet as she spoke. Eleanor felt a shiver run down her spine. Preena was her archenemy and her jokes were exceedingly disgraceful and, in the worst case, even painful. Eleanor heard the malicious laughter of the girls, it crept up under the door crack like a poisonous gas and choked her. At least she now knew that the girls planned something. But she wouldn't get to know what it was since they vociferously set out for the corridor.
That was the keyword for Eleanor to disengage herself from her uncomfortable posture. She slowly put her numb feet down onto the ground and sighed. She should have figured it out earlier: she would furthermore have to tolerate the humiliations. She asked herself how her classmates' address of welcome could possibly look like.
Utterly quiet, she unlocked the door and stepped out of the cabin. She sighed again and moved towards the basins. She turned on the water and let the cool liquid run over her hands. What a pleasant feeling, as if she could wash away a part of her sorrows.
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment and turned of the water. When she opened her eyes again she was appalled: until that very moment she had avoided looking in the mirror. Only now did she realize how old she looked. Did the mental pressure harry her really that much? She loosened her bun, ran her fingers through her reddish-brown kinks and tied her hair again. Eleanor smoothed out her clothes, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. When she put the glasses back on her long nose and looked at herself again, she perceived her appearance as at least more reasonable than before. She tried to manage a smile, which turned out quite lopsided, and left the room.