The Autobiography of a "Troubled Soul"
By
S. Jeffery Sands
Edited and Approved By
E. S. Young
Chapter Three: That was Then, This is Now
Oh my God . . . I can't believe so many people are with me on the cinnamon conspiracy! :O It's shocking, it really is. That quote ("Cinnamon is the aphrodisiac of the complacent happy family") has been on my FFN bio for at least a year now. Meh. Nobody really reads that thing, anyway, do they? And even if they do, there are 158 quotes listed (at the moment 9.9;;), so I doubt number 97 will stay in their minds. :) Which is fine cuz I've wanted to fit that theory into one of my stories for months now. And remember, if someone calls you crazy for thinking that cinnamon is a conspiracy hatched by the government to delude us, simply say to them, "Oh, no, you don't mean that. That's the cinnamon talking." ;D
"Can I help you?"
You can help me, but for all I know you have some afflicting illness that inables you to aid a poor misguided little boy . . . Sands felt a wave of smugness wash over him as he thought this. No one could deny it was much better than simply, 'I don't know. Can you?' That retort was old and overdone, yet people – mostly teachers – continued to run it into the ground.
Keeping his mouth shut, he pulled a bedraggled slip of paper from his jeans' pocket and laid it across the secretary's desk. He took the time to smooth it flat before pushing it towards her. It was as if he wanted the hall pass to be presentable for when it was shown to her. The secretary bent over her typewriter, craning her neck to get a good look at the crumpled yellow rectangle.
"I'm supposed to see the principal," the teenager said suddenly, making her jump. The corners of his mouth twitched at her surprise.
"Oh, of course," the secretary agreed offhandedly as she handed the hall pass back. "Right through there." Sands followed her arm when she pointed to a oak – probably imitation – wood door that he was obviously supposed to go through. She didn't need to show him the way. He'd done this dance before; this time shouldn't be any different. All he had to do was make sure he kept the principal talking long enough to keep him out of geometry class and away from Mr. Perry. He didn't think the so-called teacher would mind. Sands wouldn't be there to annoy him, and Perry didn't care if he failed or not – what was there to complain about, right?
Sands shoved the hall pass back into his pocket and headed for the principal's office.
Right.
Now comes the part I have been dreading. Now is the time I must sit down and force myself to write about a topic I have always struggled to get out of – aside from math and gym class. Now is when I have to dedicate an entire chapter to . . . myself. I believe I began Chapter One with a paragraph on how much I despised doing that, yes? It truly is a wonder how feeble my attempts at procrastination were. Usually they aren't nearly as short-lived, but perhaps I only thought time was passing quickly. Whatever the case, I do not enjoy writing about myself – I don't even like writing about myself, or talking about myself or singing about myself for that matter. It annoys me because, in my mind, there are better things to discuss. However, as I also stated in Chapter One, I want to go to college and since the scores I get in ninth grade through twelfth are the ones that really count, I'm not going to flunk English simply because I have issues. Be prepared; this chapter is going to break the scale of cynicism.
When I originally began thinking about this chapter, I intended to write that children disturb me. However, I realized that kids do not unsettle me; they merely annoy me. Kids today think they can get away with anything because, anymore, moms and dads get all of their parenting information out of books. They think that when a child does something wrong, he or she is merely expressing their artistic abilities, and we all know that it's wrong to squelch a child's creativity. Tell that to my sister's second grade teacher, why don't you. But getting back to my point . . . the parents, instead of punishing them, sit the kid down and explain that it's all right if they need their creative space, but their space isn't on the walls of the dinning room. The child, of course, nods and promises not to do it again before running off to find something else that's destructive.
Parents like that need to get it through their heads that simply 'talking things out' is not the way to get through to a kid. Unless they want them to turn up on shows like Maury as an 'out of control teen,' then some lines need to be drawn. Anyway, I digress and apologize for the tangent. What really disturbs me are perfect teeth. Sounds strange, but take it into consideration. Everyone – not just Hollywood's stars – have teeth that glow like a halogen-watt bulb. Those perfectly sized, perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth really get to me. Body modifications are one thing, but perfect teeth? They should at least leave something alone. If anything, people should get their teeth fixed and let everything else be.
They say that nobody's perfect, and I know that, but that doesn't stop my genes. I believe I take after my dad in this field of OCD. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, i.e., I don't see taking a bath every night as a crime, unlike some people I know. So, though it may seem like it, I do not care what people think of me. To me, the stupidest thing is when someone judges a person by their outward appearance alone. Example: I am classified as snobbish because I hardly ever talk. Because of that, I, apparently, am seen as cold and standoffish by my peers. Okay, so they may be right about my attitude, but it's not like I try to be that way. It just happens, understand? It's not like I can help it (or try to help it, either). It's like the autobiography says: I am a 'troubled soul.' If I weren't, then that title wouldn't make much sense, would it?
There are many people who say that they couldn't care less about their visage, and I'm not disagreeing with them. There are more important things to worry about than your hair or make up or clothes – any kind of crap like that. I'm sure I sound like the world's biggest hypocrite for typing that, especially since appearance is one of the main things I look for in a woman. Go ahead and call me shallow, but I should warn you that you'd only be repeating what my sister's already said.
However, this brings us back to my original statement: OCD. Could perfectionism be classified as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? I believe it could be. Understand that while it may look as though I pretty myself up because I want to impress someone, it's all a lie. I am naturally good looking, everybody. Even when I first wake up in the morning. Trust me, you'd be shocked. Still, I am a perfectionist, but I know that there is no such thing as being perfect; albeit, 'perfect' doesn't seem to fit after I say that, does it? It's not what I'm striving for; anyway. It's doubtful, but I think it may have something to do with the quote, "If you look good, you feel good." Maybe that's it, but it sounds dumb that I would fret over my hair just to get a good vibe. If I wanted that, I could sniff a Sharpie Marker or something – kidding!
A person's appearance can be useful, however, when you see someone for the first time. The way someone looks can tell you a lot about the person. Take my one friend Alicia, for example. She's a towering Italian girl who, though she can be a bit slow at times, is a decent friend nonetheless. Once, she had lovely red hair, but then something horrible happened: She dyed it black. What does this tell us about Alicia now? She's a towering Spaniard with straggly black hair who, though we now know that she is a complete dunce for doing such a dumb thing to her head, is a lousy friend because she won't dye her hair back for anyone. In case you're wondering, yes, I like redheads. Not when they're taller than me, though, so I doubt I'd take Alicia as a girlfriend. She's hooked a guy now, anyway. Not that that's ever stopped me before, but remember: There's the height thing to consider.
Despite our best efforts, my friends and I cannot convince Alicia to restore her hair to its natural color. This is one case where it would be a good thing to give in to peer pressure. For the most part, this bothers me, but if your friends are trying to goad you into changing for the better, it's fine. When people feel pushed by everyone else to do what they're doing and dress the way they dress that they finally give in, I get annoyed. Despite how it is frowned upon by society, it's all right to be a little offbeat. (Warning: Extremely positive messages ahead) Dare to be different! Be unique! I thought I had made a vow not to make this autobiography even worse by throwing in corny phrases of encouragement, but I did it anyway. Feel free to ignore that moment of lameness; I won't mind nor will I blame you.
My point is, being an individual is not a bad thing. Nowadays if you try stand out, the worst that will happen is you'll receive a few raised eyebrows from onlookers, but had you tried it centuries ago, you would have been burned at the stake for being enigmatic and had to endure the cries of "Witch! Witch! Evil servant of Satan!" while the flames slowly consumed your body. This was, of course, during the times when everyone feared change, art, and science. The people who were tortured and condemned for witchcraft were later given public apologies from their torturer's descendants. Sort of their way of saying "We're sorry our great-great-great grandfathers were so ignorant that they axed all you innocent people. They screwed up and made you all suffer a horrible death after weeks of torment, but we know better now. No hard feelings, right?"
The witch trials that swept across Europe throughout the 1600s are only one thing that gets to me. People are ignorant, I know, but that doesn't stop me from being annoyed. The readers already know about my annoyance for today's child-raising skills, but there's more than that – much more – which is why I have created the following list.
Dislikes:
1. Reality TV shows
2. Posers
3. State testing of any kind
4. Racism whether it be towards color, religion, gender, or physical appearance – who cares what a person looks like as long as they aren't too irritating and are willing to cooperate?
5. Today's so-called music (Everybody Have Fun Tonight is not a song, people!)
6. The government
7. Whiny Goth kids – they talk about being in a world of pain, but I'd like to see if they'd change their minds if they were forced to live in a third world country for a week
8. Arguments over religion – I think I have a right to object to this; after all, my family's beliefs are the reason I'm not going to be valedictorian when I graduate
9. Making fun of the French – much of our vocabulary is stolen from theirs; we should at least give them a little credit
It looks as though I don't care for much of anything, doesn't it? It only seems that way. Really, I enjoy many things, just not the kind of stuff people in my age group tend to like. The next list proves this.
Likes:
1. Books – Frankenstein, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Bram Stoker's Dracula, and The Phantom of the Opera
2. Plays/musicals – Cabaret, Oklahoma, The Phantom of the Opera, My Fair Lady, West Side Story, Laughing Wild
3. Music – jazz, old rock, classical; it varies a lot
4. Movies –The original James Bond movies, any stereotypical spy/cop flicks like Shaft or Foxy Brown, The Godfather Saga, as well as many of the old, black and white horror films
5. Traveling – as long as I return home unscathed, which doesn't seem to happen a lot
6. Useless but incredibly interesting facts – during the Hundred Years War, whenever the French caught an English long bower, they would cut off all of their fingers, save for the middle one, thinking that there was no way they could possibly fight them. The long bowers were then let go, but they returned, ready to do battle again. So when the French army came into view, the Englishmen would all wave their mutilated, single-fingered hands at them, showing that there were still able to fight, and thus the concept of flippin' the bird was born.
It seems completely useless, I'm sure. However, what if a person takes a World Cultures exam, gets to an essay question that reads: Describe one memorable occurrence during the Hundred Years War, and has no idea what to put down? What will they do? They will wish they would've taken my information into consideration and will feel sorry for scoffing at my useless-fact-filled mind. If ever I have to take a test on the Hundred Years War, I'll at least know I got the essay right, even if I did bomb the rest of it.
Red lettering – print, all caps. – glared up at her in fury. An angry hand had clearly written that note. Intrigued, the principal glanced up from the slip and met the eyes of the troublemaker the pass had referred to. Troublemaker? That's what the pass had said. But looking at the slight, seventeen-year-old boy in front of her . . . Principal Victoria Freemen knew there had to be a mistake. Jeffery Sands wasn't what she would call a model student but he certainly wasn't the hooligan being described in Mr. Perry's note. He was smart – one of the top students in his class – always had his homework done, came from a good family . . . The only thing that came to mind was his lack of involvement in extracurricular activities. He wasn't part of any clubs, he didn't participated in a single sport . . . but that could hardly be considered a problem.
Taking her warm gray eyes away from the note, she gave Sands a hard look. He was staring at her expectantly, not anxiously like most of the children she dealt with. Or bored like some of the punked-out slackers that entered her office, brandishing a cool façade that was actually a mask made to hide how nervous they were feeling. Jeffery Sands, on the other hand, did neither of these things. He merely looked at her, perhaps doing a study of his own.
Principal Freeman gazed at him intently, taking in his dark hair – it was getting a bit long – his eyes that seemed to go right through a person, the long lashed that framed them, the way he made even her stiff office chairs look comfortable, that casual air that she had never seen him without. . . He was almost to pretty to be a boy, she mused thoughtfully. She had heard that he had a little sister. Even though she had never seen her, there was no doubt in her mind that the child was as beautiful as her brother. Give the girl a few years and she would probably be even more radiant. Victoria found herself growing jealous. Her beauty was fading – it had been ever since her second child – but she wasn't unattractive. Still, she wasn't the knockout she once was.
From across her polished desk, Sands arched an eyebrow at her.
Shocked at what she had been doing – had she really been fawning over the boy? – Principal Freeman quickly sat back in her chair. Blinking in surprise, she pushed a lock of light brown hair out of her eyes, muttering distracted apologizes all the while.
Sands had to fight the urge to break into a grin.
Easy boy, he told himself. She's married and she has a kid – do I really wanna bang a chick with all of that attached to her? Besides . . . Alicia's lookin' pretty hott now that she dyed her hair back. Eh . . . there's still that tall thing though . . .
Yeah, but if you and Alicia hooked up, you could call her Big Red.
Sands rolled his eyes at the voice that spoke to him, always ready with a response to each of his unspoken thoughts.
Folding the crisp slip of white paper over and over again, Principal Freeman cleared her throat, embarrassed.
"Now, Mr. Perry says that you disrupted his lesson – twice. Once when you called him lazy and then a second time when you –" the principal checked the note Mr. Perry had sent with Sands, making certain she hadn't misread it " – sang a line from The Wizard of Oz?" She gave him a quizzical look.
Sands sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling briefly before letting them trail back to his principal.
"Mrs. Freeman," he began with disdain, "do you really believe that? Really? I know I'm asking a lot when I say that, but consider my school record. Ever since first grade my report card has contained comments from teachers that read: 'Courteous,' 'polite,' 'motivated,' and 'pleasure to have in class.' I do the work, I do the tests, and my scores are always high. I'm sure if you'd ask my other teachers, they'd be shocked when they heard Mr. Perry's accusations."
Victoria nodded, considering this. It was exactly what she had been thinking. Jeffery Sands was a good student. Admittedly, he didn't always agree with the way the school was run – neither did she, but she wasn't the superintendent; there wasn't much she could do considering her position – and he didn't follow the crowd, but he was a good student. And the students had been complaining about Mr. Perry's teaching abilities for a while now . . . It was even rumored that he insulted their intelligence levels.
"Tell you what, Jeff," she said, using the name she knew he preferred, "I'm going to let this slid for today. Just see that it doesn't happen again, okay?"
Sands grinned, making sure to look relieved instead of triumphant even though he knew he would win all along.
I liked the idea of Sands' principal being attracted to him. Dunno why, I just did. And, come on, it's Sands we're talking about, people! If we thought he was good looking in OUaTiM, imagine him in eleventh grade. Actually, I'm having a hard time doing that for some reason. I'm thinking that if I saw what Mr. Depp looked like when he was younger, I could probably get a better mental image. If anybody has any links that could provide this, please ship 'em my way! Sands Author's Thanks and Review Responses
vanillafluffy: Ah, Harriet the Spy . . . good, good book. Good movie, too. I know it's what got me into writing. And combined with those certain ingredients . . . yeah, I gotta admit I think it'd make a nice concoction. Glad ya liked it!
Dawnie-7: There is something about clowns . . . It's like you said, they're too happy. And with that makeup, it's like they're smiles are permanent. Like they're frozen or something. (shudder) Creepy . . . And cinnamon! Yes! Think about it: The government has done all this crazy stuff already – why not get a popular spice involved with their schemes?
morph: Oy vey, why would anybody write a play about clowns harassing kids? That's just . . . that's wrong! It's downright monstrous! :O But, yes, very ironic that you'd read this later. I'm not sure if I could fit Winnipeg in anywhere, unfortunately. Sands already mentioned family vacations, so there's really no reason to bring them up again. I will try to, though! :) And I don't mind if you told me you were watching Mexico. :) That scene played out in my mind as I read your description and it actually gave me an idea for a dream sequence in Smoke. So, really, it's a good thing you told me what you were watching. Thanks!
ringbearers-gaurdian: It's such a relief to hear the word 'original' used. :D That's the one I always look for for some reason, so I thank you for using it to describe this fic. And it's good to hear that I'm not the only one who acted like Sands. Well, technically I still do cuz I've still got two years left of high school to go. I've been getting worried cuz Sands is written very well apparently. Thing is, I'm describing myself! Ahh! Eh. (shrug) It could be worse, I suppose. And it's not like I can't stand Sands, either – love him, but then again, who doesn't ;D
fanfiction fanatic: lol, true. I'm actually somewhat shy but not so much that I don't enjoy praise ;)
Lynx Ryder: Breaking your nose is defintely painful. Belive me, I know from experience. 9.9;; And nosey neighbors – they must have no life if all they're interested in is what's going on next door. Pretty much anybody who's a busybody gets on my nerves – another reason why I don't like Cat ;D I'm not entierly sure what Sands' deal with snakes is – they're cute! – but I think there was a flashback in Home where Lyn was bitten by one. Sands was kinda freaked out by the whole experience, so that's probably what did it. And I hope a wide imagination is why I find Sands easy to write – mind, though, it still takes me days to get a scene written if he's feeling particuarly emotional in it.
zigzag: Nah, you've done a good job writing your Sands u.u Which reminds me that I need to review your story, if FFN isn't being difficult again, that is. -.9 May I ask, though, what was the other Sands childhood fic you found? I love 'em, so I'm dying to know :D
DragonHunter200: Yay! Somebody mentioned Secret Window! You'd think a lot of people would, but no. Anyway, what's really terrible about Mr. Perry is the fact that he's a major ripoff of my actual geometry teacher. I screw with his head a lot, though, so sitting through a boring non-lesson in geometry is almost worth it if I can tick the guy off. ;) And you're right, Sands was just being Sands again, that crazy kid. He always seemed like he'd know that he was attractive but wouldn't flaunt it like a pretty boy, but would exactly try to hide his looks either – unless he's wearing one of his bad disguises and even then he doesn't look bad. Which is why I think it's funny that Johnny Depp played him since he's intent on hiding his looks, God love him :) Oooh . . . I probably shouldn't mention that Clarabelle is the name of the drunken, chain-smoking, pedophine clown that showed up at my seventh birthday party, should I? (wince) Sorry for inflicting terror on your behalf – I can't help myself! It's an impulse! Oh, but I'm glad you agree with the cinnamon thing! Spread the word!
Choco Donut: (waves to new reviewer) Hey there! And thank you. Glad you hear you like everything. :)
o