Here is the second part of last week’s post. I hope you all enjoy and be sure to leave a comment on thoughts or suggestions on what you think. Thanks!!

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Our teacher, Mr. Vanderwaffer, was a short man with a shorter haircut. He, however, was always able to keep the attention of the class, by making the conversations engaging and enjoyable.  He came out of the side office attached to the front of the class, his little legs hobbling past the much taller students. We walked up to the whiteboard and began to write.  

“Okay, okay, everyone, take your seats. We are going to start,” Mr. Vanderwaffer said. Everyone made their way to their seats and began to hush as he finished writing two words.  

“Human,” Mr. Vanderwaffer said, pointing to the first word he wrote. “Experimentation.” He said, pointing to the second word. “While it sounds insane based on today’s standards, human experimentation was something practiced very often, and even in the United States. In the 1940s, our own government tested the effects of mustard gas on thousands of military personnel, which these personnel knew nothing of. This type of nonconsensual experimentation occurred for decades after as well.   

“In the 1960s, Mind-altering drugs were given to prisoners in Pennsylvania, to test the ability to disable people with medication. These types of experimentations, as you would assume, suffered massive repercussions, and result in several lawsuits as well. It is unsure if these experiments still occurred but… Max, are you alright?” He had asked the question just as another spasm occurred, causing me to jump wildly in my chair. I nodded politely, but I could still feel my body tensing up. I took a deep breath in, blowing it out slowly through my nose.   

“Well alright,” Mr. Vanderwaffer said. “Then please take out your books and turn to page 814.” The class radiated with the sound of shuffling bags and books slamming onto tables. As I reached for mine, I felt my body tense once again.  

I grabbed my book, and as I brought it up, I released another uncontrollable spasm, hurling the book into the air and across the room, slamming into a girl’s face on the far end. She screamed in pain, clutching her face where the book hit her. A few people laughed while others gasped in horror.  

“Max!” Mr. Vanderwaffer said, standing up and looking at me sternly. “Did you just throw your book at Leslie?”   

“Kind of?” I said, as my head jerked from side to side roughly. My body began to ache as it ceased up painfully.   

“Well pick it up, and sit down up here next to me,” Mr. Vanderwaffer said, still looking stern and assertive.   

“Yes, sir,” I said, grabbing my bag and walking to where my book lay on the floor next to Leslie, a girl I always thought was cute, with long blond hair and very pretty eyes. Now, one of those eyes sported a large purple bruise. I bent over and picked up the book, not making eye contact with anyone as people around me whispered and giggled.   

I felt the familiar feeling of embarrassment swimming around me again as my ears began to burn once more. I walked past Mr. Vanderwaffer when it happened again. My arms and legs all tensed up, throwing me wildly off-balance, and my book which I managed to hold onto, struck Mr. Vanderwaffer across the face.   

Now, I don’t remember all the details, as I was horrified by my actions, but this is what I remember.   

The room grew hazy as people laughed, screamed, and gasped all at once. My book, striking Mr. Vanderwaffer in the head, never left my hand. So in everyone’s eyes, this uncontrollable spasm was just me hitting my teacher in the face. I only remember seeing him stumble backward as I regained my balance once more.   

“Principle,” Mr. Vanderwaffer said, anger swelling outward. “Now.”  

“I chose to not argue, and quickly made a beeline for the door, catching Tammy and Terrence’s concerned looks. I closed the door behind me and slowly made my way down the hall, wishing this day never happened. I hit a teacher, and now I was having these fits. What was wrong with me? I could not comprehend anything as a violent flurry of muscle tensing spasms overtook me. I fell to the floor, twitching wildly, unable to speak. I could see the eyes of other classrooms looking out at me.   

“Max, what is going on,” a teacher said, sticking their head out the door of their classroom.  

“Nothing, Mr. Ross,” I said, getting up to my feet with difficulty. “Just tripped.”  

Mr. Ross shook his head and returned to his class, closing the door behind him. I wished for nothing more than to be home in bed, not wanting to be here anymore as I was now expected to be in the principal’s office. Mr. Vanderwaffer no doubt called ahead. I shuffled my feet, as yet another spasm overtook me, my desire to be home rising even more as these were so intense and painful.   

I fell to the ground again, as I fell my body tighten and twist. A bright white light flashed before my closed eyes, and I felt as though my body was being pulled through a small hole as it tensed up, I felt it fall and lad on a soft, springy surface.   

But the school floor was far from soft and springy. The familiar mew of a cat reached my ears as I opened my eyes. I found myself laying in my bed, my bag on my back and my book in my hand. How did I get here? Did I black out the rest of the day? I must have come home and fallen asleep immediately. I sat up, looking around the room. Chuckie sat on the back of the couch, staring at me curiously, his little head on his big body tilting to the side.   

I got up, dropped my bag and book onto the floor, and walked into the bathroom, promptly throwing up.