Poetry by Dythandra

Field Trip Stowaway

It's an odd sensation--something's afoot
Yet I'm out of the loop.
My usual detachment seems insufficient
For somehow it's about me.

At lunch I hear them talking--my name
That name--I won't speak it--
and muffled phrases:
"She'd love that"
"Maybe she'd find a boyfriend there"
"It would be like christmas--or should
I say Halloween for her"

I glare at them but cannot allow myself
the luxury of asking.
Superior is as superior does
And my mystique is what shields me
From the "prepulent" rabble

Still, something is up, and I must know.
I take my usual approach--
Long smoke breaks in the girl's washroom
Hidden in the stall, I listen
But to no avail.

Then I stand behind the foyer pillar
But no one reveals anything more interesting
Than the identity of the narc
Old news--we spotted his wedding ring tanline
Even before we cringed at his
1997 ghetto slang.

Then a clue--a too-loud jock
No doubt compensating for steroidal shrinking
Sees fit to yell towards me as I pass:
"Hey Morticia--gonna find a prom date on that field trip?"

Now I have something to work with
And soon discover a notice
I'd passed by dozens of times
Without regard:

GRADE 12 BIOLOGY FIELD TRIP:
"Bodies in Motion" I am intrigued.
"...featuring almost 200 authentic human specimens
preserved using the extraordinary method of Plastination"

I gasp. This is school--a class--
They will see this, experience
What has been only fodder
For my fevered dreams.

I must go. I move at a pace faster
Than my usual apathy allows.
The biology teacher is eating lunch
As I blurt my wish to "take advantage
of this amazing learning opportunity".

He looks at me coldly.
"I remember you. The fetal pig kid."
I am horrified--it hadn't occurred to me
That last year's liberation of my pickled pet
Would still rankle in his formaldehyde-damaged brain.

"Uhm, yeah--but that wasn't me," I stammer.
He shakes his head. "It's for the senior biology class--only."
I am not beyond begging, but his eyes make it clear
So I go elsewhere to plot my strategy.

Our town is too small, and the chance to see the exhibit
Miles away in the city
Shrinks with the waning fall daylight--
It's scheduled to move on
Like a rare comet--passing this close once
In our tedious lifetimes.

I turn to my old standby--the counselling department.
They all fear me, and I know their secrets.
My typical requests--excused from P.E.,
early dismissal, free cafeteria food--are always granted
Without a moment's hesitation.

Still, this one requires all my wiles,
And after hinting at recordings and photos
That might exist--they comply.
I have an "independent biology study" class
And the field trip is now curricular.

The biology teacher scowls--tells me the cost.
I hand him twenty bucks--my share of the bus.
He glances at his list and then a wicked smile...
"Sorry, kid--the bus is full."

I leave the money--deposit for my place
On the "waiting list"--then wait for him
To go to answer the call I make to the office.

During his absence, I scan the class list.
I see my targets--it's survival of the fittest.
And even if I hadn't called the tip line
About the stash that somehow ended up in his locker
The drug-addled loser would have likely skipped
The opportunity of my lifetime.

My father raises an eyebrow as he glances at my mother
While she signs the travel form.
They know not to ask too many questions.

I have my camera safely hidden in my boot.
It will come in handy today.
I need a picture
For this year's Christmas cards.