English Chip Level Three

Everyone has embarrassing moments. At the time nothings feels worse than having those scarlet patches surface across your face, but recounting the story to a friend or a group in some dark, snug bar somehow makes one glad it happened—because everyone likes telling stories…
It was my second English Chip level 3 class. Hal had done something very funny. I could feel a laugh bulging my lungs with air, but I was biting my tongue, slowing my speech, everything to keep my composure. It was useless. My voice wavered over syllables and my mouth corners turned. Unfortunately my diaphragm was holding the laugh like a rubber band holds a ten-pound weight: it snapped and the laugh rushed through my nose—carrying a small booger with it. Suddenly, fourteen Korean students laughed all of them tapping their nose: “teacher, teacher!” They didn’t know the English word for booger. I quickly took a Kleenex from my pocket and wiped it away, while Hal, gesturing with his finger and thumb, suggested I flick it at somebody.
“No Hal, this is going in the trash.” I leaned over the desk and tossed the Kleenex into the plastic trash bag. The reason I was trying not to laugh in the first place was because of an event that happened earlier. The students were working on an assignment called Story Mapping. Their workbook gives sentences and some of the words are written in bold. First, we read the sentences as a class. Next, the students replace the words that are not in bold. I had called on Brad a moment before to make a new sentence from this: Pete looks at some beautiful stamps from South America. And Brad’s sentence was Hal looks at some beautiful girls from Africa.
No! No! I kill you! Hal yelled as he shook his metal ruler from across the room at Brad—the ruler came down with each syllable. Hal had his pencil case open: scissors, colorful pencils, a razor, and black eraser hairs were strewn about. Arms and machine guns were doodled on the curled, creased pages of his workbook.
“Hal!” He looked up at me through his thick, brown-rimmed glasses. “Keep your voice down.” In all fairness I decided to let Hal go next. His sentence was: The shopkeeper stands near Pete and watches him. Hal’s sentence: Hal stands near Brad and stabs him.
“Teacher, Hal crazy!” Bob was pointing behind me at Hal. He had wielded his small razor blade.
“Hal, why did you bring that to class?”
“To cut.”
“I don’t think so. You can have this back at the end of class.” I took it and put it on top of the white board with various other artifacts from his pencil case, Johnny’s Rubik’s Cube, a can of soda, and Tom’s empty glue stick. (More on the empty glue stick in a moment) I heard The Moonlight Sonata over the intercom: break time. Jumping with their hands on each other’s shoulders and over desktops, they all bustled into the hall.
Tom stayed in the class and he started pushing me toward the wall. If he pushed me back far enough, he would be able to reach his glue stick.
“Tom you’re not strong enough. You should give up.” I said effortlessly holding him back. His arms stretched up to their full length from underneath my arm. I had taken the glue stick earlier when I heard: “Teacher! Teacher!”
“What’s the matter?”
“My glue stick! He steal!” Tom said pointing at Hal. I was confused because Tom was holding the glue stick in his hand.
“Well you have it now, so can we go on?”
“No he steal.” He showed me the vacant canister. Then I realized what happened. Someone had stolen the glue.
“Ok, who took the glue?” The students frowned, shrugged and lifted their hands from under the table. I did what I thought was appropriate: I took the empty glue container and put it next to the Rubik’s Cube. “You can get this back at the end of class.” I said. So presently, Tom was trying to get his glue back. Hal came back into the room. He pressed his hands into Tom’s back, ducked his head below his elbows, and started pushing. I held the two of them at bay. Then, a staff member from downstairs walked into the room—slippers, a grey skirt, and a champagne blouse. Hal and Tom receded to their seats. She talked to Johnny, Brad, Joe, Bob, and Nick in Korean. I could tell they were being lectured because Hal rolled his head along his forearm—and from that position he grinned at me: “ahh teacher no understand.”
“No Hal, I don’t know any Korean.” The staff teacher left with a grin and goodbye. The students mingled—mingling with out purpose except for the chance they might find one. Like Johnny attempting to reach the top of the white board, Alice, head turned into her workbook: brushing through pages and the pencil, eraser tip, placed and resting gently on her lower lip, and Joe quietly: arms crossed, curiously, dreamily, looking out the window from his seat.
“Teacher is tall.” Johnny said—the top of the white board just out of his reach. Other students tried to touch the ceiling. I showed off: I touched it while standing flat on my feet. Moonlight Sonata. “Everyone in seats!” I closed the door and when the lesson was finished I gave Johnny his Rubik’s Cube, Tom his glue stick, and Hal his scissors, pencils, ruler, eraser, and sheathed razor. I got up from my chair moved into the crooked horseshoe of empty desks among the emptied chocolate gum wrappers, desktops with penciled doodles and various Korean characters, and the outturned chairs students moved to leave their desks. I picked the trash, mended the horseshoe, collected my papers into my backpack, and turned out the light—class was over.