I still remember sitting there, in my old classroom seat. I try to remember: second row, second chair from the front, almost 7 feet from our instructor's desk. Always playing with the Newton ball set he had on his light brown wooden desk. I always thought he was watching me, thinking: "You're going to fail this class, like plenty before. It'll be just a matter of time before your out of here and straight to Detention. Only a matter of time." That feeling was always the number one thing I hated about being in Mr. Darren's history class.
I remember the third to last subject he ever taught, well at least to me, we were discussing our country's history and how our founding fathers wrote the laws we use today on our Constitution and the rights of men on our Declaration. I still remember that sour face he always gave me, Mr. Darren, making me feel as if I didn't even belong at our school, or his class for that matter. I always felt as if he gave that look to only me, specifically, and that everyone else was like his pride and joy. But I knew deep down that he was somewhat like that way to everybody that took his class.
Mr. Darren's room was always so quiet. I remember having comfort in the ventilation shaft's semi-loud noise, but then I felt like I was in solitary confinement when it turned off. The lack of noise always bothered me. Some days it got so quiet that you could hear a leaf drop on the cold, hard ground outside the classroom and the trees are literally 20 feet away from the classroom door. I feel just like my dad sometimes, he was in that same class room with that same teacher so long ago and I can only imagine that his experience was much worse than mine.
Mr. Darren always went down his list of students to call on when he asked a question about the current subject; I always dreaded the feeling of being the next person on that list. I remember specifically the question he asked on the third to last day he taught me. "...and so" he said, "this was how our pledge to our country was created." He was lecturing us on how our Pledge of Allegiance was submitted by a civilian in the '90s and was later revised by our leaders of the next century in the '50s. "Jacob, what were some parts of our Pledge of Allegiance that were later added on from the original version?"
Even when I knew the answer I felt uneasy, but I had to say something. "Come now, Jacob," he would say, "there is no need to worry, this is only a simple question, not an exam; answering will not effect you in any way."
I felt slightly better when I heard this, but I remember still feeling the slight uneasiness when I spoke. "Well," I whimpered under my breath, "there's a part about-". "Stop.", Mr. Darren interrupted me there. "Jacob, I'm going to need you to speak up the answer to the rest of the class, I think we all need to hear what you have to say. Isn't that right class?" "Yes!" they all said simultaneously. I began to speak louder: "Well, there is one part about God and how-". "Stop.", Mr Darren interrupted me again.
"Jacob, did you say God?" I whimpered a "Yes" in response to his question. Then he gave me a little smirk as he continued: "Jacob, tell us what exactly you know about God?" I never expected that question, but Mr. Darren's smile sparked a little confidence in me. I remember responding: "Well, I don't really know too much about him, however my dad always talks about him." "Does he now?", Mr. Darren smiled as the classes' eyes began to gaze upon me. I continued: "He reads me this small book all about God every night before I go to bed; it gives me comfort and allows me to rest easy at night. It teaches me lessons to know about life, even though sometimes I don't understand what they mean. I don't exactly know what the book was called." Mr. Darren smiled a little bit more as he sat down and started to type on his computer screen. "This book, does it happened to be called: The Bible or The Book of Mormon?" he then asked me. I remember informing him that I really wasn't sure about either of those titles: "I never get to read the book for myself, my dad always keeps it locked in his study."
I remember Mr. Darren giving the biggest smile I have ever seen on a person's face. "Jacob, this is a very good answer you have given me, I'm very proud of you. Thank you, Jacob." This was the last thing I thought I would ever hear from an instructor, Mr. Darren especially. I gave him a nod and a "Thank you, sir." as I sat relaxed in my normally uncomfortable seat, feeling proud of myself as the ventilation shaft produced it's noise in the now quiet room.


I remember my ride home being filled with excitement to get home after a long day. But there stilled lied a bit of remorse in my being - Kylie McFarlane was taken into Detention today during my Essential Learning class. She sat right next to me when the classroom screen read her name and showed those menacing words in red: DETENTION. At school we had only heard of Detention through the news or heard over the school announcements but none of us ever really witnessed someone go. But I didn't feel too bad, Kylie was never what I would consider a friend. The closest thing to having a friend at school was Tyler. Tyler always helped me when I had trouble in any of my harder subjects like English and Essential Learning; at the end of the week I was always afraid in thinking that Tyler would end up on the classroom screen next, right above that word in red. But my real and closest friend is my dad. He works at the factory in St. Louis manufacturing vehicle parts for major vehicle companies. I've actually been to that place and I can't stand one minute there without covering my ears in response to the intense, loud noises..
Dad pulls through though, he'll do anything for me if it means having another meal on the table. Like me, he has no friends where he goes; he says it's because he has the only friend he needs: God. He always tells me that he is able to pull through because he has God on his side the entire day, and that even though I don't know it, God has always got my side too, even though no matter how hard I try, I can't see him. I remember my mom from time to time, but she was always away in another state doing who-knows-what. But I didn't really give her the credit she deserved at the time, all I thought I needed was my dad and nobody else. It's always good to have someone pick you up everyday when you're knocked down.

My left hand turned the door knob to my home on Issac Street and I walked into the living room to the site of my dad in his study. This made me happy at the time because back then it meant that dad was home early from work at the factory. Deep down I knew that he worked so hard for me, being his only son and mom being away for so long. I only wish I could have showed him how much I appreciated him back when I was young. "Hey sport," he called out from across the room, "how was school today?" I remember giving him a big smile as I told him about getting a 'B' in my math class and a high 'C' in my essential learning class. That was the highest score I ever made in that class, but I was just excited to tell him about the instance in history class, I just knew that he would be proud of me for saying what I did.
"I was really appreciated today in history class, Mr. Darren's class." "Old Darren?" he said surprised, "What could you have done to earn any praise from old Mr. Darren?" I remember getting ready to tell my dad the last bit of good news when I was interrupted by the destruction of our front door and soldiers in red charged through our living room as they shoved me over and I fell next to the fireplace. The reds grabbed my dad by the arms and they grabbed me by the stomach. I remember kicking and screaming my way out of our house, as that soldier's grip almost broke one of my ribs.
I remember seeing Mr. Darren with one of the soldiers by a big armored truck; they were shaking hands as the officer handed the old man a big red envelope with an official government seal on the back. They forced him down on his knees and surrounded him in a small circle while I was off to the side with a soldier squeezing my arms to death. My teeth sunk into the man's exposed arms and I was free of his deadly grasp. I pierced the circle and reached for my dad, two guards caught my pants and my left arm while my right arm reached for my dad's hand. They put a bullet in his head, as I grasped his hand. The redness faded into the soldier's uniforms, while it stained my white and blue striped shirt. The ringing in my ears continued as they dragged me over to the curb where the main officer was standing.
I felt Mr. Darren's left hand resting on my right shoulder as the soldiers released me and I watched them carry my sleeping father into the armored truck. I remember looking up to see Mr. Darren's menacing grin, the grin I saw earlier today at school as a smile of gratitude, but I now saw as the very face of evil. He broke his silence with his terror-inducing words: " Thank you for your participation in class today, Jacob" and my heart sunk into my chest with the guilt of my father's, my best friend's, death. That day was November 6, 2150 when they took my father's corpse into Detention, where they turned his body into ashes and I was left alone.