Veritas

“You add an agreeable sense of the macabre to any delirium</>,” James mumbled in his sleep. He was interrupted in his dream by the sound of the alarm buzzing in the background, inspiring a groan. The bed was so fluffy and warm and he didn’t want to get up.

For a few seconds he just lay there, enjoying the comfort, before sitting up. He was starting to get used to it all; the biggest problem that James had found was that people were simply not used to him giving anything but a snarky answer to any conversational gambit at all, regardless of how innocuous it might be.

James was discovering that, because of his new toy - his memory - he was able to discuss many different subjects with a variety of people. It became quickly apparent to anyone talking with him, that he had elaborate, thoughtfully articulate views on just about everything. He had determined quickly that he would need to moderate the volume and intensity of the opinions emanating from his vocal orifice or he’d end up lecturing instead of talking. And notwithstanding his decades of experience, he could find himself in some serious hot water with the adults who were still seeing a smartass teenager. It presented a problem, since there were facts bubbling up to his frontal lobes at every waking moment, mixing themselves together into a sparkling cocktail of useful, cogent information.

He checked the date.

Today was the first day of school and he was up at the usual time. He had been planning this entire time, focusing on training his body to be able to get up, do his routine and not be so drag-assed tired he couldn’t focus on school as well. Today would be the first true test.

‘It’s déjà vu all over again,’ he silently quoted Yogi Berra as he moved in the dark gloom of his bedroom.

Amanda joined him in the hallway. He jerked his head toward the outdoors and got a tired nod of response; she had been training right alongside him this whole time and had not bitched once. At least not when he was around. The two made their way down to the garage and he switched the light on. They plowed through their warm-up stretching and calisthenics before heading out for a jog.

“So ... school today.”

“Yes,” James nodded as they jogged through the silent streets.

“I wonder how everyone’s changed.”

“We’ll find out sooner or later but I reckon most everyone will be the same, just a few inches taller or wider,” he grinned.

“True. Not everyone can go through a miraculous change like you.”

“What do you mean?” he tried to keep the question light, but her statement worried him. ‘How obvious WAS the change?’

She smiled, “You were such an asshole, James.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You told me you wanted honesty,” she riposted as she shrugged.

“True. ‘Beware, the truth is a three edged sword.’”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the quote goes, ‘Understanding is a three-edged sword. Your side, my side, and the truth’ ... All I know is that it lies somewhere in the middle.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Again,” she rolled her eyes. “You really can be a dumbass some of the time.”

“Well, that’s an improvement from most of the time,” he quipped and got a laugh.

“Still, quit changing the subject,” she responded. “You’ve definitely become funnier. And smarter too. But you don’t rub it in everyone else’s face, which is nice.”

He shrugged, “I’m trying not to be an arrogant prick.”

“Again ... a very mature way of looking at it.”

“Hmm,” he thought aloud as they jogged. “Guess my balls finally dropped.”

She laughed again.

“Jesus, James, you should go into stand-up.”

“Naw, that takes real talent and focus. My goals are a lot simplier.”

“Speaking of talent, any thoughts on what you want to do in the future?”

“I was thinking of becoming a priest.”

She blinked and looked at him as he grinned, “Fuck you, James.” Her grin acknowledged his outrageous thought.

He laughed.

“I don’t know, truthfully. I was contemplating a military career, maybe something with planes, or becoming a sniper has always been enticing.”

“Why?”

James followed up, “Well, part of is the fact that being a pilot or a sniper takes actual skill. Anyone can be a soldier; give some kid a gun, tell them to point and pull the trigger.”

“True,” she nodded. “In some parts of the world they do that.”

“Exactly,” he grinned and wiped his forehead. “But being a sniper requires talent only a few have.”

“And you think you have that talent?”

“I have no clue. But you don’t know until you try, am I right?”

“Amen,” she quirked her head.

“Of course, I think I’d look cool in an aviator jacket.”

“Tom Cruise?”

“Maverick,” he laughed.

They got back and he followed their daily routine, letting her shower while he made them a bite to eat and some coffee. When she came down, he served up, ate and did his turn in the shower. When he came down, Rachael and Cheryl were already in Rachael’s car, and Amanda waited with him for the school bus.

“Why can’t we go in Rachael’s car?” he mused aloud.

“Not cool enough, I suppose,” she shrugged.

“Fair enough, I’ll have to work on that.”

“I’ll bet you will.”

The bus pulled up and the doors opened. James nodded at the driver, hopped up the steps and into a blast from the past. There was a definite hierarchy on the high school bus: seniors got the back, juniors the middle, and sophomores and freshmen at the front. However, as the year progressed, more seniors started to drive and everyone could spread out.

‘Nostalgia overdrive,’ he thought as he stared at bored aimless faces he had not seen in many a decade.

“You alright?” his sister asked from behind him, concern evident in her voice.

He grinned, “Yes I’m fine, just had a déjà vu moment.”

“Ah,” she nodded;. He went and found his spot in the front. Once they arrived at school, James grabbed his bag and joined the throng. As he got off the bus he spotted Pat.

“Hey, Pat.”

“Hi, James.”

James grinned as he saw someone he hadn’t seen in many years. It was Jessica; she was taller than he, with shoulder length red hair, green eyes and pert boobs that would make even the most pious man give up his seat in the church.

“Christ.”

“What,” Pat asked.

“Look at how beautiful she is.”

“Not really my type.”

James knew what Pat’s ‘type’ was and kept that thought to himself. Instead, James got distracted when he spotted a girl with spiky hair and grinned, “Have you heard of the Hipster effect?”

“No?”

“See the girl with the spiky hair?”

“Yeah?”

James nodded, “She’s trying to be counter cultural and unique, but the hipster effect comes into play here. It says that, while trying to be different, she just ends up looking like every other hipster out there. Case in point.” As if on cue, several - he counted five - girls with spiky hair in an array of color were visible in the hallway.

Pat looked down at his blue clothing and snorted, “All right. I get it.”

“Oh. I meant no offense to you, I just found it funny. After all, their look is just a uniform so they can band together against everyone else, all the while complaining that they are misunderstood.”

Pat shook his head in amusement, “Where’d you learn this crap?”

“Been reading a book on psychology over the summer.”

“In between jogging and playing games with me?”

“Yup,” James nodded.

“How?”

“I slept faster.”

Pat frowned at the annoying answer that made no sense. Well, he wouldn’t hear that particular quote again until later on in life.

It was odd, at least to James, but as he moved through the throng of tired and grumpy students he felt his intense focus come back as he passed everyone. He was catching snippets of conversation and consciously noticing styles in clothing.

The school had thoughtfully sent out a letter with his locker and homeroom information so James didn’t need to try and remember it. He made his way to his locker, stuffed his gear into it, and went to his designated homeroom. The teacher was Hannah Barr. He blinked as he entered the room ... she seemed so young. Miss Barr was hot in a petite way. Black hair, pale skin, light colored eyes. He remembered that she tended to dress very conservatively at school, in very dark colors and loose professional clothing. With his new insight, he knew that attractive teachers dressed like frumps to avoid any unwanted attention, and he wondered what she would look like when she went on a date.

“Good Morning, Ms. Barr.”

“Good morning, James,” she said brightly as he walked in and grabbed a seat towards the front, immediately slumping into it. Further conversation was cut off by the arrival of the others. Pat sat near James and the two nodded at each other.

Once all were seated, some of them already half asleep, Ms. Barr made a standard first day of school speech that covered the typical drivel before taking attendance. The class waited for the morning announcements over the PA system. James was sitting like everyone else, but his mind was buzzing, crackling with energy. As was typical, there weren’t any announcements of relevance to him. James sat back and chilled, looking around at the other students and listening in on their individual conversations to see what might be going on in the various social circles in the school.

The 15 minutes before the bell rang seemed interminable. Once it sounded, he grabbed his stuff and headed out behind the others.

He was able to manoeuvre around most of the students, remembering the short cuts that had taken three years to perfect all those decades ago. James found the classroom, but waited until others arrived before he entered its domain.

“Good morning everyone, I am Mrs. Jameson.” They all mumbled back a response. “I will pass around a sheet so you can fill out your names. This will be your seat for the rest of this class, so remember it. This class will cover Modern American History since 1960. There will be homework every night and weekly tests. The rest of your grade will be a group project and the final. So it is important not to fall behind.”

With that comment, James heard a few groans.

Watching the teacher handing packets to the first row for them to pass back to the other students, James sighed to himself and wondered how much busywork there would be. Once the handouts made it to the back of the room, the teacher started again with her summary.

“First of all, class, the nightly assignments are simple - read or watch one news story and write up two brief paragraphs. The first paragraph will be a summary of the report and the second would be what questions you still have on the subject. I will select the group project topics from these reports. The project will answer the open questions.”

James nodded as he read through the information. He’d done this class before, so while the teacher talked about the class, he sifted through the information in his mind. Not only that, but he also had most of the answers. He’d not done very well the first time around, having to stay late to play catch-up. In the end, the teacher hadn’t cared. Twas a shame, really...

“Each group for the project will consist of four people and will comprise 25% of your grade. I will cover the projects in more detail once they are assigned, but the choice of group members will be up to you.” James immediately looked around and tried to remember who was a good worker that could help him shine. And once he’d chosen them, how would he convince them to let him join them? The teacher continued, “The tests will cover the book’s chapters and we should move through half of the book this semester. Class participation is required and you will have to read the chapter before class or you won’t be able to add anything to the discussions.”