The Deconstructing Teacher
“Hey,” he said, “I thought of a fun way to review the parts of speech.”
He took something out of his bag.
“What’s this?” he said. “I want a noun.”
“A knife,” they answered.
“Good.” He began using it. “What am I doing?”
“Cutting,” they said.
“And that’s a–”
“Verb,” they said.
“Good.” He held up a noun. “What’s this?”
“Finger.”
“With an article,” he said.
“A finger.”
“How about a possessive adjective?”
“Your finger.”
“Right.
The teacher regarded Fiona, who said nothing during this exercise. She rarely said anything. Frankly, he suspected her of having a bad attitude and trying to undermine him. With his stub he pointed at her.
“Give me an adjective.”
She sighed, but answered. “Disgusting.”
The teacher rolled his eyes. “Something more interesting.”
“Bloody.”
He would not let her off so easy.
“How about a synonym?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“A word like it,” the teacher said. But she remained silent.
“How about sanguinary?” the teacher said.
“Sang—” But she couldn’t complete it.
“Repeat after me,” said the teacher. “Sanguinary.”
She tried, but could not.
Finally, the teacher reached again for the knife, and with it, he approached her desk. A nervous buzz filled the room. Rarely did he come so close to the students. The teacher enjoyed the uncertainty briefly before reaching into his mouth and extending his tongue. The grip on the knife had become a little less firm without his index finger, but it was enough for him to cut through the flabby flesh. After holding it up for the whole class to see, he shoved it into Fiona’s mouth.
“Now,” he garbled through a mouthful of blood. He could barely enunciate now, but she understood.
“Sanguinary,” she said with her new tongue.
Now she would always sound like him.