That's What I Am Page #8

...Stanley Minor will sing a composition,

which he wrote himself.

He wrote his own song?

"Go Ahead and Dream."

If I was really his friend,

I would've killed him by now.

Despite Norman's passionate prayers,

Big G walked out on the stage.

Tall, straight and proud.

Like a man

who had every right to be there.

Excuse me, everyone.

Excuse me.

If we could all give Stanley

our undivided attention, please?

He will be singing

without accompaniment.

And we need it to be absolutely quiet.

You try and throw that tomato, Ricky,

I'm gonna stop you.

You don't have the balls, Nichol.

Now you don't have the balls.

Have you had a bowel movement

today?

Obviously,

you're suffering from gas pains.

Tomatoes will do that to you.

Boys, would you help Ricky

out of the gym?

He's not feeling well and, you know,

the show must go on.

Everything's fine, folks.

Let us all keep quiet, please...

...and give Mr. Minor

our undivided attention.

Thank you.

Good job.

Stanley, go.

He's not bad.

He's no Tommy Kenner,

but he's not bad.

No, he's just...

Brave.

Big G had a very nice voice.

If his voice had been great,

it would have made it all so easy.

The crowd would have stood

and cheered him, a thundering ovation.

But such was not Stanley Minor's lot

in life.

Look at his face. Look how happy he is.

But, oh, did he sing with passion.

The joy freedom brings.

Damn, he's got guts.

You shouldn't swear, Norman.

With all the excitement, I had almost

forgotten about my date with Mary.

Postponing destiny had only managed

to drive my anxiety even higher.

There was one distinct advantage,

however.

This time, I would enter the tunnel,

not under the protection of Mary Clear...

... but after having dealt

with Ricky Brown on my own.

Hi, Andy.

Hi, Mary.

She stood still,

allowing me the first advance.

She held the faint wisps

of my tender male ego in her hand...

... and I could only hope

that she would caress them gently.

So how are you doing?

No, no.

Let's forget that.

So can I kiss you?

Sure.

Finally. I leaned in and kissed.

Oh, no. The last moment, I chickened out

and kissed her on the cheek.

Appalling display of cowardice,

she would've been right...

... to run around the school

laughing her head off.

You've never made out before,

have you?

Male ego being what it is,

I might have lied to save face...

... but Mary seemed all-knowing

somehow.

- Besides, who was I kidding?

- No.

Would you like me to teach you?

Yes. I'd like that very much.

And so she did.

Slowly, carefully...

... handling me

as if I were a mound of clay...

... molded by the artist's tender touch.

She turned what might have been

a scarring boyhood memory...

... into the sweetest of recollections.

And for that, I would always be grateful.

What's with the stopwatch?

Oh, I like to time each kiss.

The record is one minute and 16 seconds.

- Can I ask who holds the record?

- Ricky Brown.

Figures.

Well, if it helps, I can hold my breath

underwater for a minute and a half.

That should help.

"I have finished my story

of Joan of Arc...

...that wonderful child,

that sublime personality...

...that spirit which, in one regard,

has had no peer and will have none.

With Joan of Arc, love of country

was more than a sentiment.

It was a passion.

She was the genius of patriotism.

Love, mercy, charity, fortitude,

war, peace, poetry, music.

These may be symbolized

as any shall prefer.

By figures of either sex

and of any age...

...but a slender girl

in her first young bloom...

...with the martyr's crown

upon her head...

...and in her hand the sword

that severed her country's bonds.

Shall not this, and no other,

stand for patriotism...

...through all the ages

until time shall end?"

Okay.

It really is a beautiful book, isn't it?

I hope you've all enjoyed it.

All right, I have your papers here.

Your final team papers.

And I would like to say, all in all...

...that each team did a marvelous job.

Congratulations to all of you.

I would like each team to pick up

your paper on the way out.

But before that, I just wanna tell you...

...I have very much enjoyed

our time together this year.

And I wish each and every one of you

all the best of luck...

...as you enter high school next fall.

Class dismissed.

Here you go.

- Very nice.

- Thank you.

In case you're wondering...

... Mary Clear and I went steady

for five weeks.

Her longest relationship to that point.

It was a torrid affair.

Kissing became even more enjoyable...

... when I discovered

it was all right to breathe.

This was just wonderful.

Boys, you did a good job.

- Thank you, Mr. Simon.

- Thank you.

And as for Mr. Simon...

Wow, thank you, sir.

Thank you, sir.

I am as proud of you two boys

as any students I've ever had.

And I mean that.

And I wish you both

a wonderful summer...

...and a wonderful life.

What are you gonna do now,

Mr. Simon?

Well, I'll find someplace to teach,

of course.

I am a teacher.

That's what I am.

- Goodbye, sir.

- Goodbye, Stanley.

- Goodbye, Andrew.

- Goodbye, sir. Thank you.

Stanley and I lost touch...

... when he moved away

in our sophomore year in high school.

I can assure you, his suffering

did not end in the eighth grade.

Nevertheless, I know whatever hardships

were thrust upon him...

... he handled them with dignity.

He's coming.

As for me, well, I am a writer.

That's what I am.

Against the wall. Against the wall.

And with my pen, I can create a world

where brave men like Stanley Minor...

... are exalted as the standard

by which we all measure ourselves.

A world where Karen Connor

will fit the glass slipper.

And Norman Grunmeyer

is voted King of the Prom.

A world where the equation

human dignity plus compassion...

...equals peace.

All right, all right, one, two, three.

Goodbye, Mr. Simon.

Thank you.

Thank you. Yeah.

Best teacher ever. Yeah.

Thank you.

Mr. Simon, you're the best. The best.

Hey, Stanley.

See you around.

See you around, Andy.

The last week of eighth grade

was memorable for many reasons...

... not the least of which were those

glorious make- out sessions with Mary.

But knowing

I would never see Mr. Simon again...

... haunted me.

There was still one question

that had to be answered.

Mr. Simon?

Hello? Mr. Simon?

Can I help you, Mr. Nichol?

- I'm so sorry, sir.

- It's okay.

I'm glad you dropped by.

- Would you like a cup of tea?

- No, sir, thank you.

I just wanted to ask you a question.

My wife, yes.

Mystery solved?

Oh, no, sir.

Well, yeah, I guess that too.

Here, have a seat.

So where is she?

She passed away.

Nineteen years ago today, in fact.

- I'm sorry.

- Yeah, well, a little sappy, I'm afraid.

As a writer, it would do you well

to avoid melodrama in your work.

I suppose I loved her too much.

- Does that help you, Andrew?

- No.

Well, I mean, I don't care about that.

That's not why I came.

Oh, really?

Well, you've got me intrigued.

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