Horrible Things and Their Need to Be Fed - Mena Brazinski
I don’t know how to do things normally or half-assed or in any way that doesn’t kill me a little bit and I’m probably prouder of that than I should be. My health teacher used to try to get me to stop doing things that killed me a little bit, and while his pathetic enthusiasm was Herculean, if I am going to meet an end, I want to belong to it, and I’m probably prouder of that than I should be. I didn’t learn much in his class and I don’t know much about teaching health either, but I know a lot about teaching English, because my mom taught English, so if you wanted I could tell you all about beating metaphors to death and children into submission. My health teacher wasted a lot of conversations about how unprotected sex can lead to unplanned children on me and all I got from that was how glad I am I can't accidentally have children so I don’t end up accidentally beating them into submission one day.
My health teacher didn’t believe in fertility clinics or vaccines or people like me but he believed in God a lot. He said he believed in God but that he didn’t believe in religion or church. I don’t know how he did that, I don’t know how to put faith in things that aren’t people. My younger brother recently started having faith in God and religion and church and it makes me wonder how much longer I have left with him. I don’t believe in God anymore but sometimes I wish I did because my life is lacking any and all sense of purpose or direction or meaning and God would help with that. I need to stop drinking on weeknights and God would help with that. I should swear less and smoke less and be a better person and God would help with that.
My health teacher thought no one should have sex before marriage and thought gay people shouldn’t be allowed to get married so it was very unclear to me when he thought I should be having sex. I wish I’d asked him. He told me he thought conversion therapy should be legal, and by that I mean he assigned an article about it to the class, just in case anyone got curious about what turned them and needed help sorting it out. He kept a bible on his desk that he thumped more than he should have but I came out to him before I told my parents because he asked and I was tired of lying about it, not because I believe in that humiliation reserved only for us.
He thought homosexuality was caused by sexual trauma but I felt safe in his classroom because he kept a baseball bat in the closet in case a school shooter came in. He believed gay people were going to hell but he made great cinnamon pancakes on the schooldays before holiday breaks and would give me a Clif bar every day seventh period if I asked him for it even after he knew what I was. Anyways, I miss you, Mr. Arther, and I think you’d understand why my best friend wants to text her ex and why I still think about my mother sometimes. Something about horrible things and their need to be fed.