I sat down to a Test One Day

(fiction)


I sat down to a test one day. Rubbing my eyes and yawning enough to daze me I pulled out my exam tool kit: three pencils, an eraser and a fuzzy black pen. I hadn’t studied, oh, no one had. Each of us knew this because our noses had been in our notes and not pressed up against the summer warm windows. The end was so near. We were now counting down in hours rather than days, 182, 179, 160, but all seniors were required to take
one
more
test.

“Begin,” the Procter said.

My classmates and I had all been separated, five feet apart, at long desks. I cracked my back to the right, then to the left (for luck), then turned the first page in my packet. The first few questions were easy, I wouldn’t let that fool me, security in testing was a fools game. I began to notice, none of this had been in the notes! Was I wrong, had I not studied well? I went back to review my answers. They were all right, they had to be. But who else would know these answers? Questions about paint colors, emergency procedure, fast food.

I skipped ten pages ahead in my packet. The questions were all the same! It asked about my friends, my family, my childhood. What kind of test…how did they know that…who…why did we have to take a test on my life to graduate? I looked up, sure that someone else might have noticed. The person to my right was almost halfway done, but the poor guy to my left, his hands were shaking. I put my finger on the next question, “The people in your testing center are: A. taking a state test. B. all part of your dream. C. taking specialized tests. D. all more sane than you are.” I shot out of my seat, out of reaction. Some people were just finishing up and others were following the example of poor guy next to me; he was now sweating profusely. I sat down and quickly marked C. I breathed deeply, cracked my back and continued.

Oh how simple that test should have been! I had eighteen years to study! Countless hours to ask my father where he used to catch beetles or wonder about the shade if my eyes. I skipped the questions I did not know. Twenty pages later I looked at all the hole I had left. Approximately one of every ten answered, ONE of every TEN! Most people had finished, some even had gone; allowed to leave by some unknown authority. That poor guy had been allowed to leave when he fainted. I had watched as they gathered his test and straightened his chair. The test had gone into a manila envelope. I knew what was happening to that test…

I went back to the beginning and went through each question racking my brain for clues. I kept telling myself all I needed to do was pass, pass. I had never needed to tell myself that before. How many times had my test set the curve; driving everyone into a competitive rat race? How many hours had been spent volunteering, or filling out college applications? That time had been well spent. Homeless people got soup and I got something sparkly to put on my resume. Win, win. Where was the question about that? Give me a question on how much money my parents made last year and I’ll give you an answer. Or what school Katie was going to. Not this, not this, “Katie conceals her views on change because,” Money was my life! Boys were my life! Graduation was my life!...it was my life. That? That was my life?

I stacked my test, put away my pencils and stood, slowly.

“What now?” I said allowed. I wasn’t asking anyone. I didn’t even expect an answer.