Nocturnal Admission: My Big Fat Geometric Secret

I've been having the same nightmare once a week for several months straight.

The nocturnal reverie always stars a teenage me in the tail end of my senior year in high school. The dream typically begins with me strolling the school halls with textbooks in my hands, chatting up my fellow classmates. And usually ends with me groveling at the feet of a teacher whose class I've cut the entire school year, begging her not to fail me.

And then, just like that, I wake up sweaty, out of breath and clutching my neck where I imagine pearls to be.

I hate this dream. Hate it. Mostly because it feels so real and always leaves me in bed trying to remember if I actually graduated high school or not. Yep, the dream feels that real.

For the longest, I've been trying to figure out the reasoning behind this recurring dream. Is someone trying to tell me something? Should I retake the Praxis test I failed two years ago and succumb to my urges to become a teacher? And then last week, out of no where, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I know exactly why I'm having the dream: Karma!

Let me tell you a story...

My High School

Math has never been my strong suit. Ever. My arithmetic deficiency was never more prevalent than during my sophomore year in high school. I was failing geometry, you know, that insufferable hodgepodge of lines, points and dimensions they call a math requirement? Yeah, that one.

I knew I was in danger of failing. By the time the end of the school year rolled around, I could count on both hands how many times I had actually attended class. Sad. I didn't understand the work. It made no sense to me. And instead of using my frustration to get help, I decided to let it keep me from going to class all together. I'd hang out with friends in the lunchroom instead.

One day, I decided to show my face in class to see if I could some how pick up the pieces and make some sense of the mess I had made by not going all year. When I got there, the teacher was going over everything that would be on the final. I tried to take notes, but found myself doodling more than anything else. Just as I began to check out completely, the teacher said something the piqued my interest.

"Since the majority of you have struggled through the course all year, I'm willing to make a deal with you," said the short, stout African man in a thick accent. "If you can get at least a 65 or higher on the final, I'll pass you for the entire year."

Look what God can do, I thought. There was a slight chance, a tiny possibility, that I could actually pass the class. But how? I didn't know how to do the work. Unless homie was giving folks 65 points for spelling their names correctly at the top of the paper, I had zero chance of passing this test...or so I thought.

There's that moment in everyone's life when desperate times call for desperate measures. When you're put into a situation that leaves you no choice but to step outside of your authentic self to make shit happen. Guys, I did the unthinkable.

I hatched a plan with another geometry delinquent to steal the final exam two days before the test.

*hangs head in shame*

The plan was for me to go up to the teacher at the end of class and ask him a question just as everyone else was walking out of the door. And while he was busy with me, my friend would swipe the final from off of his desk and leave. And that's exactly what happened.

Once I got my hands on the final, my fears were confirmed. I knew not one iota of that crap. Nothing. But I had come too far to give up now. I did what any crafty, desperate teenager would do: gave it to one of my smart friends to do the work for me.

I was an antsy, anxious mess as I waited for my homegirl to get back to me with the answers to the final. I tossed and turned the entire night. What if she didn't know the work either? What if she didn't get around to doing it? Hell, what if I got caught?!

I didn't care. There was no way I would be caught dead in somebody's hot ass summer school. I was way too fly that. Summer school was for a certain type of student. The loud, troublesome kids whose parents may or may not give a damn about their education. That was not me! Plus, I had shit to do that summer - stay up late, wake up at noon, do it all over again - you know, the sort of stuff summer school would not permit.

The next day, I got to school early and waited by my homegirl's locker. I didn't like the look on her face as she walked over to me.

"Del, some of this stuff was hard for me to remember," said my homegirl who placed out of geometry because she's smart. "I think I got the majority of it right. But you damn sure won't be acing this test."

"I don't need to ace it," I said. "I just need to pass."

I spent that entire night constructing the perfect cheat sheet. One for me and one for my accomplice who helped steal the final. It had to be small enough to fit in the palm of our hands but large enough for us to see the answers.

I came up with something just like this.

In between gawking at my cheat sheet, which was so small I could hardly read my own handwriting, I would look around the room at the other students. Some folks gave up early and put their heads down on their desks. While others were massaging their temples and rapidly tapping their pencils, racking their brains over the 20 question multiple choice test.

Clearly, I had the answers and was coasting on Easy Street while everyone else was languishing in geometry hell. But I didn't want it to be obvious that I knew what I was doing. So I decided to play along.  I put my head down for a little while. Slapped my forehead with my hand here and there. I even raised my hand to ask the teacher to clarify one of the questions. You know, to lay it on thick. Once the bell rang, I turned in my exam and tried to forget about the possible outcome.

The next day, I attended the graduation to cheer on some upperclassman I knew who were graduating. After the ceremony was over, I ran into my geometry teacher.

GULP!

"Well, hello young man," said my teacher, eyeing me up and down with an easy smile.

"Hi, Mr. [NAME REDACTED]. Wassup?"

"You tell me. You scored a 75 on the final. Highest score in the whole class."

I could feel my knees start to tremble. Sweat began to saturate my palms. My heart was dutty whining inside of my chest.

"Word?! Really?! Wow!," I said without blinking an eye. "That's dope! Guess this means I pass for the year."

"That's right. You passed. How did you know all that stuff?"

He squinted his eyes to keep the sun out, and, I'm sure, to focus in on my lips as they twisted to tell a lie.

"I didn't. I just guessed."

He didn't believe me one bit. I knew he didn't. And he knew that I knew that he didn't. But we also both knew that he had no way to prove that I had cheated.

"Hmm. Okay young man. Well, congratulations." He extended his hand out. I shook it. Firm and tight, the moisture from my nervousness rubbing off on his palms.

"Have a great summer," I said as I pulled my hand away and walked off.

I could barely contain myself as I walked away. I could feel the energy of his discerning eye searing  a hole in my back. My mind was racing just as fast as my heart. I had stolen a final and gotten someone else to give me the answers. Then, not only did I pass the test, but received the highest score in the class. But most importantly, I had evaded summer school and gotten away with it all.

After that day, I never thought about my actions again. Until today.

*Sigh*

Has my guilty conscience finally caught up with me? Am I really losing sleep over something that happened over 10 years ago? Are these sleepless nights Karma's way of reminding me that ain't no good gonna come to me until I do right by that geometry final?

If so, it's my hope that this post, this public display of admission, will help purge my teenage demons, show that I rebuke my past behavior - and help me get a good night's sleep.

But you've got to admit, my geometry final exam heist was pretty kick ass wasn't it?

*Snickers*