Not so Fictional Fiction: Lobotomies

30 Nov

Originally Written July 10, 2004

I wanted to be defiant. While the instructor gave us regurgitated facts on the cerebral hemispheres, which he called a “lesson”, I was secretly reading the ending of my book “Puerto Rican Meadows”. My opened biopsychology book provided a pleasant shield which protected my secret actions from view. The Puerto Rican protagonist had just given a heartbreaking audition to get in to the posh art school, which her family was too poor to afford. Had she impressed the judges she would get a full tuition scholarship. Had she not, she would return to her cockroach infested apartment with her only parent, in Queens, and lived the rest of her years in misery. It was a cliffhanger fit for a Movie of the Week on Lifetime. The story suddenly jolted years ahead, with the little Puerto Rican’s graduation with honors from that posh school. I felt like yelling “You Go Girl!” but people had already started to notice I was not paying attention to class when I gasped a little during a particular touching part of the book, which happened to coincide with the instructor mentioning lobotomies. The emotion was too much for me to bear, and the trapped words in my throat needed a way to get out. I held back as much as I could and then, without notice, tears started to crowd the corners of my eyes. Panicking I looked up to see if anyone was paying attention to me, and starring straight into my face was the instructor with a horrified look on his face as if saying “you…you’re not paying attention to me at all…you’re a farce Pedro Haro!”. I froze for a couple of seconds, tears streaming down my eyes, then instinctively screamed a girly “ouch!”. Everyone turned around. As I ran out of the room I said “I poked my eye.”

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