Bite My Bic
"May I borrow a pen?" A question rarely asked of me any more, because they know. They have seen the gnarled, grizzly plastic. They have heard the quiet, steady grinding of my ink stained ivories as they gnaw away at the supple stump. They know I chew on pens.
It starts off innocently enough as I slowly part my lips using the blunt of a new pen and grasp it gently in my canines while I contemplate some obscure thought in the recesses of my skull. Before long, and without conscious thought, a disgusting, annoying, and habit takes control of my actions, forcing me to repel all those who notice it. As the pen rolls from my canines back deeper into my mouth and onto my molars the gentle grasp becomes a crushing grip, misshaping the pen into a flatter, creased parody of what it once was.
Suddenly the thought has become complete enough for me to write down. I take the pen from my mouth and bring it down to my blank paper to make note of the thought. The path of the pen is traced in midair by sticky strand of saliva. Like spider's silk, it descends down from the corner of my lip to the disfigured butt of my ink pen. As I swiftly carve letters into the page the slime breaks, dripping onto my paper which soaks it up. I then drop the pen into my mouth for storage as I begin again to let my mind wander.
The bell rings. I toss my belongings into my satchel and draw the Bic from my mouth, tossing it into the front storage pocket of my book bag. In my next class a student too new to the district to know better asks me if I will loan her a writing utensil. "Sure Amanda, they're in the front of my book bag," I tell her. She reaches into the pocket to find that there are dozens in it. Luckily for her she grabs one that I had not yet used, and so she returns to her seat satisfied. I reach in and by the same token of luck pull out the very pen that I had been eating the hour before.
Half way through the class I had chewed just over an inch down from the top of the pen... just far enough to disrupt the ink well. Thick iridescent black goo covers the right half of my lips and begins to dribble slowly down the side of my chin. I soon realize my folly. Running to the teacher, thereby drawing attention from the whole classroom, I throw away the cursed tool which has made a mess of me. I announce to the teacher that I am in dire need to reach the nearest restroom immediately. The teacher sees my lips and catches glimpses of my black tongue while I speak, and dismisses me accordingly.
After getting cleaned up I return to the classroom a minute after the class's dismissal. In a frenzy I toss everything into my book bag and turn to leave... then I stop. I turn back around and look at my desk again. On it sits an ink pen, unscoffed by my molars. Then I remember that I had loaned one to the new girl in class. I snatch it up and greedily toss it into my mouth as I hurry out the door. If only somebody would have warned me that Amanda often uses pens to clean out her ears.
Wise Words
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