Equality for All!

It was like the rug under which dust and dirt was swept. The entrance to room 217 stood beside the janitorial closet at the end of a long hallway. The lingering scent of industrial cleaning products wafted into the nostrils of those who dwelled within the classroom like chlorine gas into the sinuses of the British Tommy during the First World War. Hung upon the walls, laminated posters depicting politically-correct slogans lobotomized the students with their bright colors and saccharine imagery. The room was blandly decorated and void of anything else  noteworthy. It served as a warehouse for those pupils whose needs had been declared more special than those of their able-bodied contemporaries. Mrs. Jane Sophia, leader of the Mentally Challenged Students Association had spent nearly every weekday in room 217 for the last thirty years. She felt a particular calling in life to strengthen the bond she possessed with her classroom of physiologically-impeded drudges. She never thought of herself as their teacher, but rather their friend, their mentor, guardian, and fosterer of each student’s individual gifts. All her students were unique in their own respective fashion. Mrs. Sophia knew they did not possess conventional talents like the rest of the students at the high school, but hidden intrinsic quirks and attributes--making each one of them more lovable than the last. She grasped fervently to the notion that all God’s children were created equally, despite her student’s self-evident mental shortcomings. They were not retards in her eyes. They equalled the most academically gifted pupils in their own special ways.

The month of June had befallen Bud Dwyer Memorial High school. Due to it’s proximately to the earth’s equator, a seasonal heat wave had enthralled the building in a humid, smothering embrace. Given the physical limitations of many of her students, Mrs. Sophia decided to engage her classroom with a much less demanding activity than usual. She had procured some art supplies from the school art faculty. Paints, crayons, brushes, and non-toxic glue were provided to all her pupils with the physical capacity to utilize them for their intended purpose. Those who could not were given paper to fold. The children soon got busy with the art supplies. Mrs. Sophia marvelled at the sight of her students attempting to translate the disjointed precepts in their undeveloped minds into their sloppy creation in material reality. There were two students smearing blue paint across a canvas with their fingertips in an aimless fashion. A student with a warped hand was clumsily sketching a crude picture of a horse, and a female pupil with a notably asymmetrical face was flicking glue in spastic shocks across the classroom in what was most certainly some kind of interpretive dance. Although the room reeked of bleach and her flower dress was peeling from her legs because of the intense humidity, Ms. Sophia was content. She beamed with pride upon observing them all at work. She knew they were all exerting their own special gifts which God had bestowed upon them.

A male student with a heavy wheeze and an aesthetically unappealing gait approached her desk. He possessed a page of red construction paper smeared in a myriad of water-based paints. He presented his work before his teacher.

“Why thank you very much Humphrey! I will be sure to hang this up on the wall as soon as it dries.”

An obsequious grin of self-congratulation peeled across Humphrey’s mouth. A wad of mucus fell from his nose and splashed onto the floor.

“Now this is what I call artwork, Humphrey! I have seen all the supposed masterpieces by the likes of De Vinci and Michelangelo, but none of them hold a candle to this. I adore your use of nuance and complementary colours. This should really be in a museum Humphrey! I am so proud of you.”

Another wad of mucus dropped from his nostril and he waddled like a wounded penguin back to his desk.

Ms. Sophia suddenly winced at the thought of what she had just said. She was certain that the paint-smeared creation grasped in her hands was just as great as anything in any art museum. Humphrey may be profoundly impaired in his cognitive faculties, but he was created equal just like all men were. The god she loved would never be so cruel as to bestow any one man with an objective advantage over another. Everyone was equal! She screamed it through the yawning chasms of her mind. The thought clashed against the walls of Ms. Sophia’s skull and shook loose all the doubts and questions that shrouded her psyche. Everyone is equal! One would think that after so many years of overseeing such lambasted delinquency, Ms. Sophia would be unable to continue making excuses to justify her view of her students. When she was alone some nights in her bed watching the shadows of the trees climb the walls or the passing lights of distant automobiles, she often questioned her closely-held philosophical premises. It was indeed difficult to rummage through that part of her mind and those were often the nights when a sip or two of cognac aided her descent into slumber. She was a lonely woman who found solace in upholding the belief that her students had some innate greatness that was not immediately observable to most people.

She looked up from the painting to gaze back at Humphrey who had since commenced the conception of another moist picture.

After school had ended, Ms. Sophia took the long route around the track-field to the parking lot. Every day, the track team at Bud Dwyer Memorial High would engage in physical exercises to strengthen their leg muscles and thwart off childhood obesity. She would occasionally watch the students as they did so. The adolescent’s muscles would glisten and heave in the reflection of the midday sun. She observed the perfectly developing breasts of the female runners, oscillating vertically as they made their lap around the track. The chiselled forms of the javelin throwers caught her eye as they commenced their routine. The athletes were reminiscent of Greek sculptures portraying the glory and triumph of their gods and goddesses. The track team members all conveyed the prefect proportions and muscular structure of the ideal human form. Ms. Sophia watched this sight through the chain-link fence in the parking lot. These athletes made her recall the image of the children in room 217. The attractive young adults prancing and flaunting their attractive developing bodies contrasted greatly with the lethargic shuffling and terrible posture of her own students. Humphrey and the others however, were all attractive in their own way. Beauty is subjective and talent is relative. Every man was equal.

Mrs. Sophia thus headed home and tried to forget the sight of the track team. It made her inexplicably uneasy. She slid into her armchair, opened a fresh bottle of cognac and drifted away to slumber.

The following morning, Ms. Sophia awoke with a mission. She was determined to include her student’s artwork in the Bud Dwyer Memorial High School Art Show. It was an annual convention held to showcase the artistic talent and coordination of its student body. Typically, only the absolute best pieces of artwork were chosen to be displayed at the art show. It was in the school’s interest to portray a prestigious representation of the student’s artistic ability. The head of the art department was a cantankerous old witch who happened to be responsible for choosing the pieces to be displayed during this event. She was Mrs. Tartar.

Mrs. Tartar thought of herself as the grand arbiter of artistic worth. She had an ego that was disproportionate to her lack of experience in the field. She had never passed through art school and possessed only a minimal talent for the visual arts herself. Mrs. Tartar lacked the hand-eye coordination necessary to depict the proper proportions of the human form. In her own pathetic attempts at sketching, her women appeared to be men, her men appeared to be werewolves, her werewolves appeared to be grotesque zombies, and her grotesque zombies appeared to be John Diefenbaker. Eventually, she abandoned the creation of real art altogether and became an impressionist. Mrs. Tartar took out her frustrations out on her students.

Ms. Sophia pleaded with her.

“Please put Humphrey’s painting into the show with the others. It would do so much to validate his talent.”

Mrs. Tartar scowled at the painting.

“It’s not talent. Your student is an imbecile. He clearly has not studied the shadowing techniques of Degas or Van Gogh. He has no conceptualization of colour or the portrayal of natural light. I’m sorry Jane, but this is rubbish. I cannot display it with the others.”

“But please do reconsider! Humphrey is mentally challenged. We need to be accepting of all people, regardless of mental ability. You’re just being bigoted!”

Mrs. Tartar removed her spectacles and looked at Ms. Sophia intently.

“Look Jane, I’ve studied at the most prestigious art college in the entire county. I’ve created paintings that have sold for a lot of money. My work has been compared to that of Piet Mondrian for heaven’s sake! I think I know my artwork, and I say this painting you’ve presented to me is trash! Now, if I allow your student’s piece to be displayed in the art show just because of his mental handicap, what kind of message does that send to my own students? They will begin to think that talent and precision are no longer required to be a great artist—and mark my words, they are!”

Ms. Sophia left her office both defeated and shamed. She kept fervently telling herself that Mrs. Tartar didn’t know what she was talking about. She didn’t know after all, that Humphrey was created equal just as all men were. His artwork was just as great as anything in Tartar’s art show. Mrs. Sophia returned to room 217 and to the lingering miasma of bleach and drain cleaner.

“I’m so terribly sorry Humphrey; Mrs. Tartar doesn’t think there is a place for your painting in the school art show.”

Humphrey took his finger out of his nose and examined the product of his excavation. He then slid the finger into his saliva encrusted mouth.

“I like to paint!” He loudly exclaimed.

Back in her apartment, Ms. Sophia contemplated the events of the past few days with her glass of cognac. It seemed unfair that some people were able to paint beautiful pieces of artwork and develop sexually attractive bodies, while her students were left to be swept under the carpet of society. No matter how she was able to rationalize it, she could not understand why her god would bestow great talents upon some children, but not onto others. The order of the universe and of society was askew. This was the very first time she had come to such a realization. Perhaps all men were not created equal? If so, it was her duty to create equality among men. A fervent surge of adrenaline ran through her veins as she reached into her drawer for the .38 snub-nose revolver she kept. God had sent her to bring balance to Bud Dwyer Memorial High.

The following morning, Ms. Sophia calmly walked into the office of the art department. There she found Mrs. Tartar observing a Mondrian painting with a magnifying glass. Ms. Sophia aimed the pistol to the back of her head. With the squeeze of the trigger, the entirety of Mrs. Tartar’s artistic knowledge was released from the confines of her skull and onto the artwork she loved so very much. If Humphrey was incapable of creating beautiful art, then so was she. The blood splatters and skull fragments strewn on the canvas were probably better than anything Mrs. Tartar had drawn in her lifetime.

Ms. Sophia had exited the building and proceeded to the track field near the parking lot. She found the physically-fit students doing their exercises as usual. She opened fire on them. Several rounds struck the javelin throwers in their muscular arms. A couple bullets hits the track runners in the legs, they would never run again. Ms. Sophia scoffed at the thought of the track runners confined to wheelchairs.

She came up to a young male grasping his chest. His hands were clenching a wound and blood was pouring in torrents from his chest. He looked up to Ms. Sophia with fear-stricken eyes. At the end of the pistol, he pleaded with her not to end his life. She pulled the trigger and unloaded three rounds into his skull at point-blank range. His head hit the ground and she kicked him. He would never appreciate the gifts God had rewarded him. She knew the runner was ignorant and deserved his grisly end. 

By this time, the police had arrived at the grounds and had surrounded Ms. Sophia on the blood-soaked track field. She dropped the weapon and complied with the arrest. She had killed three people that day. Ms. Sophia felt not an ounce of remorse. Jesus Christ himself had sent her to bring equality to the world. She had served her lord well by bringing equality to those people she had killed and wounded.

As she was escorted into the police car, she yelled “Equality for all!”