Abridge (The Unabridged Edition)

abridge: (verb) to shorten (a book, a play, etc.) by leaving out some parts

            Mr. Anson does not allow his honors students to read abridged editions of classics over the summer. (What a jerk, right?)

http://www.victorianweb.org/technology/bridges/towerbridge.html

At the beginning of 9^th grade, I was placed in first period Honors English with Mrs. Uram. I settled in on the first day, received an unabridged copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and given an enormous list of vocabulary words. I was surrounded by many friends from middle school, and was quite content; I was in my element.
The next day, I was pulled out of class before it even started, along with two other fellow freshmen. We were escorted to the counseling department where we were curtly given new schedules.

“Why?” Brent ventured to ask.

“You’re being put into a more advanced math class,” was the only reply we received from the secretary, who promptly lost herself in the clackety-clack of her typewriter, an obvious dismissal.

We trudged slowly across campus to our new geometry class where Mr. London put us to work with equations immediately. We didn’t have time to think about the rest of our schedules, but one thing we did notice was that were the ONLY freshmen in a group of sophomores and juniors. A couple of remedial seniors lurked in the back. It looked like the beasts hadn’t been fed in a while either.

The bell rang soon enough and I remembered to check my new schedule: English with Mr. McGowan. My jaw dropped. I wasn’t in Honors any more. I asked Brent and Jenny about their lots, but they just had Honors English later in the day. I marched straight back to the counseling office.

After waiting for half of infinity to even get someone to talk to me, my presence was deflected with a “It was the only English class that fit with your electives.” In the words of Mr. Keating, “Excrement.” But there was nothing I could really do about it. I wasn’t a confrontational person.

So I went—tardy—to Mr. McGowan’s English class. Apparently I interrupted the bearded giant’s great bellowing lecture about timeliness and respect and honor of the gods and mythology and stuff, and I was banished to the penultimate (vocab word to come) row, as it was the only open seat.

I put my head down on the desk behind the high dark curls in front of me. I jumped when Zeus (as we came to call him under our breaths) began to bluster again. I slunk back down when it became obvious he wasn’t really watching us but focusing on his own performance.

A tap on my left shoulder. “Aren’t you going to say hi?” I had been too distracted to pay attention to my classmates. Alicia was to my left, Danielle in front of me, Armando to the right. Maybe this class wouldn’t be too bad after all. I don’t remember who sat behind me, though, but I do remember that he didn’t do much of anything.

I know this because each Monday, five new vocabulary words stared at us from the chalkboard on the side of the room (many of which I still remember). We were supposed to define each and write a sentence correctly using it. Complete sentences were required; no abridgements allowed. Test was every Friday. Distinctly, I recall the very initial word of the year was “abridge.” Not too hard. We were given a little time (once) to use the archaic lexicons under our desks to search for definitions, so I raced through my work, and began to doodle out of boredom. Geeky me started sketching a rough bridge abstractly similar to Tower Bridge in London. Then I set the bridge on an a blue inky fire to “abridge the bridge.” I cracked myself up a little too loudly because Zeus overheard the snickering and made me confess my deeds.

With his fiery eyes burning behind his Coke bottle glasses, his immensity started to fill the room. I gulped because I knew I was going to die.

Fortunately, instead of offering me up as a sacrificial oblation to the dictionary gods, Mr. McGowan guffawed and made me explain it to some of the students around me, including the nameless dude behind me. If I remember correctly, he just blew his hair out of his eyes while he rolled them.

Yes, there you have it: I am a word geek. Then again, I have never forgotten my word because I made a visual connection. Dang. That’s another awesome vocab building strategy.

Sadly, my 9th graders try to abridge everything they do, especially when it comes to writing and thinking.