Dan Neumann

orlobooks@verizon.net

I Wore a Black Veil

(*note: all occurrences recorded are based upon true events)

                On January 9^th, 2007 (a fairly bright Tuesday for that time of the year), I engaged in a school-condoned experiment based upon Hawthorne’s famous work, The Minister’s Black Veil. Having been rejected by a girl the night before and having had a mild argument with my mother, I awoke with a depressed disposition. I had no lunch money (a la the fight with mother); I almost missed the bus; and, to top it all off, had the aforementioned project to perform.

           Come time to place the veil on my head, those that knew me already had suspected something was not quite right. But once the sheet of cloth was fastened, boy did I look weird!

           Traveling through the halls to the next class, I began to receive anomalous stares, canted heads, and many, “What the Hell?”s projected through the student body. Concealing one facial feature – the eyes – rendered contact awkward. So when I was to attempt conversation, it would seem, the dialogue missed the routine impact. You would think telling a buddy about a break-up would gather some sympathy; instead: silence.

           These episodes, after contemplation, allowed me an insight: Today, I’m on my own. I thought deep, profound thoughts, through what soon became a comfortable safe-haven. Until, that is, the fibers of the material began to fray—but I’ll address that later. At any rate, I concerned myself with the universe (why is everything balanced between two divergent forces?), what politics must have been like for the first civilization (how did the first leader arise?), and many ideas for upcoming novels (what if I modeled a character after me and threw him in an unfamiliar environment, just to see what happens?).

           After a bit more exposure to this isolation, I began to feel detached from all other things. A sincere superiority complex emerged. A prior non-existent (or at least latent) ego felt due analysis was a divine act; I felt I was not among others any longer. This often dangerous arrogance became so overly exaggerated, in fact, I considered every eye that fell upon me subject to either a madman or a genius. This strange sensation, that had been brought forth only by the slightest buffer between me and the rest of the world, lasted until I finished walking to the next class.

(*note: Yes; for clarification, that last three paragraphs took place between four minutes of walking)

           When I entered my Chemistry class, all my humility returned immediately (Thank God!). A student immediately asked, “Hey, Dan, why are you wearing a blindfold?”

           I pulled out a small piece of crumpled paper—the only replies I could respond with, which was either of the following three: “Come an hour’s time, we shall all cast aside our black veils,” “If I hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough,” or “I look around me, and on every face—a black veil!” I chose to go in chronological order.

The student’s reaction: “Is that how long you have to wear this thing for?”

“If I hide my face in sorrow, there is cause enough,” I retorted.

“Dan, seriously,” the student insisted, “why are you wearing that? You look like a freakin’ prisoner of war.”

I sat down at my desk. “I look around me, and on every face—a black veil.”

Before the student had the chance to ask a fourth time, the teacher walked into the room and demanded everyone to sit down with rushed hand gestures. “Mr. Frengel personally guaranteed that no distracts would come from this,” he then said.

Distractions were unavoidable, regretfully, and I think Mr. Frengel had a good idea that this was the case. The point of this project, ideally, was to observe the psychological reaction once a key facial characteristic is removed. I got results.

During lunch, my veil was removed while I was eating. I was tripped in the hallway while headed to another class; I got slapped in the belly; I had my hair ruffled; my response paper was stolen; and I was asked “How many fingers am I holding up?” in a quantity so large, it barely was finite. And then my veil was removed from my face again!

My veil’s presence, come 1:15 or so in the day, altered into a nuisance. Those fibers became so worn through constant abuse that they fell in my mouth and nose… no matter how many times I cut them off! And I became so weary through the tinted blanket that it honestly felt like night. I must admit, through some of the less interesting classes, I closed my eyes and dozed off with my back postured upwards. But even with these minor annoyances, strangely, it is quite easy to imagine wearing it forever. To make a fair analogy, it is similar to the mood felt when you are sad and are accustomed to keeping your silence.

It is when I had only forty-five minutes left in the day when I met the largest impact, though. That day, my U.S. History class had to turn in a two-hundred point assignment—a certain research paper on World War Two. Almost forgetting about my black veil altogether with the burden of such a paper (it accounts for a third of our grade that semester), I asked the teacher, “Should we hand these in now?”

Irritated, he yelled, “In a minute!”

I looked at the black board, barely being able to read it, due to my warped perspective (the fabric overlapped layers in such a way, it produced an illusion of ribbons). Written there was something like: “Place H.W. on front desk. Wait for further instructions for Research Paper.”

I walked to the front desk, stumbling a bit, and received a none-too-friendly glare from the teacher. I placed my homework assignment (worth like two points, probably) on the desk, while jotting his response in my personal notebook (I always keep a 'reporter-style' moleskin with me at all times). That seemed to spark furry in him. “Sit down, please!”

I did so.

He paced the room, shooting me an angered look ever so often. I, understandably, thought this was a bit weird. I considered this teacher a friend, having taken a class prior to this one and partaking in his after school club. But, I sat down and awaited instructions, deciding it was too soon to question his anxiety.

 “Does anyone have papers for me?” He announced aloud.

God forgive me, I got confused. “Do you mean the research paper?” I asked, innocently.

He turned his full attention to me. “No, Dan, I want a blank piece of paper!” He said (I’m assuming, sarcastically). “Who asks something like that?”

For once, I did feel intent on wearing the veil for sorrow. I added a fake smile to my already shrouded face. I walked up to the desk and handed him my paper, and then sat back down just as quickly.

A student from the class (one of the few who did not retract their heads in confusion) said, “Eh, Mr. Goonan, can I head down to the office? I need to turn in an absentee card.”

He scratched his head, yelping a quick, “I need research papers.”

Bewildered, I decided it was a good time to ask what was wrong (what an appropriate time to be certain of something? When you’re confused!). “Are you angry today?”

Mr. Goonan pointed a finger at me—where my veil concealed my eyes. “That type of question could make anyone angry, Dan! And you want to know why? Because you asked Mr. Porter that every day and he wanted to throw you out of a window for it! And you know what else!” His finger retreated from my face. “He almost did once.”

I smiled (an authentic one this time). I could not take a comment like that seriously. I may have annoyed a teacher once or twice in my day, but I never merited such a statement. “Alright then.”

There was an awkward hiatus that overtook the typically loud room. The U.S. History teacher shook his head to remedy his outburst, and then promptly passed out class work. When he came to my desk and handed me a worksheet, I gave a quick, “Thank you.” He went to the next desk.

At the bell to leave the school, I – in haste – removed my veil. Once I threw it in the trash, I called out a quick, “Adios, Mr. Goonan.”

He saw my eyes. “Later.”

It was a shame that most of the student body had already heard that the veil was just another English project by the fifth class, because they are wrong for such an assumption. An article of polyester managed to reveal hysteria between myself and all around me. I was intoxicated by separation; everyone else became infuriated by the lack of eyes. What a simple thing to cause so much emotion?

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    Dan Neumann (Editor): I published this on E Writer for a few days. But it soon became clear something was missing... it's a bit rough. Please let me know what you would change to make this a better article.

    Pete Frengel (Dan's English Teacher): It's a good piece. Very good observations. What was the deal with Mr. Goonan? :) I think it may not fit as an article (especially not for a writing magazine) and that's why it seems like something is missing. Other than that, I enjoyed it. Some parts even made me laugh.