“I’ve read all your essays about our distinguished President’s visit to Los Angeles. I was there. Some of you, I noticed, could not attend for one reason or another. For those of you who could not attend, I would like to read this one by Henry Chinaski.’ The class was terribly silent. I was the most unpopular member of the class by far. It was like a knife slicing through all their hearts.

‘This is very creative,’ said Mrs. Fretag, and she began to read my essay. The words sounded good to me. Everybody was listening. My words filled the room, from blackboard to blackboard, they hit the ceiling and bounced off, they covered Mrs. Fretag’s shoes and piled up on the floor. Some of the prettiest girls in the class began to sneak glances at me. All the tough guys were pissed. Their essays hadn’t been worth shit. I drank in my words like a thirsty man. I even began to believe them. I saw Juan sitting there like I’d punched him in the face. I stretched out my legs and leaned back. All too soon it was over.

‘Upon this grand note,’ said Mrs. Fretag, ‘I hereby dismiss the class …’
They got up and began packing out.
‘Not you, Henry,’ said Mrs. Fretag.
I sat in my chair and Mrs. Fretag stood there looking at me.
Then she said, ‘Henry, were you there?’
I sat there trying to think of answer. I couldn’t. I said, ‘No, I wasn’t there.’
She smiled. ‘That makes it all the more remarkable.’
‘Yes, ma’am …’
‘You can leave, Henry.’

I got up and walked out. I began my walk home. So, that’s what they wanted: lies. Beauitful lies. That’s what they needed. People were fools. It was going to be easy for me. I looked around. Juan and his buddy were not following me. Things were looking up.”

-Ham on Rye