To: the Teacher With a Surfboard
From: Your Secret Admirer
To the teacher with a surfboard,
You probably don’t know me, but you have changed my life.
This morning, in the rain, I was questioning the nature of my existence: those profound questions like “why am I here?,” “why is the car in front of me stopping every five feet?,” “is the driver having a seizure or is he a midget and the block he taped to his foot keeps falling on the brake pedal?,” and “why am I at school instead of surfing?”
Through this drudgery, you came along, swept me up, and answered all of my questions… or at least your mad dope Volkswagen Type 2 and psychedelic surfboard did.
The sweet auburn hue of its paint-job, the radiance of the blue fiberglass, and the way your board’s leash was lackadaisically draped across your side with careless grace made me tingle with excitement — excitement ’cause I got totally stoked to shred some waves.
For the rest of the day I was all hot and bothered, fantasizing about you. I swooned in class with fantasies about that sick rasta-colored Nor Cal bumper sticker; where did you get it? where could I get one? does the glue damage your car’s clear-coat? So many thoughts ran through my mind, I thought I would explode during English class.
In physics, my darker desires broke from their tethers of chastity, the ones that I only let seep into my conscious mind in the wee hours of the night. These desires included titillating thoughts of me stealing your surfboard, riding its curving body through the ocean, but then totally returning it to you before school ends because I wouldn’t play a homie like that.
So, now I have borne you my soul, and it is yours to do with what you please (Jah feel?).
Your secret admirer