By Shooter
Peering through the small, purple glasses of a substitute teacher, you wouldn't imagine that a wild woman hides behind them, with a longing for a jungle life. Experiences with Mrs. Holmes have proved her to be quite an animal, and at one with nature.

I first understood her unusual background as she described her son to my Physics class. He had visited a river in Utah and returned a long time later, bearded, primitive, and carrying several white men's scalps at his side.

In Challenge Seminar, she seemed bewildered by my use of deodorant in class, clawing it from me, sniffing and devouring the chalky white substance. She growled and threatened my territory until I left a soiled sheet of paper on the floor, effectively laying down the law. As I danced lithely toward the pencil sharpener, her hair stood on end and she hissed, hurling a paperweight in my direction. Baffled by her peculiar behavior at first, I became enlightened as we read aloud an essay concerning American Indians.

As we read the Indian story, she moved into a moving tale of mysterious and rugged romance that had transpired on the Plains of Nebraska years ago. A fragile and weak young white girl, she had stumbled, confused and lost, into the arms of a Native American -- dark, powerful, and sexy. Frightened at first by her pale appearance, he fired an arrow into her arm, a memory she recalled through tears. He cared for her, and as she recalled the intense sexual affair that followed -- freaking in his teepee, on the plains, and in the backseat of his Grand Cherokee -- she moaned in ecstasy. As she tore the clothes from her body, the wound showed, as well as the effects of time. The story ends abruptly here as I bolted from my seat and leapt out of the window, where John Roberts' plush stature cushioned my fall.

All of the above fictional events are based on reality.

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