by Kevin Johnson Murillo
The teacher fed me worms.
Innocently enough, I was convinced I had a case on my hands. I walked up to strangers down hallways of the university and showed them my fingers, wriggled them, and wrinkled my nose. They walked away revolted. I told Professor XXY. my theory, that all caterpillars are simply worms in disguise, and he shrugged me off, told me to go study, said he had more important things to do than listen to my nonsense. So I did, I locked myself in the library (figuratively) and stared at pictures of larvae for hours, convinced that the more visual material I consumed, the more clearly I would be able to present my arguments.
The day of the debate arrived and I stretched my fingers and stared down my opponents, 5 losers with glasses. The auditorium was packed with students on chairs. A Mr. with sunglasses presented us vivaciously and gave way to the first contestant who argued that platinum was actually a liquid. He spoke with such relish and self-assurance that I couldn’t help but scoff, but the audience of students listened intently and I saw no mark of skepticism in their gaze.
The second spoke of a white sea, more saline than aquatic, below the Arctic Circle, whose photographic evidence had been destroyed by an alliance between the USSR and America during the Cold War. This convinced no one and he left the table sobbing, humiliated.
The third (it might as well be time to point out that I was last) said beforehand that he defended silence, never spoke and was disqualified. Etc., ad infinitum. It’s not necessary to go through all the contestants’ ideas because they were no match for my rhetorical skill.
When it was my turn, I stood up quickly, my chair clanged behind me, and showed the congregation all 10 fingers of my hands that I proceeded to wriggle vehemently. At first they were shocked, I’m certain of it, because I observed their blank expressions as I continued to argue my point. Then shock turned into indignation. (They didn’t want to believe.)
One of them, in the front row, pointed at me and accused me of being a nihilist. Others shouted their agreement, and one other debater (#4) nodded enthusiastically. I didn’t let their unfounded accusations dissuade me; I’d studied caterpillars for far too long to even consider what they were saying. Others shouted “Insect hater!” and accused me of indulging in perverse paraphilias, but if the Truth is the Truth, it must be spoken, even if it amasses the vitriol of all people. I was convinced I was right in speaking so, not only that the contents of my discourse were factually correct, but that it was necessary and morally binding to speak as I did, so I did not relent wriggling my fingers, not even when the crowd’s words turned into physical violence.
They began by throwing the chairs at me. Then contestant #5 pushed me, and they saw that the rules of diplomacy no longer applied and approached us. I felt a very real fear but refused to be bullied into submission and wriggled my fingers some more and displayed them to the approaching students. I was knocked down and then kicked at from all sides.
What saved me was an intervention from Professor XXY., who, though he disagreed with my theory, respected my tenacity and courage to defend it. He visited me at the hospital the day after and apologized in the name of the students for their savagery, though I doubted the sincerity of the apology on their part. He told me there would always be room for me in his classroom, even if I was mistaken. Before he left, I kissed the fingers of his hand.