This Is Only a Test Read Free

scared.”
    Â Â l.) “This just can’t be true.”
    m.) None
    6.) Which of the following tools most effectively removes debris?
    Â a.) Chainsaw
    Â b.) Axe
    Â c.) Bow saw
    Â d.) Poem
    7.) Where is the silver lining?
    8.) In what ways did your students respond to your attempts to contact them?
    Â a.) With kind assurances of his safety
    Â b.) With concern for your safety
    Â c.) By writing you a poem
    Â d.) By writing you an email
    Â e.) By asking you for her final grade
    Â f.) By thanking you for an “awesome” semester
    Â g.) By wishing you the best of luck in your new job
    Â h.) By wishing you no ill will (despite the B–)
    Â Â i.) By apologizing for the late paper—“The tornado ate it.”
    Â Â j.) By asking for extra credit
    Â k.) By asking “pretty please” for extra credit
    Â Â l.) By asking you for your story
    m.) By asking you what she’s supposed to do now
    Â n.) By asking you “Where is the silver lining?”
    Â o.) By asking you if he’ll seriously never see you again
    Â p.) By telling you she’ll Facebook you
    Â q.) By telling you that composition class taught him little of survival
    Â r.) By telling you that African American literature taught him little of survival
    Â s.) By writing “The nightmares won’t quit coming, will they?”
    Â Â t.) By writing “TTYL”
    Â u.) By writing
    Â v.) By not writing
    w.) With silence
    Â x.) All of the above
    Â y.) Some of the above
    Â z.) None
    9.) In the space below, please draw a picture of anything but this.
    Essay:
    In the space below, please write whatever you must. You can understand, I’m sure, the necessity of writing, even in the dark. Of re-inhabiting a space you’d just as soon forget. I’m asking you not to forget. I’m asking you to remember. To recall the relief you felt in waking up the morning after. And the frustration you felt while mummy-wrapped in the sweat-soaked sheets. Please take a moment to remember the way your foot crunched the cockroach on your walk to the bathroom that night.
    Consider the loss of life and all you didn’t lose. All you had to lose. All you might’ve lost had the wind recalculated its route.
    Consider infrastructure, pregnancy tests.
    Reconsider question #4.
    Please, I’m begging you; do not provide specific examples in the space provided below.

Epistle to an Embryo
    May 8, 2011
    Dear Future Child,
    I write to you today so that you might have some account of our first disaster endured as a family. You see, you were there, too, as the tornado swirled overhead.
    This is the part of the story we don’t tell people because you are not here yet—just some tiny embryo—and the world is too unstable. There are still far too many factors left unaccounted for, too many variables.
    Only sometimes, I’m told, does X + Y = BABY .
    This morning, while cruising the cereal aisle in the grocery store, your mother nearly gave our secret away. There she was, mulling over the mini-wheats, when confronted by a cereal stocker named Al.
    â€œHappy Mother’s Day,” he told her.
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œ
Are
you a mother?” Al inquired, and after a moment’s hesitation—after weighing the unforeseen consequences of confiding in a stranger—your mother whispered, “No, but maybe one day.”
    Al nodded, returning his attention to the toasted oats and filing away the only clue we’ve yet to offer of your existence.
    Now, I admit, Future Child, I know as much of growing babies as Al does. However, in the past few days, I’ve become accustomed to a new vocabulary—“fallopian,” “ovum,” “folic acid”—a great flurry of words now left fluttering around our unscathed house.
    This is your father’s attempt at using his new vocabulary in a sentence:
    HOW MANY PLACENTAS DOES IT TAKE TO SCREW IN A