Why I Never Learned To Sing

Statistically, students who sit in the front row outperform the rats in the back by a substantial margin. I'm front and center and would fail if this class had tests of any sort, because she's standing just to my left and wearing one of those open-topped shirts that almost defeats the purpose of a shirt. She's in front of me and guiding the class through a vocal exercise and I am positive I would fail every damned test were this a regular class.
A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course, she sings, her voice rising and falling and the rats echo back. You stand on a desk and survey the small classroom and you'll find the front half filled with boys, the rats in the back all disgruntled girls who vow to show up just a bit earlier every time so that they'll finally get a good seat. All of us guys are in the front rows and she's saying a Horse is a Horse and we go Of Course, Of Course, and I would blow a brain gasket trying to remember what color her eyes were if asked. She's got her chest rising and falling in that open-topped shirt and I picture two images of that god that carried the world on his back on her shirt. I picture them back to back, legs bent with effort, mouths wide in a yell as they hold up the twin globes. She turns and her breasts are right next to me and I think I could probably draw the gods on without her noticing and reach for the Sharpie in my desk but think better of it after a few seconds of fishing for the marker.
A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course, and I think it's funny how we're all drawn to the split between a woman's breasts as that is nothing more than a shadow of empty space, if you give it a moment's thought. The actual boobs are on either side, but you really just look at the split.
She taps her wedding ring offhandedly on the desk next to mine as she tells us we're now going to go individually through the exercise. One of the back rats starts going off about how horses are of course horses and I try to position myself in my seat so that I can't see her ring, but she's still tapping it out of sight and my mind goes
Fingernail.
She taps it as one of the rats tries to find a key and my mind tells me
Fingernail.
Fingernail.
Not ring.
Fingernail.
Not married.
And I'm staring at the empty space that isn't her breasts in a classroom full of people trying to convince themselves that if a horse is a horse, then of course it's a fucking horse. And she looks down at the clipboard listing the names of all the people who paid her to teach them how to sing and finds the name of the one who is there because his parents thought it was a cheap alternative to hiring a babysitter.
I snap my eyes up and make a note that hers are brown, just in case. She's saying something and I feel my eyes falling and think brown, brown, brown, keep it together.
"Are you ready?" she asks and I say
"A Horse."
I stand and prepare to start but she cuts me off with first a look and then begs a pardon. I can't remember what I said, so I slam my mind in reverse and see everything over the last hour flash by backwards and the words are all garbled until I finally start it up again and see I've gone too far. I see myself showing up a half hour early to get a good seat, see her walk in and wish I had a parachute so I could jump into her -
I slam it into fast forward and stop at the correct place this time.
"Of Course I am," I correct. She finally nods and I tell everyone that when a horse is a horse, then believe it or not, it's a horse.