How To Properly Sharpen A Pencil

***Background info***
In my creative writing class, my student teacher, commonly known as Mr. D, was talking to us about titles and how much they influenced the story behind them. He posted a list of some titles on the board and asked us what type of writing was used in the piece. One of the titles was: 'How to Properly Sharpen a Pencil'. Though many of my classmates believed it to be a documentary on how to sharpen pencils, I took a completely opposite approach and immediately thought of a romantic comedy. So, when he gave us an assignment to write a short story on any topic we wanted (so long as we paid close attention to the title we gave it), naturally I decided to take my idea and turn it into a short story.


How to Properly Sharpen A Pencil
by: Shalece Hansen

Brett knew pencils. Some would call him obsessed, and in a way, they were right. It was clinically proven as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD); something Brett had been born with. As a child, his disorder had taken form: properly sharpened pencils. In his room he had a plethora of pencil sharpeners---collectors editions one might say--- of every make and model from the magical beginning of handheld, and manpowered sharpeners to the modern electric one. Next to every sharpener was a package of identical unsharpened pencils. Whenever he was stressed or over-whelmed, his simple solution to this was to sharpen a pencil.

School nearly drove him crazy. Of course, he always carried around four or five perfectly sharpened pencils, but everyone else didn’t seem to care so much about their small yellow brethren; or they had simply switched over to the “dark side” and used the writing utensil horror---mechanical pencils. The thought of those too-good-to-be-sharpened atrocities made Brett’s stomach churn.

It was hard to find someone who cared about Brett’s pencil obsession in this increasingly lazy world. Cecily, however, was one of the few. It wasn’t so much about the perfectly sharpened pencils, as it was about the man who sharpened them:

Cecily was in love with Brett.

She had two classes with him: Math and English, which both required ample use of pencils. She sat in the back row in both of those classes, right next to the pencil sharpener, while Brett sat one row to the left, and two seats down from her. Her breath caught in her throat every time he got up to sharpen his pencil. For a few, unnaturally quick moments, she would be inches away from him; so close that if she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him.

In her head she had gone over seemingly endless ways to approach him. Many of those ways involved the pencil sharpener as the meeting place, and she had decided that it was the most appropriate way to get to know him. The only problem was getting up the nerve to do it. He was at the pencil sharpener plenty of times, working the man-powered sharpener with beautiful precision. Sometimes she would sneak glances at him, and watch his sweet face contort in concentration as he made his pencils ideal once more. After going over the conversation over and over in her head; Cecily decided that it was time to approach Brett.

It was a quiet Wednesday morning. Cecily glanced nervously at the clock, the hands making out 8:42 a.m.. In exactly three minutes Mr. Rays, her Pre-Calculus teacher, would begin the lesson. A feeling of worry swept over her as the second hand reached the twelve, signaling the beginning of a new minute. Brett wasn’t here yet, and he was always on time to all of his classes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone walk through the door, and she sighed in relief as Brett sat in his desk.

The bell rang, and as expected, Mr. Rays began teaching. Cecily found it hard to concentrate; her mind wandering to the upcoming conversation. Constantly she found herself staring at Brett, and quickly adverted her eyes once she had caught herself. Halfway through the lesson, Brett quietly excused himself to the sharpener. Though she had thought she could do it, instead of approaching him, she ducked her head, and pretended to copy down the notes that were being scribbled on the whiteboard in the front of the room.

Plenty of chances lay ahead. Her mind told her. It was only the beginning of class, Brett would be back to the pencil sharpener plenty more times in the period. Soon, she knew, she would have to stop telling herself that, and actually get up and do it.

It was after Mr. Rays had stopped his lecture and given the class their assignment before Brett stood up from his seat again. Cecily reacted without thinking, she instantly pushed herself from her seat, her pencil firmly situated in her white-knuckled hand, and found herself slipping to the pencil sharpener, with Brett close behind, still stunning, and slightly annoyed. Forcing her hand to stop shaking, Cecily slipped the pencil into the hole, and began nervously twisting the mechanism.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Brett mumbled, hardly audible.

“What?” Cecily asked, surprised and jittery from the increased heartbeat penetrating her insides.

“The sharpener… Your pencil---it’s going to come out wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yeah, you have to twist it slower, and without so much force on the pencil. It’s a sure way to break the lead, and cause the loss of height.”

She released the pencil and began twisting the sharpener at an annoying, slow pace. “Like this?” she asked, still caught in a daze.

“No, now you’re doing it too slow, and there’s not enough. Here, let me show you how to properly sharpen a pencil.”

She let him take her place. His gentle hands worked the sharpener in a sweet rhythm. Cecily watched him work his magic, and fell even deeper into love. After a few quick seconds, Brett pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil from the mouth of it’s beholder, and smiled as he held it up to Cecily.

“It’s perfect!” he exclaimed, a satisfied, and completely happy expression sitting smugly on his face.

“Brett, I love you.” she blurted suddenly.

But all Brett could do was look at the pencil that had captured his heart.