Title: The Problem with Life
Chapter: 2
Authors Notes: Aaand a new chapter...! Still being sure to keep close to the facts told off the TV series, and thanks again for everyone who's been reading. As always, please don't hesitate to review! Comments and suggestions are always welcome :)
It's a brand new day. I'm going off to the bus again and my mom's waving me off. My dad drinking his coffee while standing beside her. The spitting image of what good parents should be. Should be being the incentive that I'm only waving back with a grudging hatred and humiliation at the very act. On normal circumstances I wouldn't give my dad the time of day. But right now, in front of mom; I really had to. So I'm making my way up the sidewalk again and waiting for the bus to pull up. Hitching my backpack, ignoring the growing clouds above me. Sighing to myself while I wait while a couple of other kids gather near by to be picked up.
Around this time is probably when I see that kid again. And I'm left thinking to myself why he's out here for the second time when I'd assumed he'd already been back home yesterday morning. I glance over while he gives a meek wave my way. Just as excited and just as peaky as yesterday.
"Hi Greg."
"Hey, I thought I told you to stay here."
The little twerp just looks up at me, shorter than anything and beams like a kid without any care in the world. It almost makes me want to shove him into the dirt just to see if it'd have any sort of affect at all. He'd probably just get back up and hug me or something.
"Well, I couldn't do that...and yesterday wasn't so bad at all. My first day was great!"
"What, yesterday---I thought you stayed here."
"Nah, I mean thanks for the worry Greg, but. I'm way old enough to take care of myself."
Take care of himself. I look him up and down noting the two sizes too big backpack and now the little sports cap nesting on his head. Doubt pretty clear here.
"Yea....you have a machete in there I don't know about?"
It'd go towards explaining why the backpack was so damn big.
Jimmy just smiles as if I'd made a joke of the situation; maybe a tad confused but for the most part happy as can be. Clueless people like that always drove me mad, especially clueless nine year old kids. Or eight year old. Or hell, I'll go so far to say any-year-old.
The bus pulls up once again with a steady hum, same driver; same line of kids and same wafting smell of teenager shitdom while the two of us climb on. I admit, being the observant guy I am, I'm pretty surprised I hadn't noticed Jimmy getting off yesterday, but then judging on how fast he slips into the crowd of older kids and disappears; I rethink that last bit of lapse in judgement. Trying to spot him again while piling into the bus myself. Getting towards the back and setting down without seeing anyone I'd met the previous day; whether in class or not. Particularly not that Lisa girl; though I assumed most of the more gifted do-good children who played a part in cheer leading and honor classes got rides from their families or parents. It would've been nice to give her a hello though.
Me and the rest of the world were stuck on the bus. Chatter filled all around me.
While the bus in question began to pull away; slowly at first but soon enough speeding on through the streets. Places and houses and yards flashing on by in a fast, tracking motion--reminding me all too clearly of the Flinstone cartoons and the passingly repeated backgrounds. I wasn't one to watch too much TV in the house I lived in, but there had been a few nights as a kid where my mom would stay up with me and we'd cook popcorn while dad was away.
My mom. Huh. I glance towards my bag resting off beside me; in all it's old pack glory. Inside there's another home-made lunch, one I didn't intend to eat. My stomach churning a little at the thought.
There were times in my memory like that which kept me from feeling horrible towards her, to be honest. Though caught in a rift of fantasy, I couldn't pull myself down to hating her like I did my father. I knew she was trapped. And the way dad would bark at her sometimes just made me realize that she really was just playing a role. And that she really was just doing what she had to think was right. Over all...I don't know what I think of mom. And thoughts of keeping her safe really compel me. Despite all the bad things, there were a few good memories in there too...
A kid at the front tossed a wad of paper at the driver. Who grunted and yelled back. Soon there was chaos; after a few others were tossing things back and forth, causing a general ruckus and a few comments about "immaturity" and "yea, beat the system!" with mutual laughter from the kids I had the great "pleasure" to referring to as my class mates. High school was high school I guessed.
The driver barked at them all, me sitting; slouching against the chair while staring off as the scenery rushed by. Other kids talking and talking as if the rest of the world depended on each little sliver of drama. I didn't see Jimmy while on the bus or even as we pulled in. Thinking for some reason of an image of him sneaking into some kind of compartment or safe haven for the younger kids. Hell, maybe he was just hiding under one of the seats. I tried to spot the little kid when we pulled up to the high school if not more for my own curiosity while everyone started shoving their way off. Talking loudly. The driver in a fowl mood as ever; glaring daggers at me while I took my sweet time being one of the last to leave. As if I'd been the one to toss that wad of paper to begin with.
Didn't blame him; I wasn't the most productive looking of kids out there. I did give him a cheerful smile and wave while heading out though.
The smell was bad, sure, but being last gave me a little more leg room and better yet; went further for my routine of tardiness I planned to stick by. I was a determined guy and being as dedicated as I was; I couldn't afford to mess up on my specific routines, you know.
The sky was getting more and more gray; the smell of the vomit-sweat-free air a bit of a blessing despite the cold. I took my time getting to the school doors, rounding the entire building once over while keeping a good hold of my backpack. Before entering the building I was sure to toss my brown lunch bag filled from this morning in the trash and getting back up to the front door in which one of the guards glared my way. Looking like he'd swallowed something fowl--but then again I had to figure that's how the guy always looked. I wouldn't know, but it seemed the stereotype. He was one of the few in the whole school; counting four in total. Most of which I doubted could do any real harm to a kid seeing as most of them were over weight or retired and were armed with nothing but those corny-ass plastic sticks you see cops chasing after masked robbers in commercials and in those really bad black and white cartoon shows.
I figure the day'll be long, but I find my first class a pretty big success--in the fact that no one seems to care enough to want to bother me with trouble. Even the teacher avoids any legitimately dumbass questions in my direction. My ruse yesterday seemed to be a winning success; though unfortunately I didn't spot heads or tales of Lisa either. And I know, but it's been on my mind a bit. In my next class I found it to be the same; the teacher droning on about math equations I already knew while racking my brain to figure out just where I'd seen her before lunch.
It could've easily been in biology. But then she said she only took honor classes. Which I didn't have. Could have been before school, but then I hadn't gone about spreading rumors at that point. The only thing I could possibly think of was a teachers assistant--giving credit and further points on a college resamay. That sounded about right, plus it also meant that she had every other class she could get done by that point to. A way over achiever and not the unsexy kind either; something I inadvertently found myself very attracted to.
I'd have to look through the classes and see which ones had student assistants later that day if I didn't see her again. Hoping at least to give her a thanks or at the very best grab a drink together after school at that old crapshack hang out. It had been seventeen years of living and I'd only once before had any legitimate attraction to anyone in a manner that went beyond just sexual. Because, lord knows I've found enough attractive woman and...on occasion men (everyone thinks it, no one says it). Once, admittedly with a kid in seventh grade with dark hair and green eyes. Brilliant ass hole with a knack for each class he took. Now, I don't particularly consider myself of the male attracted variety; particularly with the family I have and the messy reasons beneath that, but I admit he had the same spark that caught my attention with Lisa. And the same intelligent charm. Same smile.
Who knew. Maybe Jamie Adams had gotten a sex change since seventh grade. Maybe I was just a sucker for the dark-eyed intelligent type.
The bell sounded off and just as on the bus, kids were piling out of the room. It's what teenagers did for every time a bell went off or the speakers came on. What typically happened whenever the teacher dismissed a class. The noise skyrocketed, people talked and laughed while pushing their way through a hallway two times too small for everyone to properly squeeze through all at once. High school at it's finest, and what I was sure was just like any high school out there. People had this weirdly bizarre way of keeping to stereotype I guess.
It was only by the time I made it to the drinking fountain at the other side of the school that I saw some kids slip out with large black jackets and a glazed, stupid grin look. Would you look at that. Something else I recognized and was all over faster than anyone can say "ditching class?"
English Literature could always wait until tomorrow, I was sure.
"Hey...you're that kid that stabbed a teacher in Fallbrooks High."
Pushing passed the large metal doors, I barely nod to the pair of kids and the dumbest ones exclamation filled with both awe and a sort of distant unease. Cold air hitting me the instant I step outside, taking a good look at the two. One darker skinned with black hair, the other blond. I stopped for a second to think if it was possible this first kid would've considered that I'd been a lying ass hole about the story had he been sober. My instant thought was... no. No, probably not.
"That'd be me. Greg."
Even if I'm hoping to use my powerful talents of manipulation and persuasion; I don't bother to go as far as offer my hand in any sort of greeting. It'd go far too against my principals and morals of a superior, smarter and all around better looking human being.
The two kids, dumb and...dumbest look between each other. Shifting and pulling out a carton of cigarettes.
"You want a smoke?"
So you might be flashing back to those b-grade movies of teenage kids or the commercials they often showed on the television about drugs and addictions and scary faced teenagers leering down to the younger Jimmy-looking child while forcing drugs onto their soon-to-be grave with that same phrase; but here it was not only well placed but extremely welcomed.
Those ads if anything just go so far to prove that the only people they'll be remotely affecting are the ones that wouldn't be devastatingly affected by drugs to begin with. The families, kids, and the dumb asses after escape are generally the type to accept these things and ultimately fear is only distilled in people who aren't the type to get into drugs, and the parents who watch the commercials would only be the types who would've already nailed that belief into their poor deluded children to begin with.
Really in reality it was just a great big message of "Hey! Look at these people who are already doing drugs, aren't they an awful bunch! Why not hate them for screwing up your children" and leave the rest of the world to get them picked out and separated from society.
It's really a great place we live; the US.
I take the cigarette; grateful as all of hell though giving my thanks with just a nod.
"And you two are...?"
"Tom. I'm Tom, this is Jose." An American and a Mexican. Isn't surprising. He takes out a lighter, flicking it on for my benefit. After the end is lit I take a drag; enjoying the taste and feel of the product. Even feeling a little bit more prone towards dumb and dumbest (already forgot their names) for their choice in type.
"Huh. So. Don't suppose you two also the type prone to get real violent or physical around here."
Since he brought it up I might as well milk the story all I can. Even if it's a trick question; I already know they aren't. The only reason they're offering this sort of thing to me is because stoners are ridiculously easy to manipulate and even easier to befriend and bum off of. Particularly the kinds you find still in school around the back of unguarded doors like this one. I think it's an ongoing stoner law to stick with that stereotype. Fine by me.
"Aw nah, me, Jose and a few other guys hang out a lot--but we don't really support violence. You know...the peace movement and everything. It's what we're really about." Jose nods his agreement, taking a drag of his own. I'm estimating him to be maybe fourteen, maybe fifteen. The other kid, Andrew or something's, got a bigger build on him and I'd guess if he was the same age, he could pass for a legal eighteen year old adult.
"Well. Sounds great..." Taking another drag, I look off down the alley. Blowing off with ease. "What about this school. Any advice with guys I should be watching my back for."
"I don't know, man...you already stabbed a teacher, right. Those kind of people usually end up behind bars, yea. But yea, you know there's a group here, a few guys who are a lot of trouble. Can't ever be linked to anything, but people know they're not guys you want to mess with. Usually just picking on the freshman and the type, but you know."
"Oh yea, sounds like a rough crowd." I try and keep my sarcasm in check best I can. It doesn't completely reward me, but hey. I make effort.
"Yea, man. They're top of the school too. Got like, top notch grades and records, teachers won't touch that."
"Uhuh....well. Let me just give off a wild swing here. They're apart of the football team?"
"Oh yea. Dude, that was incredible. Wow. You're good."
"Oh well, you know I'm just a regular genius, me."
I stayed for a while more baring down on idiot conversations, focusing more on the rewards. It was maybe a little more conversation of this and them losing track of what they were saying before going into some deeper things inside the universe crap until the bell rang and the two of them offered me a few more ciggs for the road. I thanked them and got off towards my next class; extremely relieved from the break and the pack and also grateful that high schools kept with every stereotype if it meant gullible stoners were grouped in with that.
Can't hate a place for that much.
I had a few ciggs for later, and coming up next year I'd probably be able to buy them myself if I ever felt like it. Sure they killed you but 90 percent of people who were aware of this didn't seem to care all that much. People who smoke and go into these things don't generally have a whole lot of reserve for their lives to begin with. That or it's worth the risk just to get the ultimate reward.
I shut the door, heading off from one class to the next. Just as dull as the last few. Drowning out the noise as the teacher rants; glancing down at the paper hand out set in front of me. A few kids are whispering about who knows what, jabbering on band concerts and week ends that I don't care about. I'm focusing my thoughts at the task at hand; one of which I hope to find or spot Lisa again. Maybe not right away, but eventually. I know I'm brilliant enough to spot her again or at least learn more about her schedule and happen to bump into the girl. I'm good like that, you see.
Bell rings. I move on. Storm spreading outside and inside if you count my classmates.
I don't see Lisa in any of them and finding myself back at lunch once again, standing there and looking over the heads of students. When there was nothing I was finally left to plan B. A little disappointed; but always the determined one--heading off to the front office and ask them if they knew where I could find "Lisa, a teacher's assistant" as she was my tutor and I hadn't seen her today. Great story, right.
The woman at the desk looked me up and down, and I give myself credit for being a very fluently talented liar before she went to glancing back down at her computer.
"Yea...I know Lisa. But I'm sorry, she left the school just a few days ago. Yesterday was her last day packing up."
"I--...what?"
"Bright, cheerful young woman. Left with a few good-byes--already accepted into a very renowned college. It's girls like her that make this job worth while. You said she was your tutor...?"
She left? She left. So yesterday--. I pause a second. Rubbing my head.
"Uh...yea. Yea..."
"You know I bet if you go to the LRC they can help you find a new one. It seems strange she wouldn't have told a student she was helping she was leaving, though..."
I stare at the desk for a few moments, slowly nodding my head. Unable to come to terms with the writhe of disappointment that fills me, leaving the front desk behind with a quick, stern thank you. Unable to really imagine that I'd spent all this time obsessing over this only to find out the girl wasn't even coming back. And then all that bullshit about advice and getting to the top from her. It was also pretty ridiculous I have to add--just how abandoned I'd felt in that moment. Like a kid who'd lost something before they'd really found it. Like maybe something worth something. She was probably just doing herself a last favor to a kid who needed help before going on her merry way. Leaving it all behind for a bright future. It made me mad. And it kept at me with a writhing disappointment. Her eyes still lingering in my head while slumping into a chair at lunch; promptly propping my feet against the table.
It's moments like this that really show how childish I am. Moments like this I realize I really need to let go of these things before they get to me.
I spent the rest of the day in a pretty fowl mood, and ended up ditching another class just to get my head in the clear. Maybe smoke a few of the cigarettes I'd gotten from those kids from earlier while I was at it if I got the time.
So there I am. Heading down the hall. Deep in thoughts of a kid who was, of all things, disapointed in a failed crush. Realizing a little too late this girl wasn't intelligent--just nice. And that's funny, I hate nice people. Nice people are generally nice for themselves. I figure to myself that it'd been pretty dense, the whole of it. And being not just a teenage kid, but one new to the school...
Maybe I'd just been played a little.
The guards didn't seem to notice even while I'd made my way into the parking lot alley behind the school. There was a dumpster back here and generally where the trucks filled with food and supplies would pull up in the mornings. The door that was chained locked leading straight into the cafeteria kitchen and beyond it was a metal gate fencing it off into a sort of alley to keep people from...I wasn't sure. Stealing the truck's items? I guess.
I lean against the wall; bitterly. Finding it the perfect place not to get caught. There really wasn't a lot of noise going on outside here and with most everyone in class I was left to myself. Cold creeping around me, mind drifting. Wishing somehow I had that ball to bounce off the wall for ideas or motivation; thinking back to the fence and that spot in the grass and my little home I slept, lived, and worked in.
Maybe I could grow up some day and just be a drifter. Cheat people from their money and make my way to success with drugs, drinks and the endless supply of women. Maybe I could just be a genius card player, figure out a way to get through the system and end up winning millions. Maybe I could join the military---hahaha yea, good one Greg. That made me give a little bit of a grin at least. Military. Wouldn't that be a hilarious sense of bitter irony. Really. If anything I'd be sticking that bullet in my brain faster than anyone could say "Sergent House" if it came between the two. No, I was at least prideful in the sense that I wasn't anything like my dad.
My dad who in part, I didn't even believe was my dad.
Along those thoughts and the ones of home and Lisa ended up with me taking a few more walks around the school. Cursing stuck up girls and their charming eyes, black hair and tight asses before finally just heading back through the same door I'd propped open before. Like I said, the guards weren't the brightest. Heading down the hall and feeling a little better. And a little more motivated on getting back to class and bearing through the next part of the day. The guards didn't catch me as I got through the doors; but heading back to class one did stop me. Demanding in an old, hag kind of voice the reasons to being outside in the hall ways "when you should be inside learning!"
It was almost laughable the idea these guys honestly thought they had any control. The only control they tried to relay was that in intimidation and the powers of being able to call your parents and send you to the front desk. So really I went ahead and shrugged my shoulders in a rather flippant way, offering my own humorous grin to the brilliant situation.
"Well, you know when nature calls there isn't much to be done, sir."
Sir was left with a mocking tone; but I guess the idiot didn't get even that much. How much I hate the world and the people in it; thinking I actually respected him enough to call him sir. Jesus.
Despite the fact he gave a narrowed look and nodded his head off towards the restroom in question--down the hall in the opposite direction. Giving my own little salute/wave (nothing like my dad had taught me at home, of course), I was heading off towards the locker rooms that also served as a restroom. I think it was a close call, but Guard McAssFace didn't seem to notice or process any of it.
I guess it's better to be ignorant and full of self worth than be knowledgeable and realize how not cut out for a job you really are.
The door to the men's room opened with a swift push, but heading in I heard the noise before I got to the other side. I don't think there was really anything particularly going on inside my head at the time but from the instant I heard the jeers and hollers it was pretty easy to connect the dots to just what was going on. There was first, the locker room upon stepping beyond the swinging, wooden door. Lockers against the wall and a long wall of metal at the end which led to the wonderfully graffitied bathrooms. To my side, another hall that led to the showers. All of it really just a big room that was sort of like a maze if you thought about it hard enough.
I'd always figured they'd made locker rooms like this sound proof by accident. Imagine how many poor little ass holes got their asses beaten in every day because of it. I knew this, you see; because I was actually one of those poor little ass holes before getting into and through most of the later grades of high school. Middle school and even a while after; the fact I was just a scrawny shit tended to keep me a good target for jocks who felt the need to compensate for their lack in performance of other areas, I was sure. All until becoming something more of a legend, admired along the halls. That was probably a little after I'd kicked these jocks ass Sophomore year.
A flush and a splash. More jeering while I stood against the lockers, waiting for the guys to get the hell out of here so I could take a piss and be on my way. Nothing I could do for the squirt whoever he was, so for the moment waiting seemed like a wonderful option. Not just for now, but any time this sort of thing was bound to happen. It did make me think though and wonder if maybe these jackasses were the ones dumb and dumbest from earlier were talking about. It was hard to say as most teenagers in this stage of existence tended to do this to anything smaller to them anyways.
It was like a big testosterone contest and for the girls--it was like a big beauty and nail scratching contest. Funny how these things always turned out.
I wonder what Lisa would do in a cat fight. She'd probably just talk them down. Or scratch their eyes out. Make out...?
Stuck thinking on that for a moment, I missed the ending of the beat down as the pack of ass holes sauntered around the corner of the stalls. And hey...! Would you look at that. They really are stereotypes...! So very impressive; the way they scowl at me. Looking me down like a piece of trash while here I am, grinning just fine and dandy. I think it was the rumor of me shanking some head teacher that kept them from making any giant cliche' beat your ass comments, I'm both grateful and maybe a tad disappointed. Watching while they leave the restroom; door shutting behind them. I'm guessing the group just came from lunch, but who knew.
Guess I'd have to watch out for any more little spats the bullies got themselves into in the future.
After the door swings shit, I push myself up from off the lockers and start towards the actual urinal area of the restroom. Across me is the metal wall sprayed over with blue paint and some more colorful words that a teacher probably tried to scrub off, but never quite got out. There's a puddle of water across the pale yellow tile, but I don't pay any attention. Probably leading to the stall in which whoever the victim was remained at and pretty easily a sign towards some kind of master swirly.
Yea, these guys were top notch High School students. And not to mention cliche'.
I noticed the small shifting of what sounded like papers while I unzipped, whistling under my breath, maneuvering with ease and letting it rip. Guess I'll make it back in time for the rest of class.
"Um.... ......."
It's probably the voice. That voice. Of course. Of course. That just makes me shut my eyes with regret and a wince; a natural head palm feeling of "you have to be kidding me".
Zipping up and bearing a smile before turning to the stall in question just behind me.
Sure enough. There he was. The little twerp himself in all his wet and brown-haired glory. Dripping wet with something of a red mark across his face. Shifting while picking up a few papers spread off across the tile ground beneath us. And you know the first thing I notice...? How I said earlier that I figured if I pushed the runt in the mud he'd still be as happy as ever...?
He wasn't crying. I think that really struck me, for the moment at least. He looked if anything, shaken up and maybe a little disappointed. Pushing his binder into that over sized, now wet, backpack and peering up towards me with brown chestnut eyes.
".....Great. It's you."
I speak in a growl, but end up, for whatever damn reason kneeling down and helping him gather his little things. Cursing both myself and this kid for getting me into such a position, but figuring too he could use the help. God knows this was going to happen---how many times had I told him it would happen. Twice. And I should've only said it once, for that matter. It was amazing how dense a kid like this could be.
Or--better yet a parent. He just keeps looking up towards me while I shift the papers into his bag. Looking away and biting his lip; forcing in the last bit of his stuff.
"....Thanks."
I get to my feet and help him up to his own. Grimacing a little in what I'm sure is an oncoming head ache. I wasn't ever good with kids. And I mean, I was even worse with little nine year old perfect boy ones. Yet he just tried to give a smile and a grateful nod...shifting his bag onto his back.
"I'll just tell my mom I fell off my bike. Thanks, Greg..."
"You know there's a much simpler way to go about solving this."
"Yea...."
"It involves maybe two words. To one person. "Home schooling". "Again"."
"That was three words..."
Rolling my eyes, I gesture for the little punk to follow along. Might as well get this over with. He does, trailing behind me like a lost duck. I don't bother to look back, even if it does kind of get at me. All the while him trailing bits of water behind me as the two of us head to the door.
"Well, three words or not there isn't a whole lot else to do. You might think they'll leave you alone, but squirt the way you look you're bound to have trouble."
Out of the mens' room and straight towards the ladies'. Jimmy pauses for a second as I open the door, looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes. I think he's more uncertain and timid now than when I found him soaked in sewage water just minutes ago. It was actually kind of funny in a weird, dumb way.
"Come on, squirt."
He really doesn't seem too keen or sure, but despite this I guess I just have this unbelievable amount of persuasion. That or he's just way too trusting and naive to even really be considered a real nine year old boy.
Could be the second. Probably.
We head inside and I'm going straight towards the stalls. And viola--there they were! In all their shining, pale white glory. Just as I predicted there's a row of small hairdryers; all of which are connected with curly wires leading into the walls beside all the mirrors. The boy's room may have urinals, but typically the girl's would come with a handful of things that first area wouldn't. That lingering smack you in the stench of about a thousand different perfumes meshed into one hitting you like a brick, the more colorful assortments of wallpapers, hair dryers, thicker curtains at the showers and of course, the very clear lack of any graffiti that isn't behind the bathroom stalls themselves. Girls tend to scribble whatever rumors they want behind those things--a rich source of gossip.
Something else I had learned in my whole seventeen years of living, you see.
Jimmy looks around like the place might collapse and stands up near the sinks; me guiding him over while taking off one of the connected dryers. Turning it on while blowing it in the general direction of his hair. The very least the kid could go back to class not soaking wet with the thrills of other class mates reactions and laughter. If he was picked on by one group and another found out, chances are he'd be caught on by them too.
Not that his little sports cap, big shoes and backpack didn't already accomplish that quite nicely anyways.
The kid scrunched up his face a little, tensing while I worked through his wavy mop of hair. I laugh slightly, seeing his expression at the corner of my eye.
"Hey. Don't worry, it's only going to be a few more minutes. Trust me, girls use this all the time so I don't think it's going to explode on us."
"I--guess I'm just not...used to using them is all." He still keeps his eyes squinted, and I can smell him dear god. Still reeking of bathroom and shifting a little while I work to dig out his papers and binder and dry them too. We spend most of the class period in there, airing all of these things out. And to our luck not one girl came in the whole time; though another thing learned from experience typically if there was one; more were bound to be in the same vicinity. Again, grateful we weren't ambushed.
Well. Mostly grateful.
Jimmy shakes his head like a dog. Running his hand against it and thanking me again, looking a lot more at ease by the time we exited. Going down the hallway so small in comparison to me I might be able to mistake him for a cockerspaniel. He seemed like the type.
The bell rang just in time, echoing against the halls and Jimmy looks up at me again. Still seemingly a little more relaxed in my presence. Less jittery and less of a spit-fuck-peppy attitude.
"You know. I have this rock climbing thing...after school. I just go for the nights, my dad is friends with someone there so--you. Want to come with?"
A rock climbing place. Of course.
"Let me guess. Car pool."
"Well, yea...unless you can drive...?"
"Nope. Not yet. But when I do you can be sure I'll get a motorcycle."
So there we go off down the hall, talking a bit like this a bit more until Jimmy reaches his respective class. Evidently he's not brave enough to tackle on a motorcycle now or in the future, but I assure him it's about as freeing as anything in the world. Even to think about, though I am carefully sure not to give the little squirt an answer on the whole rock climbing thing. That in itself sounds complicated, unneeded and more over unwanted.
Instead going to my last class for the day; dreaming of the guitar I'd be saving up for some day and seeing the professor as she stands at the front of the class and begins her speech with, "So today class we're going to talk about something God calls us too, no matter our position or age. Abstinence."
....Yea. It was really then I realized that I should've ditched this last period too.
Back at home. And I'm back here. At my place. With my dad. And my mom. And this house. And the smell of mothballs. On this bed that feels more and more lumpy by every day. Sitting and thinking to myself of the recent events and everything else going on in my life and maybe in other people's lives too. I think of Lisa and realize finally how fleeting the meeting was. Jimmy with his hyper spit fuck attitude and the hopes that I won't see him much from now on. Odds are with that many kids in one high school we'll just glance off in passing. Odds are also that I won't get too far...
But then I do remember the words of that girl, in that lunch room; with that advice. Thinking while tossing my beloved baseball up and down in thought. Catching and tossing and catching it with a rhythm that keeps my mind working. I figure that there's a test and a quick summary due tomorrow. All in all it'd take me a whole of ten minutes to type up and get ready. Less even if I just managed to wing it and make up some well timed book titles that coincide with my "research".
After tossing the ball a few more times, weighing my options--I decide to just go ahead and go for it. Sitting down against the chair and scrawling out the summary for a paper on biology and the conditions of heart in extreme panic. Working what was a one page summary into just that. I had no interest in being an over achiever or even looked at with any notice or reverence from my teachers or class mates. So I guessed if Lisa was right, I'd be able to make it good enough to qualify for those easier classes and maybe get my parents--more accurately my dad from going off on me.
That and...maybe I was genuinely, a tad slightly...little afraid of what would happen after high school was over and done with. And just which colleges would accept a guy like me. And if maybe I'd be stuck here until being forced to head off into the military...
Biting down against my pencil for a moment, I push off the desk. Shoving the paper into my backpack. Just about by the time dad storms up to my room, busts open the door and shoves me onto the bed.
My mom's pleading but I don't know what it is I'm hearing. I get flashes of cold burning ice and my lungs suddenly quit working; my body going off on instinctual struggle. I flail and push but in reality it's all coming slowly to my mind that maybe it is better to just go limp--that maybe it is better to just take it and get it over with if just for another week of clean, concise "normal" family experiences. And just for the sake of my mom to stop with her pleading tone off wherever my dad's stern, barking one breaks through.
I catch him in little tid bits, but his voice seems a lot clearer than hers. "The boy needs to be taught a lesson--you know what it is these other kids out there do--! Dealers and murders and thieves. Our boy is better than this, he's better than--"
Against the current of freezing water. My head plunging back into the bath tub filled with ice and a shock coming into my system. For some reason I'm thinking of Jimmy and his forced swirlies in school, how I'd been through something similar as a kid and how different and the same I'd found myself right now despite all that.
It was a few seconds at best, but it felt like it was a whole lot more. Choking and gasping while the man rips my head from where it had been dunked; still barking in my ear.
"You want to tell me what it is you did--!?"
I didn't know. Honest to god I didn't know. I tried to stutter out as much but somewhere in my deafeningly still mind I knew that too was a ridiculously bad move. Times like this were the ones I knew not to mess with, but also the times that slid passed me and hid inside my own memories. Vanishing from the slots of my brain.
"You don't know!? Don't give me that, Greg--come on--"
I stutter, trying to beg to him--I had no idea what he was talking about, really. I hadn't done anything, suddenly I was angry and yelling--"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING YOU SON OF A BIT--"
And suddenly my whole body was thrust all at once against the water. Ice all around me; shocking my system within seconds. I felt cold and a startled gasp filled and choked my lungs with air. Blinking in a daze of shock; my dad towering over me. My mom crying into her handkerchief behind him; dressed still in her finest.
"You want to say that to me again. Greg."
The ice was numbing my entire body; everything from head to toe burning as if I was actually touching an oven instead of a tub of ice. Shivering with clothes heavy and wet; my gaze a disoriented mess of panic. There was something wrong here and the worst of it is I didn't know how to deal with it. I was always so good at figuring out these simple things and all the things that could lead up to it. And all I could figure was that dad had somehow managed to find out about that crush I had on Lisa and how I'd crushed on that boy from seventh grade too--or maybe the dumb and dumbest who were outside and while I'd been ditching classes a bunch of kids had beat up little Jimmy who reminded me for some reason of that crippled kid from a Christmas Carol.
My mind raced through all of these before my father brandished my jacket that I'd left on the coat rack when I'd gotten home. Fishing from it the last two cigarettes I'd neglected to smoke during my long walk around the school yard and a lighter alongside it.
I guess you could say my first reaction was blindsided confusion. You have to understand my dad smoked too, even drank. He wasn't a violent drinker or a...violent smoker if there was those. In fact he always seemed to me as a much more violent, terrible and downright disciplined man when he was sober as opposed to drunk---but all the same it led back to my whole being confused aspect of this moment. As he's punishing me for having cigarettes, but as a smoker himself he can't possibly think what the general population does---
"You know what this leads to, son." He brandishes them; eyes focused on mine in a look I know he considers one of concern and love and stern, stern ferocity. I'm shivering so bad that I doubt he can even tell I'm wincing at the proximity of the little sticks. Not answering even while he waits. "I said do you know what this leads to."
I shake my head furiously, teeth chattering against any real willpower of my own.
"What was that?"
"N--n-no sir-I. Don't." I'm able to at least spit the words with a great amount of both dislike and disrespect and the man for a moment has that hard, steel like look against his gaze. Lowering his hand while examining me closely.
"You have to work. In order to deserve something like this, Greg. You fail all your classes. You get kicked out of school. You dress like that and talk back to me and disrespect the uniform I wear every single day to protect you. Protect your ma--you know what that says? This says slacker. Until you get your grades up I don't want to see you with another one of these for as long as you live under this roof. Until you can pull your weight and take on some responsibility, you are forbidden to go anywhere until those grades improve. Come here."
I wince while the man grabs my arm and wrenches me from the bath; still fully clothed. The water clings to my skin; burning every part of me while my father brutishly drags me behind him. His grip tight enough so even through the numb feeling of my body and the burning in my mind I still feel the intense pressure. My mother stepping out of the way; whispering as always, "It's for the best..." as if more to convince herself than ever to convince me or dad. ...That's how it always was.
The back door was open; the huge white fence spreading all the way around like three faded looking walls. He drags me outside like a dog on the shortest of leashes, tossing me onto the dirt ground and grabbing a fist full of the ropes left out from the day before. Making sure to tie it tighter but loose enough; barking something about responsibility. And school. And taking on what he had to before he was even fourteen let alone seventeen.
I don't think I really caught most of the last part while my dad stomped off back inside the house. Leaving me wincing in the cold and glaring off into the darkness all around. The cold pressing in with a vengeance; shivering uncontrollably and letting my head fall against the large oak tree that was and probably always would be to some extant; a constant, continuing companion. Like a steel cage, a looming shadow of what I was living in.
I wondered aloud with a slight desperation and far too much anger just what kind of idiot would tie their kid to a tree when they wanted them to go to school the next morning and expected them to actually work through out all of it.
I guessed the men in the wars that my dad had fought had been a lot worse off; and like he constantly liked to point out their commanding officers had taught lessons in much harsher, sterner ways than anything that I had to be taught through. Something which I guessed was supposed to make me feel like one of the lucky ones. One of the ones who was to be taught what no other little kids had the honor to learn.
Inside. Deep inside. Somewhere dark and dank and away from all of this, the night, the burn and ice on my skin. I kind of imagined if I did keep heading in this same direction I might end up at a point where I wasn't hirable, where I really did have no choice but to join the military. And thoughts like this, living like I was and giving up, so much of it looming ahead kept me silent with fear. I never wanted to turn like him. Never wanted this to be who I was. I wanted to get out of this hole, but where would I even start. Being like I am, how I am; with the intelligence and endurance and the deliberate back talk was such a comfort that I wouldn't end up how he did or how he was.
Yet still. Sometimes. And only, only sometimes. That caught me in a slow, dark realization that someday...I'd end up just as he is. That whatever I'd do. I'd be him. And just as he always was.
It's really those times. That I really fear. In the dead of night, awake and alone. Thinking of the thoughts of a boy caught rebelling and hating and fearing the best and worst things that lay in the darkness far above me.