Chapter Five: Nowhere Man
Disclaimer: I do not own FOP. Thank you.
Crocker wanders aimlessly, no longer in the park but a densely populated main avenue. The stores, all advertising various venues of clothing, out of which burst fashionable, scantily clad women and their male counterparts, the khaki bearing dubs, don't interest him. They meander about, careful not to come too close in case such atrocities as a "fashion don't" should rub off on them. Curiously, the only thing of note is their conformity; all don red pleather mini-skirts coming up to mid thigh and black tank tops which are more like sports bras than shirts.
The air is slightly nippy; the result of early April unhappily delegating its warmth to a cold front, but Crocker is comfortable. After enduring countless cold showers (a result of fairy hunting in the boys' locker room after the freshmen homecoming game), the cold no longer bothers him outwardly. He's still capable of frost bite, however, but at least this isn't the season for it.
A cozy little Italian place by the name of Il Maestro is around the corner and its vine covered walls beckon. Said restaurant enjoys a reputation as a quiet, dimly lit eatery with violinists softly serenading its guests with ballads and even has reasonable prices for the budge minded consumer, or, in this case, for the consumer on twenty dollars of borrowed money. It's the perfect place for dates or solitude, since speech dies within a few centimeters of its utterance. There is valet parking, too, for a fraction of the price of an entrèe, but Crocker speedily bypasses the parking lot to the entrance.
Upon entrance, a well dressed maitre'd in a black tuxedo and a red tie greets him and shows him to his table, a small red booth in the far right corner with a red checkered tablecloth and a single, stubby, lit candle. He hands him a plain yellow menu engraved in elegant gold lettering and bids him to take his seat.
Crocker does and orders a platter of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of water. The service is quick and his meal arrives within fifteen minutes. He begins to eat but soon ceases, lost in the days of yore.
It is his junior dinner and he's dateless. All the other guys managed this feat and Crocker couldn't swing it. What's worse is that attendance is mandatory: his mother delivered an ultimatum wherein he can't safely leave his room without an electrocution. So, there he is, standing alone in a white tuxedo with a pink corsage in the pathetic hopes that someone will become fed up with her date and commiserate with him. For all its worth, Crocker wants to be happy and normal, if just for tonight.
Clad in a blue buttoned dress reaching her knees, Geraldine Waxelplax and her date, a boy whose name he doesn't know but has a gigantic boil on his face, walk inside. She gives him a pitying look and offers a small smile but glides past him, toward the music in the gym, all decked out for the occasion. Of course she wants to comfort him, she knows this as she walks to her seat, but, right now, she has plans to dance the night away, after dinner, naturally. Despite any love she harbors, her date did ask her first, and timing was crucial, especially since it seemed he asked every girl in school before her.
Rainbow streamers dangle from the ceiling and, glancing at the little pink and white paper cutout hearts complimenting them, he recalls with a pang that today is Valentine's Day. How horrible it is, to be dateless today of all days, alone on tonight of all nights, with none to clutch his arm and simper like the other girls do. There is none to give his heart to and none to receive it. Oh, how he loathes solitude.
He takes his seat at a small, circular table covered with a white tablecloth and the couple sitting there vacates. The students give him a wide berth, all of relocating to seats across the room. A few remain since there are only so many tables and they have to sit somewhere but they are deeply displeased with this arrangement, their discomfort written on their faces in the form of a grimace. What's sad is that these are the people who like him (not friends, though, no one wants to be Crocker's friend, like no one wants to give him her heart).
Geraldine and her date are in the metal fold up chairs behind him, waiting for the waiter to take their order. She says nothing to Crocker but as her date tries to strike up a conversation, her answers are somewhat stunted, since her eyes are on Crocker. No matter how bad his timing, she feels guilty that he's alone and worse still that everyone avoids him. If only her date didn't grab her arm to emphasize a point.
Some couples dance slowly, eyes only for their loves (for the moment, at least) and others neck in the shadows. Wherever the chaperones are, they don't care, since they vanished somewhere between their arrival and the ticket check. Presumably, there are better things to do and they aren't paid to make sure nothing unusual happens, like a fight. This could spell mass chaos, though, since the D.J. and the help are the only adults present and they aren't up for stopping anything short of a record or a stove fire.
The male bully of the junior class (the class of 1980 has two, what lucky people), Fernando, a hulk of a child at six feet nine inches with a build like a concrete wall and punches to match, strolls in, unfashionably late with his date, his female counterpart. He bears a grudge against Crocker because all bullies dislike scrawny, odd kids and enjoys the thought of beating him into the ground, especially considering he's dateless. If his girlfriend wants, she can join in on the fun. It's not like anyone'll stop him, like anyone likes that skinny little freak. There's no way he'll get in trouble.
Crocker looks up into Fernando's face, his tan features in a cruel grin. Fernando pounds his fists together and winces at the sound of flesh hitting flesh. That's going to be him in a few seconds…
Geraldine's head jerks back up from her study of the menu (she's trying to decide if she can order every entrèe, but she's not sure what some of them are, since the menu and the theme is French) and takes in the scene before her. Poor Crocker's going to be murdered. Fernando never shows any mercy. Maybe she can stop it; maybe he won't do it if someone objects. She prays frantically.
"You know," Fernando throws his hand down on the table, "we still haven't settled our differences."
His girlfriend, a tall girl with shoulder length mousy brown hair, a strapless pink dress, and stiletto black heels, leers at Crocker and stands at Fernando's side. Aside from her height and temper (she misconstrues everything), she looks deceptively docile. This is what makes her such a formidable opponent, since others underestimate her and she wipes the floor with them. In fact, the duo's notoriety was what attracted them to each other in the first place. When he saw her throwing that kid in a trash can and then dumping rancid cole slaw on their head, it was love at first sight. Ah, what terrible things they could do together
He picks up Crocker by his tie and dangles him precariously close to the slender, tall, white, and brightly burning candle held in a gold candle holder. Crocker can feel the heat on the soles of his feet. What a way to go, burning to death in front of his entire class.
Or perhaps not. Fernando slams him against the white brick wall and pummels him hard in the stomach. At his point, he's uncertain, but he may be bleeding internally. His meals gurgle unpleasantly and he's terrified of throwing up on this guy. If Fernando wasn't going to kill him before, regurgitating might change his mind.
Every eye in the room is on them. The couples have stopped dancing on the hard wood floor, the waiter no longer writes the orders, people cease in mid-sentence, mouths agape. At the turntables, the D.J., a pale, spindly man with black hair and a black vest, drops his head on the record currently playing and stares, apparently deaf to the scratches of the needle destroying the grooves. A crash is heard in the kitchen and all the chefs turn from their business to peer out the small window and watch the fight.
That's just what I want, Crocker thinks, murdered with so many witnesses. What don't any of them help me?
Geraldine and her date also turn to gaze at them. Unlike the others, who clamor for Crocker's beating, she's concerned. The last person of this stature to suffer this rage died or so it was rumored. What she's heard may be a truth or a lie, the whole situation was hush-hush. Why doesn't she rush out there and stop it? Paralyzed with indecision, she watches helplessly as her date cheers Fernando on.
Over and over, until Crocker's vision is blurry and he sees double, Fernando punches him everywhere within reach. Bones break but Crocker is oblivious since it's all he can do is remain conscious throughout this torment.
Spell-bound, they watch until the gym door is shoved open and the principal, who had been watching the hockey game on TV, burst inside to scold the students (their cheers were so loud he couldn't hear his game all the way on the other end of the school, imagine that). His mouth falls open at the scene before him and Crocker, the bully's grip loosened, falls to the floor with a barely audible "plop". Minutes tick away and all wait for the second shoe to fall. This takes only a few seconds.
"What have you done?" Geraldine cries and rushes to Crocker's side, feeling for a pulse. Luckily, there is one, faint but steady. A drop of blood slides down his temple onto his jacket, splattering the perfect white into a bloody nightmare. Oh, Lord, what a nightmare…
The rest is a blur. Every once in a while, he would regain consciousness (the ambulance, the doctor, the hospital), but she's there throughout. All he remembers is her whispers in his ear, "I love you. Everything will be all right…"
Crocker sits up with a start. Around him, the janitorial staff sweeps the floor while the busboys clear the tables and wipe them down. A very angry manager walks toward him, holding up a bill and shaking his fists at him. Alongside the manager are waiters and the valet who wear identical grimaces.
He spent too long pondering the past and forgot about the present. As in, it's ten o'clock and the nice people would like to go home, but they can't since he's still here. You can't slip into memories anymore, apparently.
"Pay more," the manager snaps, completely fed up, 'and get out!" He brandishes a broom and Crocker winces; it reminds him of what used to be one of Fernando's favorite things to do, slam brooms in people's faces.
Crocker does so and the bill, he notes with a little shudder, has gone up considerably. Normally, it's $4.95 for spaghetti and water is free, but they charged him an extra fifteen for room and board. Broke, he steps out into the brisk night air with the staff screaming curses at his back.
Gone from the angry mob, he once more lapses into thought.
Fernando was sentenced to a half a month in juvy, a light sentence since no one would believe me. He came out a changed man- he hated juvy. Upon his release, the family moved to New Jersey and he had a child with the same name, Crocker thinks.
A soft smile on his lips, Crocker goes home.