"The Artifact, Chapters One and Two" by William Matheson
My whole "high school saga" has been done to death (not to mention that I'm in my third year of university now), and I've now decided that I should just give the whole thing up as a misplaced effort and put my energies elsewhere.
I don't think the "high school saga" has any more appeal to it, anyway. Yet, I will still post this because 1) I think it's a good piece of writing that reflects the skill I've picked up since leaving high school and 2) It's special since it is almost certainly the last bit of the "high school saga" that I will post here. I mean, I did have a lot of ideas in my head that never made it into type. I could still make the effort of expressing them, but now I have better ideas to express.
Oh, and I almost forgot the last reason I am posting this, 3) It's set in one of my imaginary towns, so there is no mention of CPA or any specific people here, which also makes this special. I really could have taken this further and done something great. However, I'm just tired of thinking about high school for now. Perhaps in thirty years I will come back and add to this story. But not now. Anyway, enjoy what's here.
( * * * - scene (or major) change; - - - - time / character (or minor) change)
I - Thursday, Week One, Type One
It
was the end of school on a thursday in March, and all Janet could think
about was how much she hated this time of day. Everyone else in the computer
lab she was in began to stir, the better students packing up their diskettes
and programming textbooks, the slacker ones returning their stereo headsets
to their backpacks.
Janet stayed where she was, staring at her workstation's monitor. It displayed
the source of a subroutine behind her new project. She had started many
such projects before, but she had a special feeling about this one. This
time, she had something definite to express, and she had to finish it before
school let out for the summer, or no one in the school would remember her
at all. Of course, the school, as if to conspire against her, was letting
out for the day, and all the other students were about to get on with their
lives in spite of the constraints placed upon them by the educational system.
Bastards.
Janet spun around in her swivel chair (she loved it, first because it was
cool and second because she could wheel herself all over the place like
a superheroine come to save the day by helping people with their assignments)
to face Christian, a guy she had been helping out earlier who was now carefully
placing his Maxim magazines back inside his zipper binder. "Why are you
guys all so anxious to get home?" she asked him with indignace. It was
kind of a rhetorical question, one designed to get the conversation and
attention drawn back upon Janet.
"Well, because. We can hang out, party, talk on the phone, talk
on ICQ, do stuff..."
"And what do you do after that? Anything productive?"
"Well, no. That's kind of the point."
"I see. Well, what about-" Janet was interrupted in mid-sentence by the
ringing of the dismissal bell. Christian mouthed a "bye," then took off
like a shot. Bastard.
After about two and a half seconds, the only people left in the lab were
Janet and Mr. Duffy, the computer teacher. Even he was packing up his things
with some haste. "Where are you going?" Janet asked him.
"Well, I have a course down at Procyon University at four o'clock."
That's right, Mr. Duffy was working on his Master's degree. What an insult
to add to someone who was unlucky enough in life to have to be a teacher,
that you're not even educated enough for this demeaning line of work. She
was sure that most ditch-diggers weren't told to go back for their Master's
degree after finding employment with their Bachelor of Labour in Roadway
Excavation.
"Anyway, I have to close this place down in a few minutes. Are you ready
to go?"
"Uh, yeah. I wish school wasn't over, though."
Janet got her things, left the room, and started down the corridor. It
was surprisingly easy to make one's way through the halls if one waited
a few seconds instead of stepping out earlier to be crushed in the pressing,
teeming crowds. She wondered why more people didn't do that, because they
had ten whole minutes before the busses came. Actually, she already knew
the answer ("because they're idiots"), but posing questions to herself
this way helped her maintain her insular and isolated status she kept her
mind in.
Standing outside waiting for the bus, she found her friend Edgar. He lived
in a neighborhood up in Queenswood, beyond the Clay Lake region. She liked
hanging around with him because he liked some of the things that she liked,
but they never got together outside of school.
"Man, I can't wait for that new U-next adapter to come out for OmegaStationX,"
he said to her.
See? Here is someone who can talk about things that matter, not
just junk about friends and partying and drinking! Drinking, how preposterous!
None of us are legal age! "Yeah, me neither. I've been looking for
a way to add CronaMax capabilities to CRTE, and now one has finally come
along! Of course, it's after I finish writing up my-"
"Hey, Ed! Are you going to the party tonight?" someone shouted.
"Oh, yeah! You bet!"
Janet's heart sunk. Even Edgar was sinking to their level. Couldn't she
trust anyone? "What party? And why tonight?!"
"You haven't heard about the party? It's the party! And it's tonight
because this is a long weekend!"
Oh, no! Janet's thursday was ending badly enough, but to hear this!
Yes, tomorrow was an in-service day, and tonight there were Parent-Teacher
Interviews. She would have to endure three whole days of being alone before
school resumed again.
"Oh, right. Well, how come you were invited and I wasn't?"
"Janet, this is a party. People do not get 'invited' as if it was
somebody's birthday party."
Janet kind of missed birthday parties, really. She hadn't been invited
to one since moving to Lower Clay Lake, and it was getting to the point
where she was starting to wonder if people even bothered to get older anymore.
"Okay, so who's having the party?"
"I don't know, it's just up in- oh, here comes the bus!"
Janet thought right then that she might as well give up on everyone around
her, because there was obviously no getting to them.
* * *
"Is
this thing on?" boomed the fat man's voice over the gymnasium speakers.
It was Parent-Teacher Night at Newlinder / Clay Lake High School, and the
fat man saw everything as being in order. The teachers were arranged alphabetically,
the parents could sit in small groups waiting in front of each teacher,
and there were plenty of chairs.
It suddenly dawned on the fat man that he could have set up an appointment
system. Or that he could have arranged the teachers by the subjects that
they taught. Next year, he decided.
"I would like to use this time to announce some policy changes. Firstly,
we are now implementing a new absence policy, which I'm sure you've read
about in the newsletter if you didn't make the staff meeting last night.
For those of you who haven't..." he looked at a few of the more unambitious
teachers with a suspicious glare, "if a student cannot produce an excuse
note from a parent or guardian or other authority, he or she will have
two points deducted from his or her final grade for the course in which
the class was missed. There are now no more 'free skips.' I expect all
of you to-"
"Won't that penalize the good students though as well as the bad?" a voice
asked.
"I beg your... pardon? Did someone say something?"
"I said, 'wouldn't that hurt the good students too?' Why should we subject
everyone to the torture racks every time they have a medical appointment
or a hair crisis? Don't we teachers have a pretty good idea already about
who attends classes on a regular basis? I mean, we already have a rule
that states that if twenty or more unexcused absences are generated in
a particular course, that credit will not be given for said course. Isn't
that enough?"
"Well in the case of a medical appointment, they can get a note from their
doctor..."
"I hardly think those people went to graduate school so they could sign
excuse notes for the babies at this glorified day-care center. And you
know what else-"
"Mr. Curfie, are you going to go on one of your little 'tangents' again?
I really don't have time for this, and if you wish to question my policy
decisions, you may do so in private. As I was saying, I expect all of you
to implement this policy..."
- - -
At
that point, young dissident Jonas Curfie stopped listening. If he heard
more, he might be tempted to make some more comments out loud again - what's
the point in having an opinion if no one will hear it? he thought.
Then he rebuked himself, thinking what a silly thought that was to have
- much more arrogant and presumptuous than what he hoped was normal. What
a burden it is to let my thoughts flow so freely... Anyway, he had
said his piece and that was what was important. No one would be able to
label 'Mr. Curfie' as one to just sit back and absorb stupidity. He couldn't
push the issue even if he had wanted to, because he had been chewed out
earlier in the day for being caught twice for illegal TV / VCR usage.
Jonas tried to calm himself down and began to think about what he was going
to say to all the different parents. He didn't put a lot of effort into
preparing for this night, since he felt Parent-Teacher Interviews were
largely unnecessary. Most of Jonas' childhood memories of them (well, the
aftereffects, rather) were unpleasant anyway, and why should he subject
other children to the same misery? It only hurt the good kids. The bad
kids' parents didn't usually care enough to pass on anything teachers had
to say about their children's behaviour from their ears to their brains.
"My Johnny would never behave like that!" they'd always say when he told
the story of how their son spent his time in class making lewd comments
about his female counterparts (emphasis on the 'parts') and exploding carefully
prepared blue ink balls on the classroom ceiling. So in essence he felt
like the whole thing was pointless, but he had to do it or else get fired.
Now the sessions were getting underway. Why'd he get a B.A. and a B.Ed.
again?
- - -
Jonas
put on his best fake smile and extended a hand to greet the first set of
parents to visit his small area, labeled "McCormack - English 12 sections
E, L; Canadian Geography 11 section A," after the teacher he had been filling
in for since the second week of September. The fellow took a stroke while
teaching a class - at age 38! Jonas didn't wish this stranger any harm,
but he hoped that he wouldn't come back for a while, or else he'd be out
of job, and there was hardly a teacher shortage in the county.
The parents shuddered and convulsed, and then Jonas remembered that he
was incapable of smiling. "Sorry. My name is Mr. Curfie. You must be the
parents of..."
"Michael Jenowski," volunteered the mother.
"Ah, yes... Mike, eh? Frankly, I'm surprised you even bothered to come
down here, but it's heartening to see that some parents don't give up on
their children no matter what."
The parents stared at Jonas, at once stunned, wide-eyed, and shocked.
"Why... what's wrong with Mike?" asked the father.
"Well it's just that he's a bit of a jerk. All he does in my class is sleep
or listen to his Walkman. He seems to like something called 'Limp Biscuit'
more than my lectures, which I guess is understandable," Jonas added with
a small laugh.
"Sleeping?!"
"Listening to his Walkman?! George, why??"
"But - but that's a good thing, you see!" Jonas explained in a bright,
encouraging voice. "I don't wake him up or make him remove his headphones
because he gets quite surly. In fact, I suggest you allow him to stay up
all night so that he will sleep peacefully through my class and not disturb
others. Especially this Craig fellow I've become acquainted with. Those
jerks really-"
"He does no such thing! He puts himself to bed at eleven every night, right
after the Frasier re-runs!"
"What did he get on the midterm?" the father asked.
"Um..." Jonas looked across Mike's row on the grades sheet until he came
to the column marked 'Major Test.' "A 13."
"13?!?!" both cried in disbelief.
"What has he been telling us?!" panicked the mother.
The interview continued on in like fashion, with one startling revelation
after the other. Jonas was prepared to tell them tales until they were
too tired to hear anymore, but the parents became aware that there was
a line-up of other parents forming on the chairs behind them, and so they
collected their wits and moved on to the next kiosk on their list.
- - -
The
fat man eventually came by to speak to Jonas, whom he pulled away from
his kiosk for a moment.
"Hey, I was wondering when we could get a break for a minute or two and-"
"Mr. Curfie, if you dare to defy me one more time in front of all the other
teachers-"
Jonas regretted not noticing the ferocity in the fat man's eyes. "Sorry,
but I still think that new attendance policy is... well, shit."
"I don't care if you think it's chemically enhanced elk manure that's been
manufactured into paper! I am the Principal of this school, and you are
one of my teachers! Never forget that!"
"O-Okay." Jonas paused for a second. "I don't mean to seem like I'm trying
to question your authority-"
"Then don't!"
"- but I was wondering if you'd give us a break soon. I'm getting a little
sleepy, and I want some of the donuts and coffee at the other end of the
gym."
The fat man was still fairly livid. "You can go when you have no parents
waiting to talk to you and not a second before!" At that moment Jonas decided
that he would wait twenty minutes, then ask a parent to wait for him for
a second while he made a dash for the last of the coffee and donuts. You
had to stick to your principles.
"Am I understood?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Jonas smiled to himself. "I'll make sure not to pick a fight with you in
front of the other teachers."
"Good. Goodbye."
"Later."
"Goodbye, Mr. Curfie."
"Yep."
"WILL YOU BE QUIET ALREADY?!?!" the fat man exploded. "I AM THE PRINCIPAL!
THE LAST WORD WILL BE MINE!!!"
"Of cou-"
"One more word, Mr. Curfie, and you're finished."
Jonas finally let the fat man be. When he turned his back, Jonas silently
mouthed, "Fuck you."
- - -
It
had been a long evening. Hours had passed, and there were only about a
dozen parents left in the entire gymnasium.
"Hello, Mr. McCormack," a male voice greeted him.
Jonas lifted his head up from the top of his desk and weakly returned the
greeting. He didn't really care enough about the name being wrong to correct
the man; 'McCormack' would end up being the name on the report card, so
why confuse people needlessly?
"I'm Mike Tracey's dad."
"Oh, Michael's father!?" Jonas quickly sat up and shook Mr. Tracey's hand
vigorously. "I've been looking forward to meeting you!"
"Heh, they all say that."
After the usual small talk, Jonas began to reach to the issue at hand.
"Now, I have some concerns about Michael's behavior."
"Yeah?" Mr. Tracey was unfazed.
"He just sits in my class, taking notes all period long."
Mr. Tracey raised his eyebrows in intrigue.
"See, he's really smart, and very much at peace outwardly with everyone
around him. That's not the issue, though. I'm concerned about how he...
well, he's this typical smart, bright student who studies hard, but there's
no real gut motivation in it. It's like he has no personality, nothing
unique to set him apart from the tens of thousands of other high school
students in this country that are doing exactly the same thing he is. How
is he going to be successful if he isn't unique?" Jonas reflected for a
moment on his own uniqueness and how it didn't get him anywhere in the
end, but he decided not to mention that part.
"Well, I don't know, Mr. McCormack. I always kind of thought my son was
a rotten little bastard."
"What? No, no! Your son is perfectly 'nice,' but I mean, that won't get
him a fuc- that won't even get him a cup of coffee when he gets out of
here. I'm just saying I can't see him getting anywhere. If he was a woman,
I'd predict that he'd be barefoot and pregnant by the end of the year,
know what I mean?"
"Well, he certainly knows how to get a chick knocked up, but we don't talk
about that much. I'm surprised you knew."
"Wow! Fu- Wow, sir, then I take it all back! I never knew he had such a
life outside of class! I thought he'd end up a nearly-thirty virgin like
me, but-"
"Sir, I didn't really need to know that-"
"- but I see now that I was totally wrong about him. Oh, sir, if your son
has a social life at all, then I assure you that you have nothing to worry
about! Take it from me, your son will do just fine!"
"You think so?"
"I know so! Go home! Relax!"
The interviews continued without further incident, but Jonas couldn't help
but think that he had forgotten something important.
* * *
What
are you doing?
Can't you see I'm waiting for a bus?
Theo was indeed waiting for a bus. He was standing underneath the awning
of a hotel in downtown Callista, the hub city of the region, and about
fifteen miles south of Lower Clay Lake. The sun had set and a cloud dumping
off lots of rain was passing over the urban core.
No, I mean, what are you going to do with your life?
Theo had no answer for that. The only times he felt at peace were the times
that he was distracted from the ambiguity of his existence or the necessity
of having to accomplish something without having his hand held through
it. Here, waiting for a bus to take him home from his piano lesson, he
would be happy. Going back to school on monday, he would be happy. Staring
at a blank page on his computer screen tonight, he would not be happy.
He had no words to fill the page, and doing anything else besides writing
was just too much of a headache. How was he ever going to survive beyond
high school? He tried not to think about that much.
"Spare change, sir?"
Theo looked up to see an unkempt old man with a torn coat and stained beard
surveying Theo and his fellow transit patrons. He reflected that it was
unusual to see street beggars so proactive about getting 'spare' change,
so he deduced that this fellow may be in dire straits, unless his ploy
was to only look like he was in dire straits. Then again, if he'd
go to that much trouble, he must be pretty desperate, in which case he
is in dire straits no matter what. Humming a few bars of "Sultans of Swing,"
Theo took his wallet out of his pocket and searched for some change. He
found a two-dollar coin, and gave it to the man, trying not to think that
he himself might be the one walking through Callista looking for change
someday. Theo hoped that he would find some sort of inspiration or motivation
somewhere, and soon.
You wish...
* * *
Officer
Gregs of the Lower Clay Lake Police Department wasn't too keen on late-night
accident scenes like the one he was currently presiding over. He was sad
that he had to witness the aftermath of such destruction, day in and day
out, especially when it happened to people so young.
He looked again at the mangled body of the clean-cut teenager crushed between
the frame of the car and the electrical pole, and wondered what a boy like
him was doing outside this late at night. He looked at the broken body
of the teenager that was driving the car and wondered what kind of parent
would let a boy like him loose this late at night. Perhaps Milsovich, who
had picked some identification out of their wallets and was trying to contact
the parents, had some answers now. "So, do we know what happened?"
"Mostly. The mother of the pedestrian tells us that the poor boy had run
out of the house after a nasty fight with his parents over a bad parent-teacher
interview. The father of the driver told me that he had given his son the
car for the night to go to a party because he did so well in one of his
classes."
"Brutal. Do we have a BAC reading on this driver..." he looked down at
the record sheet he was keeping, "... Tracey, yet?"
II - Thursday, Week One, Type Two
Janet
sat by herself in the Concrete Yard in front of the Newlinder / Clay Lake
High School main entrance, staring down at the concrete of same. Inwardly
she hoped that someone friendly would come by, tap her on the shoulder,
and start talking to her. But that never happened. Rain clouds were approaching
and class would soon begin, so she decided to give up hope once again.
"I found it," someone said to her.
"Found what?"
"This!" Michael Jenowski, a nerdy, awkward boy of sixteen, reached into
a wrinkled plastic grocery bag and proudly yanked out a gleaming white
triangular prism. "I dug it out of the ditch on the way up here."
"Maybe it'll keep you entertained over the long weekend."
"Well, it just sort of sits and shines, I don't know what it does-"
"There, see? You can investigate that instead of jerking off all night!"
Michael, too stunned to answer, just goose-stepped his way into the school.
Hah, what a pussy.
Hey, I wonder why that thing was shining so brightly? It's not like it
was glass or crystal, and it wasn't plugged into anything...
- - -
Philistine! Michael grunted to himself. He didn't need to hear any
comments about his social life from that woman. Her weekends were
probably even more pathetic.
To get to the main stairwell and safely into the confines of a classroom,
Michael was forced to walk past a group of 'peers' (that is, having age
in common, but not interests, friends, clothing, economic or social status...)
that he very much disliked. It didn't take long for them to notice him.
"Heeyyy Mikey! What's in the bag?"
"Ha-ha, Orrin, he said bag!"
"Mike! The grocery bag! The only one you have!"
He turned to face them. "You want to know what's in here?! Well, you cretins,
I'll tell you what's in here!! A fucking..." Michael dug into the
grocery bag and pulled out the prism thingy to show it to them. "A fucking
- well, I don't know what it is!"
"Geez, what's up with him?"
"Yeah, it's like he's gone all psycho-aggressive and shit."
"What the hell is he showing us? His hand is empty."
Michael cued in to that particular whisper, and reevaluated the contents
of his left palm. The whatever-it-was was still there. Could they really
not see it? He put the object back into the grocery bag. Gee, he thought,
maybe the whole thing was in his head!
"I - I guess I don't have anything."
"Don't have anything? You got man tits there, fella! Ha-ha-ha..."
"Gimme them tits, Mikey!"
"SWEET TITS!!"
Michael ran away as fast as he could, choking back the urge to scream and
cry, luxurious indulgences that were not encouraged since leaving his nurturing
household and entering the suppressive, cold public school system.
I hate my life! Why do they have to be so mean?
* * *
It
was 9:00am, Jonas' least favorite time of day, because that meant he had
his entire day of teaching (ugh) ahead of him. Somehow, he had to bridge
the eighty-minute gap between 9:00 and 10:20, then two more gaps, but he
was at a loss as to how. He didn't have any lesson plans ready because
he had been up all the previous night preparing for the parent-teacher
interviews to come that evening.
Most of the students had taken their seats, but only a few had unpacked
their notebooks. Most students were talking among themselves, a few were
playing cards in the back.
What is the point of all this? Why am I wasting their time?
Jonas searched his schedule tables, his tired mind looking in vain for
a solution. The class was Canadian Geography 11, section A.
His eyes searched the room again, and he found a TV/VCR stand by the door.
Salvation!
He started looking through his desk for a tape, any tape! He found one,
"Geo-Political Trends of the Baffin Island Region - 76 min," and it seemed
to suit. He got the TV set up, the lights out, the tape playing, upon which
time half the class went to sleep in the comforting dark gloom. Jonas sat
down behind his desk and pretended to be interested in what was on the
television.
- - -
A
fat figure darkened the open door, invisible but for its silhouette in
blocking the bright lights from the outside corridor.
"Mr. Curfie?" it asked.
A few of the students by the door took notice of his presence, but they
said nothing.
"Mr. Curfie?"
"Mr. Curfie!"
"Wha- wha- what??" shouted Jonas, waking up with a start.
"Would you step outside for a moment, please?"
Oh-no, that can't be good, Jonas knew.
Jonas joined the fat man outside in the hall. It took a moment for his
eyes to adjust to the brightness and for his brain to register what was
going on. "What's up?"
"Mr. Curfie, you're using a TV set that was assigned to Mr. Kenner in B-215
for today. He signed in his request last week."
"Well obviously he didn't want it in the end, because he didn't come to
get it."
"This is his prep period! He told me that he came down here just five minutes
ago and that you had commandeered the set away from him!" Kenner was at
Jonas' throat almost as much as the fat man.
"I never noticed him! If he wants the set that badly, I'll take it over
to the B Building myself when class is over and get another set for myself!"
"Another set? Mr. Curfie, you know full well that televisions must be signed
out from Media Core at least five school days in advance of desired usage
date. You will have to do without."
"Oh, c'mon! It's not like every set in the school is being used! I'm sure
that there'll be one in-"
"Mr. Curfie, you are not permitted to use a set today! You will have
to do without."
"Uh... okay," Jonas said while really meaning, "Fuck you, if I see a set
I'll fucking use it!"
"Good. Good day, Mr. Curfie." And the fat man walked off, pursuing other
dissident teachers and students stupid enough to bother to come to school
yet not attend class.
- - -
Between
classes was certainly not the best time to travel about Newlinder / Clay
Lake High School due to the large infestation of students going to their
classes, their lockers, and even their designated smoking areas (all outside
of course, thus ensuring the greatest amount of travel and aggravation
for the students and the unlucky teachers who had to 'supervise' them).
Understandably, Jonas was having a great deal of trouble wheeling a large
TV cart from his A-217 room to Mr. Kenner in B-215. Pushing the cart from
behind, there was also the added disadvantage of not being able to see
what lay ahead of him.
He suddenly felt a bump and a jolt. Too late, Jonas saw two jean-clad legs
and two sneaker-clad feet smack in front of the shelving below the 27-inch
television screen. With apologetic mutterings, Jonas drew the cart back
a step, and oriented himself more into the middle of the corridor so as
to bypass the person he had just hit. The teenaged woman wearing a white
sweater and carrying a pink handbag glared at him as he sneaked by, the
expression saying at once "What the hell are you doing running into me?
Are you blind?!" and "What are you looking at? Are you some kind of pervert?!"
God, I hate this place.
* * *
Noontime
had arrived, and Theo sat down in the second-floor Solarium of Building
A to have his lunch. By having kept his lunch with him the whole morning,
he had beat the crowds by a minute or so.
The Solarium was basically an open area with bench seats built over the
former roof of the main entrance below. It was added as an afterthought
during the renovations to Newlinder / Clay Lake High that included the
addition of Building B, and it was obvious that this was a later addition
due to the fact that the slanted glass roof held up by steel beams leaked
during rainfall of any kind, not to mention that the floor tiles did not
match those of the corridors. Right now it was raining, so buckets were
placed in strategic spots on the floor to catch the water.
Theo, feeling a little threatened by the approaching masses, shoved himself
further back towards one of the brick walls, walls that had once faced
the outside elements directly. He was comforted by the sound of the rain
falling on the glass behind him, by the look of the rain falling on the
glass on above him, and the grayness of it all. I like rain. Look at
all that rain. "Look at all this rain. Wow." It was a typical, usually
harmless, externalization of his thoughts.
Three of his peers that he very much disliked cued in on his voice and
decided to approach. To Theo, the strange thing was that they appeared
not to take notice of him at all. They seemed sinister in some way.
"Wow. Look at all that rain," one said.
"Woah. It's some rain."
"Look at that rain!"
As they said these comments while starting upward and pointing, they pushed
Theo farther and farther into the corner.
"Boy, this is some cool rain."
"Look at it rain!"
At this point, the pressure was becoming painful. Theo also felt hands
and feet indiscriminately mussing his hair and his pants, respectively.
Argh!
Go away!
"Boy - this is-"
Theo harnessed his built-up anger and lashed out with it. "Fuck you!!"
he shouted as he punched and shoved his way free.
"Woah, Theey, watch that mouth!"
"Theey?! Where'd you come from? Ha-ha..."
"Hey Theodore! Where's Alvin and Simon?"
"Psycho! Theey! Psycho! Theey!"
As he put the idiots behind him and emerged from the dense crowd, he saw
one of the older teachers staring at him, shaking her head. If he had been
just a little more aggressive, he probably would have been sent to the
office. He didn't need that to cap off an already miserable day, but if
they were willing to unleash his true fury, he was ready to show it to
them.
The teacher didn't press the issue, and she retreated into the nearby Staff
Room. One day, he would love to take the two buildings apart brick by brick,
although he knew that was an impossibility. Then he could take each brick
and throw it at one of his peers. They sure deserved it.
He looked around. Now he was in a quandary, as he had a half-eaten lunch,
no empty spaces to eat it in, and no friends to sit with in the crowded
places. He decided to just forget his lunch and walk laps around the corridors
of the two buildings, as that would invite pointing and staring and thus
more attention.
* * *
"Mike?"
Mr. Mike Legal looked up from his desk in A-215 to see Mr. Jonas Curfie
at his door. Mike fondly regarded the younger Jonas as a sort of protégé,
and he knew that he himself was one of the only senior teachers that Jonas
truly respected. The curious thing was that Mike had been a teacher at
Newlinder / Clay Lake for only a week longer than Jonas, as he had a Level
Seven teaching certificate (Jonas had a Level Five) and was coming in off
an administrative job with the Callista School Board Physical Education
Department, so he wasn't anymore acclimatized to Newlinder / Clay Lake
than Jonas. But they were fast friends, and their classrooms were nearby
to each other, and Mike would have enough background clout to keep his
depressed but capable fast friend employed if it came down to that. It
didn't seem to Mike that that was what Jonas needed at the moment, though.
"How are you, Jonas? Everything okay?"
"Yes, fine, except that I need a TV. Can I borrow this one? Are you using
it?"
"No, go ahead." A television was relatively less painful to provide, for
certain.
"Thanks. I'll bring it back after last period."
- - -
"Today,
we're going to watch a video..."
The class groaned.
"I know, I know. But bear with me, please, I was up all night getting ready
for the parent-teachers tonight-"
The class groaned even louder.
"Look, just relax. All you have to do is keep quiet and you can be out
of here at two o'clock. We're going to watch..." Jonas read the cover of
a videotape that just happened to be with the TV set, "'Vanity Fair - The
Movie - Tape One.' It's a literary classic by William Makepeace Thackeray.
'A Novel without a Hero.' Satire. You might like it."
- - -
"You'll
go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky!"
"I suppose I must."
Jonas was fully awake for the suffering now, as his class in darkness slept
through the goings-on at Chiswick Mall. He had to be ready in case the
fat man arrived to shut down his little theater. He wasn't sure what he
would do in such an event, but he knew he was better off being ready than
asleep.
With no warning, the fat man was upon him! He appeared at Jonas' door,
scanned the room - and kept on walking!
What happened?
"Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux."
"Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning."
- - -
The
fat man approached A-217, ready to shake Mr. Curfie down for any signs
of deviance or disobedience. He stomped to the door and looked inside.
Surprisingly, Mr. Curfie was not trying to circumvent the fat man's
authority! He was just quietly sitting at his desk, and his students were
absolutely quiet as well, the lights were on and there was no TV in the
room! Wonderful! He clutched his administrative cell phone towards
his belt to reassure himself that it was there, then stalked off to new
haunts.
- - -
Michael
Jenowski noticed that his backpack was glowing brightly in the gloom through
the fat man's appearance. The glow was very faint and fading now, but it
was still quite apparent. He knew that the glowing inside from the unknown
object must have been really bright to shine through the grocery bag, his
belongings, and then the backpack itself. He wondered why it glowed more
at certain times, because he didn't turn any switches on it or anything.
He also wondered why no one else seemed to be noticing the object at all.
Well,
Janet noticed.
When class was over, movie stopped, and lights back on, and everyone else
had left the room, he approached Mr. Curfie about it. "Mr. Curfie?"
"I don't understand how I got away with this! I thought I was dead!"
"Mr. Curfie?"
"Uh, yes?"
"Can you tell me what this is?" Michael placed his backpack on top of Mr.
Curfie's desk.
"What? Your backpack? But it's glowing..."
"You notice too? Here," Michael opened the pack and showed him the object.
"I have... no idea what that isssssssssssss..."
- - -
With
a 'whoosh,' Jonas felt himself being sucked into the faint pulsations of
the object. Before he knew it, he was in another world, filled with rotating
shapes and fuzzy colorful background patterns. He looked at himself, and
he was a shape too - a yellowish form with a diamond-shape outline for
a mouth and triangle-shape outlines for eyes! The outlines of the diamond
shape were moving... he was talking!
Awesome! It can talk and I can talk! It's me!
Wait... is it me through the thing?
It doesn't connect! It can't be!
The outlines faded, and were replaced by a sphere.
I...
He saw two holes in the ceiling. They led someplace he knew not, but he
had a distinctive desire to fit through them, as if it would lead to someplace
higher. He tried to bring himself up through the hole, but he was somehow
prevented.
How? Why can't I get through?
Looking around, he came to see his aura ball being tied to his physical
self by a string. Unfortunately, the string was cross-tied in such a way
that it would prevent his passage through the holes in the ceiling. He
knew that both balls had to somehow go through at the same time, but he
just didn't know how to do it. He felt rejected and helpless, and suddenly
the whole world faded.
- - -
"...
no idea what that is... he... I... shapes! He was talking, and I'm talking!
It's me, through the thing - no, see, I can't put that thing to that thing
because then it won't connect! It's like two strings tied together, I can't-"
Mr. Curfie's body convulsed. "Woah! Uh, am I still here?"
"Yeah. You're just saying some weird things."
"I... see. What was I talking about?"
Michael held the object up closer to his face. "You were going to tell
me what this is."
Mr. Curfie appeared to flinch and avoid starting directly into the object.
"Oh! Well, I don't know what it is at all! Where did you find it?"
"I dug it up out of the ditch."
"Well Mike, I-"
"Michael. I prefer Michael, remember, Mr. Curfie?" Normally he wouldn't
care, but there was another 'Mike' in the class, and he did not want to
be lumped in with that jerk.
"Oh, yes!" Mr. Curfie looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm always getting
you and Mike mixed up, when you're really nothing alike! I'll try to be
more careful from now on! You're Jenowski, right?"
Michael nodded.
"Great. I won't forget now. Anyway, I can't really help you with that...
thing, so you might as well keep going to your next class."
"Sure, I will," Michael said, then left.
* * *
Officer
Gregs of the Lower Clay Lake Police Department wasn't too keen on late-night
accident scenes like the one he was currently presiding over. He was sad
that he had to witness the aftermath of such destruction, day in and day
out, especially when it happened to a boy so young, careless or callous
as he may have been.
He looked at the broken body of the teenager that was driving the car that
had slammed into the electric pole and wondered what kind of parent would
let a boy like him loose this late at night. Perhaps Milsovich, who had
picked some identification out his wallet and was trying to contact his
parents, had some answers now. "So, do we know what happened?"
"Mostly. I got a hold of the kid's dad, and he told me that he had stole
the car and gone joyriding without his permission. He didn't know until
we called that he had gone out - thought he was in bed asleep."
"Brutal. Do we have a BAC reading on this driver..." he looked down at
the record sheet he was keeping, "... Tracey, yet?"