The Wedgie Tree
Half-way through my seventh-grade
year, my underwear betrayed me just like everything else. I blame it
on my mom for buying the industrial-strength tighty-whiteys with
three-inch elastic bands—when the eighth graders gave me the
wedgie, my underwear barely even stretched. The band should have
ripped when the three boys drug me across the playground, or when
they hoisted me into the air.
But no way.
My indestructible undies didn't
even rip when they hooked my waist-band over a knot five feet up the
old oak tree. I just dangled there while they laughed at me while the
extra-banded elastic choked off the circulation in my legs and
butt-cheeks.
I could barely sit down for a
week.
The gnarly oak grew from the bank
of a ditch separating the middle school courtyard from a pasture. The
boys hanged me on the pasture side, so I guess no one saw them do it.
Least ways no teachers did, or none came to help. I tried to twist
around and undo the snare, but the wood held the elastic tight.
Sudden dizziness scrambled my thoughts and the ground wobbled beneath
my dangling feet. I knew if I fell I'd slide all the way down over
the rough bark and sharp knots—like using a whole tree for
toilet-paper. I imagined the chaffing, bruises, and pieces of bark
embedded in my butt-crack and stopped trying to reach the snag.
“Let
me down, Please! Please let me down.”
The
big kids ran off laughing and I just hanged there and cried, The
tears ran hot over my aching cheeks and I sobbed and sniveled like a
three-year-old. I still can't smell cow manure or fresh-cut grass
without being reminded of the pain.
I remember wondering why I'd been
selected for Wedge of the Year. Now I realize a kid eating lunch
alone makes an easy target.
I'd been eating my lunches outside
for the past few weeks, instead of in the cafeteria. That way no one
saw me at a table alone or with George, the only kid in school less
popular than I was.
No one flung peas at me or opened
their mouth at me to show me their chewed up food when I ate outside.
And I didn't have to hear the noise of their bragging and gossip.
Just me and the birds and the courtyard. Sure, some of the kids would
usually come outside and hang out by the picnic tables before fifth
period. But by then I'd usually be deep into a book, and barely even
noticed them.
Until those eighth-graders showed
up.
But as I swung from that knot by
my tighty-whiteys with tears mingling with snot all over my face, I
didn't contemplate the events leading up to my current situation. I
flailed my legs and arms, boohooed, and wondered "Why me? Why is
it always me?" over and over again.
After what must have been most of
lunch break, Roger and Unmark found me. Of course they called Ryan
and Austin over, and pretty soon the whole class had gathered in a
semi-circle around the tree. I tried to stop crying but my sobs grew
louder as they laughed and made their jokes.
"Look, it's some kind of
fungus growing on the tree! And it's dripping green slime!"
Laughter.
"Maybe it's a bird, look at
that beak!"
More laughter.
"Bugeraunchy got a tree up
his butt!"
Oh, that one got a laughing
ovation.
I thought they'd laugh forever.
Then Hilda stepped closer. She
squinted and put her hands on her hips. Hilda filled the “mother
hen” role for lots of girls in seventh. I liked her because she
took up for the small kids, but she'd never defended me before. She
dwarfed the other kids our age, with arms as big around as most
peoples' thighs, and could beat all the boys in Mercy. Back in sixth
grade, a kid named Mark accidentally hit her in the head with a stray
spoonful of mashed potatoes meant for George. Hilda snatched Mark out
of his chair and dumped him in the trashcan as easily as a normal
person might dump their tray. Nobody messed with Hilda.
“He's
hurt, guys!” Hilda said. “We’ve got to help him down.”
“I'm
not touching his underwear!” Roger said.
Everybody laughed again.
Hilda stared right into my eyes. I
was so embarrassed I closed them and rubbed with both hands. I could
feel the tears dripping off my palms.
"Yeah ha ha real funny,"
Hilda said, turning back to them. “But we gotta tell somebody.”
She sighed, letting her hands fall
from her hips. "I'm going to get Ms. Monday."
And with that she stomped off and
out of my sight.
“Don’t
worry Bugeraunchy, Hilda’s gonna save you!” Roger said.
Most of them laughed again. But
after that, the crowd broke off into groups. Roger and Unmark left
last, squeezing in a few more "Bugeraunchies" and
"Snot-Monsters" before running off.
Maybe they’d seen Hilda
returning with Ms. Monday. I heard new footsteps between sniffles,
and a ,moment later three new faces stared up from the base of the
tree—Hilda, Ms. Monday, and my mom.
I should have expected as much.
The Universe regularly conspired to make me look like a fool. My
mother worked at the high school campus across the pasture. She
visited my teachers at lunch a lot. Too much, in my opinion. Like
every other day.
“Oh
my poor baby who did this to you?” she said.
I looked into my mom’s gray eyes
and another bout of whimpers and spasms shook my frame.
"My dear! Unacceptable,
completely unacceptable," Ms. Monday said.
Mom and Mrs. Monday gripped my
belt and the hem of my undies and tried to lift. We struggled and
grunted until the snag slipped free. The three of us fell together
and tumbled in the grass,. my right knee slamming into a root.
Hilda let go a short cry and
rushed to help Ms. Monday to her feet.
One knee ached, my whole
butt-crack stung, and my other leg had fallen asleep. Fire inched
through my lower body as my circulation returned.
Mamma stood and pulled me to my
feet.
"Oh my poor baby!" Her
hair had come undone and gray locks dangled in her face.
"Who did this to you, Gren?"
Ms. Monday asked. "Was it somebody in our class?”
"Eighth-graders,” I
stammered.“They—they were eighth-graders.”
Mrs. Monday let out a groan of
disgust.
"Those older kids have been
horrible this year. You turn your head one moment, or try to have one
civil conversation," Ms. Monday said to mom over my head, "—
and something like this happens. We need to get him to the nurse.
Tell Mr. Helms.” The pitch of her voice rose with each word.
“Whoever did this must be held accountable. I am sooo sorry, Mrs.
Ivanov.”
"They will certainly be found
and punished.,“ Mom said. “I will see to it myself. I'll speak to
Mr. Helms immediately. Let's get my son to the nurse's station."
Mom clutched my arm. She meant to
drag me across the playground like a puppy on a leash right in front
of everybody. I pulled away.
"That hurts! It's bruised. I
can walk myself."
Mother sighed. "I suppose so.
Let's get you to the nurse's station."
I kept my head down all the way to
the school building so I wouldn't see the kids stare at me, but I
know they did. Some of them snickered when we passed. When we finally
got to the double glass doors, Ms. Monday opened one for us and said,
"Can you find your way from here, Ms. Ivanov?”
"We will be fine from here.
Thank you, Mrs. Monday."
The middle building had been
converted from an old orphanage, restored and renovated just before
opening six years ago. The twisting boards which formed its outer
walls revealed it's age through the dark brown paint. Only the glass
doors seemed modern. We passed through them and stepped onto the
sterile tile floor of the hallway.
My mother walked fast. Her heels
clicked and her pants legs wished against each other as she moved.
The bruises stung with each step, like having a sunburn on the
insides of my butt-cheeks and somebody dragged a rope between them.
I won't say much about the nurse's
office, except Nurse Margo must weigh 500 pounds and it's
embarrassing when she makes you take your pants off right in front of
your mom. She sprayed some super cold stuff on my butt and took a
good long eye full.
“It’s
going to need a salve,” Nurse Margo said, untwisting the top of a
white container.
But I put the salve on myself,
thank you very much, and pulled up my pants as quick as I could.
“Can
I go now?”
“You
may.” Mrs. Margo opened her door and frowned. “Mr. Helms will be
waiting.”
“Thank
you, Mrs. Margo.” Mom said. “Now should we put the salve on every
morning?”
“That
will be fine.” Nurse Margo frowned after everything statement, no
matter who she might be talking to.
“Should
we schedule a follow up with you, or his doctor?”
But I'd already started down the
hall. I didn't hear whatever else they said. Mr. Helm's door stood
just past the glass window at the school's front desk. I think that's
the one time I ever felt relief to get to the principal's office. I
raised my hand to knock but Mr. Helms opened the door before I could.
“Hello,
young Gren,” he said. “Come in and have a seat.”
I took one of the leather chairs
in front of his desk. I had to sit slowly, and winced when the whelps
on my butt and legs pressed against the leather. My mom took the
chair beside me.
“Thank
you for seeing us, Mr. Helms,” Mom said. “My son has had an awful
ordeal today. I would never have thought something so horrible could
happen at this school. Eighth-graders, young men who should be
setting an example for our younger students, attacked my boy right in
the open. Are we raising young terrorists here?”
“I'm
extremely sorry to hear about this, Mrs. Ivanov. I assure you this is
far from typical for our campus. But there are bad seeds from time to
time. I promise you we will get to the bottom of this and discipline
the perpetrators according to…”
My
mother tried to interrupt, “I
would hope so. This is not something I would ex-”
Mr. Helms continued, cutting her
off. His voice rose only slightly in volume, but became more stern.
“Mrs.
Ivanov? I assure you I will do all I can. But first I must hear what
young Gren has to say. Can we let him to tell his story?”
Mother crossed her arms. “Yes.
You should most certainly hear it. It's positively awful.”
“Very
well.” Mr. Helms turned to me, bending his head to make eye contact
above his glasses. “Gren? Can you tell me what happened?”
So I told him everything about the
eighth-graders who gave me the wedgie. He asked me for their names
but I didn't know any of them. Instead I described the bullies as
best I could. I didn't tell him about the kids from my own grade
laughing at me. If I'd got someone my own age in trouble, I’d be
worse off than I'd been before.
Mr. Helms pushed the eyeglasses up
the slope of his nose and straightened.
“I
see.”
The springs creaked in his oaken
chair as Mr. Helms turned to stare out the window, hands crossed over
his potbelly. He took a long moment to think before speaking.
“Well,
Gren. from what you've told me I've got a pretty good idea who these
boys are already. Of one of them, I'm nearly certain. A troubled boy
with an estranged father. The eighth-graders picked on him last year,
much in the same way he's picked on you. I'm afraid he's become the
school bully.” The chair creaked again as Mr. Helms spun from the
window to face us. “ It's a vicious cycle, Grendel, and the
violence must be stopped.
“Who...
Who is he?”
“Yes!
Who is this ruffian, Mr. Helms?”
“Now
I can't be sure just yet about this young man. But he and a few
others will be called into my office this afternoon. I'm not ready to
divulge a name just yet.”
“But
Mr Helms!” Mom cried. My mother leaned forward and straightened,
her bottom lip trempling like it always did when she became upset.
The principal silenced her with a
raised hand.
“Mrs.
Ivanov, we will speak privately in just a moment. If this is the boy
I’m thinking about he will be suspended and will not be allowed to
graduate. If you wish to press charges, we will discuss it.'
Again he looked over his glasses
to meet my eyes.
“I
understand you saw Nurse Margo. Does she think you'll be ready to
attend school tomorrow?
“I...
I don't know. She said….”
“She
said if he's too sore tomorrow, to call the front desk in the
morning. I hope you understand how much this inconveniences me, Mr.
Helms. I, of course, have work tomorrow myself. My poor Grendel will
likely be unable to walk in the morning, and I suppose I'll have to
come by in the afternoon to get his assignments. No boy this young
should have to stay at home all day, with no one to fend for him.”
“Yes,
yes Mrs. Ivanov,” Mr. Helms said. “I regret your inconvenience
and I appreciate your understanding. Again I assure you we will get
to the bottom of this and prevent it from happening again. Now,
Gren... could you please wait outside on the bench for your mother.
We will only be a moment.”
I nodded and left the room, glad
to be through with the interrogation. The door clicked behind me and
I carefully place myself on the bench beside it. My mother's voice
came muffled through The brick and wood so I couldn't hear what else
she said to Mr. Helms. When she paused, I assumed the principal
answered her, but couldn’t hear his voice at all. Each time Mom
resumed, her voice grew louder, but just as hard to understand.
Bad enough to be sitting on a hard
bench with a sore butt after being embarrassed in front of my whole
class. Bad enough to have my dignity ogled by the nurse in front of
my mother. But now Willa, the prettiest girl in seventh grade, passed
right by me on her way to the front desk. She smiled. I couldn't tell
if she did it to be nice or make fun of me. Most of the time when the
kids sat on this bench, they were waiting to be punished. So I didn't
smile back. I just looked down at my knee and scratched, like I had
an itch or something. It still stung, and Ms. Margo had put a big
bandage on it.
It seemed like forever, but at
last my mom came out of Mr. Helm’s office. She took my hand, ”You
ready?” and pulled me to my feet too fast, like she'd forgotten the
sores on my bottom. I pulled my hand away and followed.
“Slow
down, mom,” I mumbled as we walked through the double doors. “It
hurts!”
She barely slowed down at all.
We reached mom’s old Prius and
sped off down the country road running beside the cow pasture. I
watched the wedgie tree pass and fade into the distance..
The Secret in the Basement
In the morning mom woke me with
the sweet smell of maple bacon. I opened my eyes to find four thick
slices of it sizzling on my breakfast tray, along with eggs, toasts,
and a few slices of cantaloupe. She kissed me on the forehead and
left for work before I’d finished. We'd already decided I wouldn't
go to school that day, and I guess she’d called before I woke. I
wolfed down the food and struggled out of bed. My butt felt sorer
than the day before, like my skin might crack with every move.
For most of the morning I sat on
my Star Wars bean bag and played PS5.. Mom only let me play an hour
on weekdays when she was home, so it was nice to sit there without
having to worry how much time I had left. The games I like best take
a long time to play, whether it be building a character in Oracle of
Lost Sagas or creating a whole world in Planetcraft.
I must have had my orc down in
Mithril Dungeon crushing dwarves for over two hours before I started
thinking about lunch. Mom had said she may or may not get a chance to
come home and fix me something, so I knew I might have to make my
dinner myself. I didn't want her to catch me on PS5, because she’d
naturally assume I'd been playing all morning. So I turned the TV all
the way down and started to listen out.
Our old house made lots of
sounds--creaks and groans and shudders. Mom said colonists had built
it over three-hundred years ago, and we were both sure some of their
ghosts still lived in it. I usually wore my earbuds to bed so I
didn't have to hear the creepy sounds. That's why I still had a night
light and kept the door cracked.
It might seem a bit silly that I
felt goosebumps in the daytime, since I’d slept inside the house
every night for over six years...but I’d never really spent a whole
day alone before.
Noon came and went but I never
heard the door slam to signal mom's arrival. She’d probably gone to
the school to talk to my teachers instead of coming home to fix
something for me. I hoped none of the kids would see her. At least it
meant I could eat whatever I wanted for lunch. My stomach gave a
short rumble, but I decided to pull a few more mobs before heading
down..
I felt safe in my room, but
downstairs would be empty and dark. Mom would have locked all the
doors, but what if she hadn't? Of course I had to eat something. So I
parked my orc by a portal stone, grabbed my baseball bat, and peeked
into the hall from my bedroom door.
No burglars or ghosts awaited in
the hall. Still, each outcry from the old floorboards sent my heart
pounding. My pulse quickened with my descent down the rickety oak
stairs. I walked into the den, relieved to find myself alone.
I checked the front door. Of
course my mother had remembered to lock it. I chuckled at myself for
being afraid in my own home. The kitchen proved empty too. Feeling a
bit more comfortable now, I leaned my baseball bat against the oven
door and opened the cupboard.
I only really know how to make
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but I can pour cereal, so I had
both. I sat at the counter as I ate and stared through the window
across the field. Squirrels gathered acorns in the grass and the wind
blew through clouds of yellow leaves. I felt relieved not to be
eating in the cafeteria today, or in the courtyard where I usually
took my lunch. Best to enjoy the time alone, I thought, and not think
about where I’d have to eat tomorrow.
The clock on the oven said 1:17.
Since Mom hadn't made it home during her lunch break, I knew she
wouldn't return until almost five. Maybe even later. With the rest of
the day to myself, I started thinking of other possibilities besides
video games. I didn't much feel like going outside and flying my
drone, since my chapped legs and butt-cheeks made walking a bit
difficult.
I thought about the basement, the
one place in the house I'd never been. I knew exactly where mom kept
the key. I'd seen her slip it in the drawer when she thought I wasn't
looking. Mom's basement office exuded mystery. Some nights she went
down there after supper and worked until after I'd gone to bed.
I asked her what she worked on
down there once before.
“Nothing
you'd be interested in, son,” she’d said after a long sip of
coffee . “The results of genetic testing, long reports on anomalous
mutations, scientific papers filled with academic jargon.”
“Can
I see?”
She laughed and said, “No I'm
afraid not, the laboratory just won't allow it. Ultra top-secret.”
She squeezed my nose and smiled. “Only five people in the world
have the clearance to see what's on my computer. If anyone of us so
much as showed a single person what's on there, they’d take us
straight to jail. Then who'd fix your dinner?”
Mom being a commercial biologist
but working at a high school might seem strange if you don't know
anything bout New Midway. Cain Industries, the local biotech
corporation, pretty much owns the entire town. They donated a
state-of-the-art lab to New Midway High, and employed my mother to
run it and train the teachers. She also worked other projects for the
company at school and at home. Some seniors became her assistants,
and received scholarships or jobs at Cain.
“Well
can I just see what's down there? I've never even been in our
basement. I won't read anything on your PC.”
“No
you may not. I have delicate material down there. Equipment worth
more than my whole year’s salary No one goes down into that
laboratory but me. Understood?”
“Understood.”
But the locked front door and the
food had reassured me of my safety and I'd always been curious about
Mom’s secret room. I set my bowl and saucer in the sink and washed
my hands. My eyes strayed to the drawer that held the key. I ripped a
paper towel from the roll above my head. Drying my hands, my eyes
returned to the drawer. Would she find out if I took a peek?
I shook my head and tossed the
towel in the trash can and took a step toward the stairs. Then I
stopped.
Just a quick look, then.
I opened the drawer slowly and
quietly, as if someone might hear. The old skeleton key drew my eyes
immediately. It lay nestled between a phone book and a cutlery tray
filled with pens, pencils, and change. I took careful note of the
key’s position before I picked it up, sure Mom would know if it
faced the wrong direction or lay on the wrong side.
The door from the kitchen to the
basement stairwell wasn't locked, but old and stuck. I had to pull
with both hands to get it loose. The kitchen light only shown a short
way down, and then the stairs sank into darkness. I saw no light
switch anywhere. It would probably be at the bottom of the stairs.
Why are light switches always at the other end of scary passageways?
Every step creaked, and I ran my hands along both walls to steady
myself. Hopefully my fingers would find a light switch.
Water dripped in the bowels of the
house. Ghosts groaned beneath my feet. Phantoms flitted in the
shadows below. Unseen eyes leered from every direction. Something
scurried past my foot.
A string dangled from the ceiling
a few feet in front of me. The light! I pulled, and with a click the
dim illumination of a bare bulb filled the stairwell. Now I could see
the black door at the bottom of the stairs. A few more steps and I’d
reached it. I tried the knob--locked of course. The key fit perfectly
and the mechanism inside clicked open with ease.
Did I really want to do this? What
if I really did get Mom in trouble...and caused her to lose her job?
Maybe these second thoughts were just excuses...fear of whatever
might be on the other side of the door.
I waited a good long minute before
I turned that knob. Slowly and carefully I opened the door, just
enough to peek inside. Cream paneling covered the basement walls The
floor featured the same white tile they used in all the classrooms
and halls at school. A metal desk leaned against the far corner
supporting a computer, a microscope and something like a 3D printer.
I pushed the door a few more inches open for a better look at the
bookshelf beside the desk.
There on the topmost shelf sat a
massive skull, more like a human than an ape but truly neither. What
could mom be doing with such a thing? She worked in biology. Our
science teacher had a skeleton in her class. But this skull look
weird...probably prehistoric. It gave me chills, and I imagined it
might come alive and look at me.
Something slammed upstairs,
sending a jolt of alarm up the back of my neck. I pulled the door
shut and locked it, looking over my shoulder as I fumbled with the
key. The door above had not slammed shut as I’d feared. But what
else could have made the noise? Had mom come home early? My fingers
shook as I retrieved the key. I tiptoed up the stairs as quickly as I
could. Wincing at every moan from the ancient steps, I pulled the
light-string as I passed. The darkness urged me faster.
Once in the kitchen, I slammed the
door and fell against it.. With all my weight on the hard wood, as if
I might be holding off all the frenzied demons of hell, I struggled
to catch my rapid breath.
The house had fallen silent. But
what had made the crash? I listened for Mom's footsteps in the
hallway. Sometimes she stopped a moment to look through the mail.
Only the normal creaks and moans of the old house broke the silence.
Then I saw it--the handle of my
baseball bat sticking out from behind the counter where it lay on the
kitchen floor.
Again I chuckled at myself for
being so scared of nothing. I replaced the key in the drawer exactly
like it had been, picked up the bat, and went upstairs to my room. I
had just enough time to get another level for my orc in Lost Sagas
before mom got home with my homework. Then the fun would end, and
tomorrow I'd return to school and face the class.
Keep of Terrors
I expected to get teased in home
room about the bullies or my mom. The kids had likely talked about
the most epic wedgie of history all through school the day before.
Maybe they'd even made up new nicknames more degrading than
“Bugeraunchy.” My belly felt full of worms and snakes, twisting
and writhing as I took my seat in home room. I stifled a wince as the
plastic touched my still-sore butt. But no one said anything. When
Rodger saw me, he smiled and whispered something to Unmark, who
laughed and made a snorting sound, but that was it. The rest of the
kids acted like they'd forgotten about my humiliation Or like they
didn't even notice my seat wasn't empty again today.
Homeroom wasn't a regular
classroom with a desk. Mrs. Frigg taught home economics, so we sat at
long tables like the ones they have in the cafeteria.. She also had a
row of sewing machines against the back wall, and a small kitchen
behind a glass partition. During homeroom, the lights back there were
always off.
After roll call we were allowed to
talk quietly, but of course no one talked to me. At least no one shot
rubber bands or spitballs at me like they sometimes did. I doodled in
my loose-leaf and tried to ignore their voices.
The bell rang and we all got up to
go to first period, but Mrs. Frigg called me to her desk.
“Grendel,
may I speak with you a moment?”
I turned and walked toward her
slowly, hoping the other kids would be gone before she said what she
needed. I didn’t know if I’d done something wrong, but likely as
not her words would have embarrassment potential.
“Yes
ma'am.”
“I
want a quick word with you.” She smiled and paused, waiting for the
last girl to shut the door.
” I
understand you had a problem at lunch the other day. I just wanted
you to know I let some of the kids on my good side take their lunch
in here. It's a bit quieter than the lunch room if you’re trying to
do homework or draw, which I’ve seen you seem to prefer. A few of
the boys play some kind of role playing game lately, if you're into
that sort of thing. Anyway I just wanted to let you know it's open to
you, as long as you behave, of course..”
I'd been interested in table top
role-playing games for a while, but had never played one. Some of my
favorite books had started out as role-playing games, or had
table-top games of their own. I'd just never had anyone to play with.
I figured it might be fun to at least watch a game..
“They're
all really nice kids,” Mrs. Frigg said. “Just so you know. Tom
and Bert and Hilda are usually in here. The girls usually hang out in
the back. Sometimes I even let them make brownies for everyone.”
She smiled and returned to
whatever she’d been writing, a signal I should leave her to her
work and get to my first class.
“Thank
you, Mrs. Frigg.”
I don't know why but I felt a sob
in my words It made me happy to have a place other than the cafeteria
or courtyard to spend my lunch break in. I guess somebody being nice
to me for once got me a little choked up..
In history class, Mr. Heimdall
explained the chapter we'd been assigned on “Difference between
China and Japan after World War II.” He added nothing to what I’d
read the night before except a dumb story about how he met his wife
in Tokyo. My doodle from homeroom became the face of a man with long
hair, bushy eyebrows and a shaggy beard. The bell finally rang and I
headed for math.
After taking up our assignments,
Mrs. Brocker spent class going over problems people experienced
trouble with the night before. I'd had trouble with the second to
last problem, but you can find the answers in the back of the
textbook, so I'd already figured it out. My doodle grew a shoulder,
arm and hand holding a leaf-shaped dagger.
In English class we learned about
the foreshadowing in To Kill a Mockingbird, and why Boo’s rescue
might have been a case of Deus ex machinae. Inga asked if Jim's
broken arm could be symbolic of the character's break with innocence.
She always tried to get brownie points by turning something she'd
read online into a question.
Science was a long film of some
professor talking about proteins and cell division with no animation
or anything, just him talking. I tried to listen while I finished my
drawing. The man with the dagger became a sort of barbarian with a
ragged leather tunic and kilt. I kind of got his limbs out of
proportion because there wasn't much light. To fix it, I left out the
hand and instead drew the head of a dragon pulling him off one side
of the page. Instead of finishing the feet, I drew tentacles wrapping
around his ankles. It looked like a man suspended in space with
monsters trying to rip him apart.
I could draw clothes, hands,
tentacles and heads and faces. Putting them all together in
proportion, not so much.
The lunch bell rang and I walked
straight to the cafeteria as fast as I could, considering my sore
behind.. I liked to be one of the first in line so I didn't have the
whole student body as audience when I walk past the tables to the
exit door.
Before I’d started eating alone,
I’d had a friend named Ryan, and used to eat at a table with him
and George in fifth and sixth. He used to bring cars to school, and
we'd play-race them on the roots of the same old oak tree I later got
wedgied from. Ryan had even come to my twelfth birthday party.
But at the beginning of seventh
grade, Ryan betrayed me.
One
day between first and second period I found out about the real
Ryan. I reached into my locker for a book, and barely noticed the tug
on my pants before I felt the chill of the A.C. on my bare legs.
Yup.
Ryan, my only friend in the world,
had pantsed me from behind. Tots out of nowhere. Roger and Austin
gave him high fives, and everybody in the hall busted out laughing.
Pretty much my whole class, plus some random kids besides. Even
George, just three lockers down, couldn't help but chuckle.
That was the first day I died.
I didn't talk to anybody in class
after that, except when I absolutely had to. I just drew whenever we
had free time, and kept my head down. Even when they called me names
like "Snot Monster" and "Bugeraunchy."
Roger made the second nickname up.
Pretty creative, I guess.
Anyway, Ryan transferred about a
week before I got the wedgie. I'd never even told him “Bye.”
The lunch-line began to move, and
Luke crowded in behind me. Luke's glasses always had tape bandages on
them where they'd broken. He constantly adjusted them with his hands
or by scrunching his nose, like they bothered his skin something
awful.
“Can
I have your Salisbury steak?” he asked.
“No.
It's Salisbury steak today?”
“Yeah.
Every second and fourth Friday. Can I have your mashed potatoes?”
Though skinny as a flagpole, Luke
stayed hungry all the time and would eat pretty much anything.
“No.”
I Stepped up in line. The three hefty lunch ladies dipped food for
the first few girls at the counter.
“Move
along, children,” the oldest cook said. “You can talk at the
table. We've got a lot of mouths to feed.”
That's what she always said, over
and over as the students filed by.
“Can
I have your green beans then?”
Luke
scrunched his nose and adjusted his glasses so I could see the plea
in his eyes.
I sighed. “Yes Luke you can have
my green beans.”
The lunch ladies filled my plate
and I took my ticket to the cashier. The cashier punched me “paid,”
and I stepped aside to scrape my beans onto Luke's play.
“Thanks,”
he said, then hurried off to his regular table.
Walking normal through a school
cafeteria while balancing a tray when your butt cheeks have been
chaffed raw isn't easy. Luckily, only a few tables had filled by this
time, and the kids paid no attention when I passed by with my “anal
retentive” walk. I continued through the double doors and passed
the bench where I usually sat. Across the courtyard the outside door
to Mrs. Frigg's classroom stood, propped open by a chair. She left
the door open in the morning time too, which was great because unless
you had to go to your locker you could walk right into homeroom
without having to go through the hall.
I hoped there weren't too many
people inside. I wondered if they'd know I'd come to hide from the
eighth graders and think I'm a coward.
###
The classroom smelled like bread
or cookies. a few girls worked in the kitchen behind the glass. I
passed Hilda, Becky and another girl sitting at the sewing machines.
They talked quietly, probably gossiping, and ate chips and sandwiches
from their Tupperware lunch boxes. I took a seat at the table in the
front corner I used during homeroom. Only a few people sat there in
the mornings, and I kind of hoped it would be the same at lunch.
Sitting still stung a little, but I'd gotten more used to it over the
the school-day.
Salisbury steak might be the most
edible thing the lunchroom served, besides pizza and tacos. Of
course, the gravy stood thicker than the potatoes. It dripped right
through the teeth of my fork just the same. Luke had known better
than to try for my slice of strawberry shortcake. He'd asked many
times before.
A group of boys walked in through
the hallway door-- Tom Trow, Dark Bert, and a skinny kid with red
hair I’d never had a class with. They dropped their trays,
lunchboxes, and book bags on the table beside mine and sat.
Tom pulled a book from his bag and
thumbed through as he ate his food.
“So
what adventure are we doing today, man?” The boy I didn't know
asked.
“I
don't know,” Tom said. “We were supposed to start Keep of
Terrors, but Jason's not here today.”
Tom might be the smartest kid in
seventh grade. He hung out with the “nerds,” but the popular kids
liked him too. Or, at least they didn't make fun of him. Maybe
because he never said anything stupid. Or because he was the biggest
kid in class, next to Dark Bert. Tom carried around a healthy belly,
and Bert had passed the obesity line. But nobody dared say so.
“You
didn't see him in homeroom?” Bert asked.
“No.
Must be sick or something.”
I’d had classes with Jason for
three years but had never spoken to him once. He seldom said a word
in class unless a teacher made him. I didn't even know he hung out
with Tom and Bert.
“Well,
could we just go out and kill some orcs or something?” the other
kid asked. “I'm only a thousand points from level eight.”
“I
don't know. That's kind of boring for me.” Tom looked up from the
book and stroked his chin. ”Jason won’t care if we go ahead and
play his ranger up to the dungeon. That's probably all we’ll have
time for today, anyway. We could fill him in on Monday.”
“Cool!
Do you get to play his character or do we?”
“Hmmm…:”
Tom said. He looked up from his book and directly at me. “Maybe we
can get Gren to play. Gren, have you ever played Dungeons &
Dragons before?”
“No,
I…”
“Have
you ever played any role-playing game before?” Dark Bert asked.
“Well,
just online.”
“Total
noob!” the kid I didn't know said. He and Dark Bert laughed.
But Tom said, “You'll catch on.
This is going to be an easy session.”
“I
don't know,” I said.. “I- I wouldn't want to get Jason’s
character killed.”
“Or
get all his gold taken,” Bert added.
“Oh
don't worry about it,” Tom said. “I'll restore his life and
wealth at the end if Gren does something totally dumb. You're going
to need three heads to figure out how to get inside this dungeon.”
“I
don't know if I'm going to be much help. I mean... I really have no
idea how to play.”
“Up
to you,” Tom said.
“Remember,
this was your idea,” Bert said to Tom.
“Hope
you know what you're doing,” said the third guy.
“Yes,
Eddie I know what I'm doing,” Tom said. “Hey, Gren do you know
Eddie? He just transferred hear this year.”
“Now
I do.” I smiled. “Good to meet you.”
“Yeah.
You're going to like this game Try not to screw it up.”
So for the next forty-five minutes
Tom became our dungeon master, and we traveled to a medieval town on
the edge of a magical forest. Eddie played an elven wizard with a
hell-hound for a pet. Dark Bert was a dwarven cleric with an
insatiable lust for gold. I played Jason's character, a human ranger
named Siegfried.
At a dingy tavern, we learned of
an ancient treasure hidden deep in the wilderness and guarded by an
immortal sorcerer. Bert paid an old storyteller to draw a map to the
location, and we traveled by horse to a ruined castle in the shape of
a half-buried giant's skull.
Tom rolled the dice and looked
wide-eyed at Eddie.
“Uh-oh.”
“Oh
hell.” Eddie said, shaking his head and gripping the table with
both hands. “Don't say that. Don't say that.”
“Afraid
so. Random Encounter. As you approach the ruined castle, you hear a
screech from overhead, a thousand times louder than any bird you've
ever heard. Sudden winds whip your hair and clothes, and a shadow
dims the sunlight. You look up to see a three-headed chimera diving
straight at you from the sky! Roll for initiative.”
I went first and nailed the
monster's lion head with a magic arrow. My ranger plays hell with a
bow and scored a critical hit on the first try. But we still had the
other two heads to deal with. The dragon head hit us a couple times
with fire-breath until Dark Bert chopped it off. Then Eddie blinded
the lion head with a spell, and I hacked off its wings with my
scimitar so Dark Bert could finish him. I got clawed a couple of
times and almost lost all my life, but Dark Bert healed me once it
was all over.
Next, we needed to get inside the
ruined castle.
“You
approach the castle's crumbling entryway, a huge opening in the shape
of a yawning mouth. The broken and missing bricks give it the look of
rotting teeth. Below the arch stand two massive stone doors, etched
in runes.”
No one could read the runes, and
none of Eddie or Bert's spells worked to open the doors. I tried to
pick the lock, even though my skill level kinda sucked as a ranger.
“Might
as well. Beats nothin',” Eddie said.
It didn't work, but we heard a
dull thunk inside the castle. We eventually gave up and went
searching for another way in. Eddie found a smaller postern door, but
none of the spells worked on it either.
“Hey,
I've got an idea,” I said. I'd remembered something from an old
detective movie I'd watched with my mom. “We need something thin
and wide, like a place mat or menu.”
We used one of Eddie's magic
scrolls. I unrolled it and slipped it under the door. When I tried to
pick the lock. I failed just like the first time. Again we heard the
“thunk” on the other side. I pulled the scroll from under the
door and sure enough, there sat a rusty key!
This totally impressed the other
guys.
“Nice!”
Eddie said, dragging out the word.
“Yeah,
that was a tough one. I told you he might be useful,” Tom said.
Even Bert said, “Pretty cool,”
and gave me a half-smile and a nod.
I felt like the G.O.A.T! I
couldn't help but smile, but inside I felt like beaming. Something
about this game made it as fun as VR, even though there weren't any
graphics or anything. I guess having people my age to play with
helped a lot, but imagining all the scenes and creatures Tom
described made it just as cool in a different way.
The lunch bell rang--time to walk
to fifth period.
“Aww
man! Eddie said. “We were just getting started.”
“Well,
I told you Jason wasn't going to miss anything too
important. Didn't get his character killed, did we?”
“Yeah.
Your boy here didn't do too bad.” Eddie looked at me. “Good job
man.”
He gave me a nudge on the shoulder
and I couldn't help but giggle.
Tom and Bert shared fifth period
with me so we walked together down the hallway.
“We
could use another player,” Tom said. “If you want to come up with
a name we can roll you a character in homeroom next week.
“Yeah,
that’d be cool. What kind of character should I play?
“You
can play anything you want really.”
“We
need a thief,” Bert said.
“Yeah
a thief would be good, if you want to play one.”
“I
think a thief would be cool. Do I have to be a human?”
We stopped at the lockers to
switch our books. Tom's stood just four down from mine.
“Actually,
I think halflings make the best thieves.”
“A
halfling?” I said, keying in my combination.
“It's
kind of like a hobbit. Hey do you have a PS5? You should download
Dreamscape II. My GM created an entire world in it. It’s like an
alternate reality.”.
“Isn’t
that one of those full contact games?” I thought it was, but I kind
of hoped it wasn’t.
“Yeah.
You can really feel it when somebody hits you. But you can turn the
settings up or down in the lower levels.”
“It’s
cool because it’s not just about how fast your hands move,” Bert
said. “Strength matters.”
Full contact games use the entire
spectrum of kinesthetic technology. Testers said they simulate pain
pretty convincingly. Players had been known to freak out, and some
people said there could be unforeseen long-term psychological
effects. Mom didn’t like them at all.
“I’ll
send you the link to our guild site on Instagram,” Tom said.
All through fifth, I kept thinking
about what a good time we’d had at lunch. Dark Bert hadn't said
much, and Eddie seemed kind of hyper. But they were both almost as
cool as Tom. I kept picturing the strange mountain we traveled to in
the game, wondering what lethal traps and vicious monsters might lurk
inside the foreboding keep..
I'd had it much better than I’d
expected for my first day back from wedgie holiday. My bruised butt
didn't ache so bad as it had before lunch. But as I drew the peak of
the skull-shaped mountain in the next page of my loose-leaf, other
questions entered my mind. Mom had told me “No full contact or 18+
games” way back at the beginning of sixth. Would she still think
I'm too young for them now? Should I even ask her? I wasn’t sure if
she’d even know if I didn't tell her.
And what if full contact did hurt
really bad, and I cried like a little baby.... would Tom and Dark
Bert laugh at me like all the others?
