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by Neil Sholer | 30 Aug 2007, 0:00
When I got the bad news I was right in the middle of doing the morning announcements. I'll never forget the way Mrs. Garvey's face looked as she dropped the cue cards.
"Good morning," I said into the microphone. "This is Clayton Sapple with the morning announcements. Today is Wednesday, April 19th, 1995."
The room used for giving the announcements was a small office two doors down from the principal's office. At one end of the room there was a laminated brown table, on top of which there was a small microphone stand and a Styrofoam cup of water. Along one wall there were two pink chairs. Mrs. Garvey, whose job it was to flip the cue cards, stood six feet in front of me.
Mrs. Garvey nodded and changed cue cards. I continued reading into the microphone. "Today grades one through three will be doing standardized testing in the cafeteria, while grades four and five—"
Suddenly Mrs. Furman, the school principal, was in the room as well. When she leaned close and whispered into Mrs. Garvey's ear, ten cue cards clattered to the floor. Mrs. Garvey covered her mouth, reached out for the chair beside her, and fell into it.
Mrs. Furman looked at me and made a throat-slitting gesture.
"Just a moment, y'all," I said into the microphone. "There've been some technical difficulties."
Mrs. Garvey was crying, looking at the floor.
Beckoning with one finger, Mrs. Furman stepped to the corner farthest from the microphone. I got up and walked over to her.
"Clayton," she said softly. "A large federal building was just bombed in Oklahoma City. I know you're from there—"
"But I'm from Tulsa," I said, feeling dizzy and numb.
"Still," she said. "I'll understand if you need to take the day off. This was a nine story building full of people, and the bomb went off in front of its day care center. The authorities don't know how many are dead or injured, but it's probably in the hundreds."
"All those poor children..." I said, looking down, my chin trembling.
Mrs. Furman put her hand on my shoulder. "In these situations I usually make the announcement. But if you'd like to stay in the room and watch—"
"No," I said. "Let me make the announcement."
"Clayton, I'm sorry but you can't."
"I just might."
Mrs. Furman pursed her lips. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely," I said, wiping my nose.
Mrs. Furman looked at Mrs. Garvey, who bunched up her lip and nodded. "Well," Mrs. Furman said, looking back to me. "The students might take it better coming from a fellow student..."
Mrs. Furman quickly told me all the details she knew. Then I walked back to the microphone. Standing over it, my hands on the table, I began.
"Students," I said. "I'm truly sorry to inform you there's been a tragedy of the highest magnitude down in Oklahoma." I paused, steadying my voice. "A bomb just went off in front of the day care of a large federal building, and hundreds of children were..." By now my voice was shaking badly. "Were possibly injured or k— killed. Being from Oklahoma, I implore you to reach out in— in any—" But I was crying, unable to finish, tears dripping on the table and the microphone.
I shook my head and wiped my face. As I walked toward the door Mrs. Garvey tried to hug me. Mrs. Furman, her eyes red, took my place at the microphone.
After that I just wanted to be invisible for a while. And that meant not going anywhere near my hall, the fifth grade hall. I walked the gray school hallways, passing the kindergarten hall and the first grade hall before ducking into the bathroom to avoid a hall monitor. I counted to sixty, then snuck out and went straight to the library. Sometimes when things aren't going too well I like to read scary stories, and the library had a few good ones, complete with illustrations. Besides, a hall monitor couldn't bust me in there.
The library was a large, square room at the center of the school. The center of the room, which was sunken about four feet, contained a librarian's desk and the card catalog. All along the raised perimeter of the room there were shelves and shelves of books. They had books like The Knights Templar and The Diary of Anne Frank, as well as periodicals like Mad Magazine and Your Big Backyard. The library was nearly empty, the librarian hunched over her desk. With the heated air and the purple carpet there was nowhere I'd rather be.
In the middle of a wendigo story I heard a voice I recognized.
"Hey Clayton."
I looked up and saw Kyle, a scrawny fourth grader with black hair I was kind of friends with. "Hey Kyle."
Kyle pointed at the wendigo. "That story's good. I read that book plus volumes two and three. Volume one is best but—"
"What're you doing in the library, Kyle?"
Kyle sat down next to me. "Mrs. Dollinger kicked me out of her class again 'cause she was going over the Lewis and Clark expeditions but I already knew about Lewis and Clark and—"
"Slow down, Kyle. All your words are running together."
"I know," he said, looking down. "Sorry. I just get hyper sometimes."
"No matter." I looked at large piece of graph paper Kyle was carrying. "What's that you got there?"
Kyle flipped the graph paper over, revealing a huge, intricate maze with occasional cartoon icons. "This is a new Metroid level. Metroid's like my favorite game. I can beat it without a Game Genie. Lately I've just been making up new levels and drawing them out and stuff and once I get five good ones I'm gonna send them in to Nintendo to—"
"That's neat, Kyle. I like Metroid, too."
"Really?"
"Absolutely," I said. "You sure do like video games a lot, don't you?"
"Yeah! They're like my favorite thing in the world and when I grow up I'm gonna design my own games. What are you gonna be when you grow up?"
I looked at Kyle. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes wide and darting.
"Well," I said. "For about a year now I've been considering that very question. My first choice would be some kind of business tycoon. But if that doesn't pan out I suppose I'd settle for being a big city newscaster."
Kyle sat down, then stood back up. "That's so cool. I mean, that's basically what you do now only there's no camera. It's like school hasn't really started for me until I hear your voice saying, this is Clayton Sapple with the morning announcements. You must be super popular! Especially with the girls."
Shrugging, I closed my book. "Modesty aside, I can say I'm probably the most famous kid in school. In spite of that, however, I'm not all that popular."
"But I'm your friend, and there's that one fifth grader, Jake—"
"Jake moved."
"Oh that sucks, 'cause he had this one issue of Nintendo Power with all the secret codes for Zelda and he said he'd let me borrow it but he never—"
"Pardon me for interrupting, Kyle, but it occurred to me I ought to return to class."
"OK."
I got up and put the book of scary stories back on the shelf.
"I'm sorry about what happened in Oklahoma," Kyle said, looking at his graph paper. "It made me sad when I heard you get—"
"Thank you, Kyle. That's awfully kind of you."
At lunch I felt too lousy to eat so I wandered the school yard. I walked around the soccer field and both baseball diamonds, listening to a hundred kids shouting and laughing as they ran after balls. I sat at the edge of the sandbox and then on the slide, watching children run ecstatically across a rubber bridge. As they played I envied their ability to go on like nothing was wrong in the world. Above me jets cut streams in the sky. Behind me duty guards blew their whistles. But inside me fear was spiraling, unchecked as Kudzu vine, around my heart.
The more I wandered, the more I thought about Oklahoma. I tried not to consider if any of my friends or family were hurt. Finally, to get those thoughts out of my head, I went to the tetherball courts and started slapping the ball half-heartedly. Aside from me the courts were empty, the wind clanging the chains faintly against the poles.
From across a shallow ravine I saw two boys pointing at me and laughing from their lunch table. I recognized them as Vince and Freddie, two boys in my class. They were rowdy, had all the latest rap tapes, and kissed girls in the hallways. I looked right at Vince and hit the ball as hard as I could. Ringing, it flew around the pole at a steep angle and whapped me in the forehead. As I fell back, stunned, I saw them laughing harder and standing up. I was still rubbing my forehead, the ball flopping erratically, as Vince and Freddie walked up.
"Hey," Vince said to Freddie. "I do believe that's Clay'on Sayapple with the moornin' announcemence."
"Ah reckon it ee-iz," Freddie said, cracking up.
"Hey y'all," I said.
Vince stopped the tetherball with one hand. "What's Oklahoma like, anyway?"
"Oh, it's a fine place and I do miss it." I nodded at Vince. "Thank you for asking."
"Do they have electricity in Oklahoma?" Freddie said.
"Absolutely," I said. "We've got cars and video games and supermarkets and all the other niceties of modern life."
"Does everyone look like you?" Vince said.
Freddie snickered.
"Look like me?" I raised my eyebrows. "Well, of course not. There's quite a bit of variety among—"
"You know," Freddie said. "Like with stubby little legs and funny looking stomachs and big old foreheads?"
"Yeah," Vince said. "Big old foreheads with red tetherball marks?"
"Look, fellas." I let out my breath. "If you're going to disparage me in this manner, I'm going to have to leave."
"OK OK," Vince said, making a stopping gesture. "That was cold. We'll stop. Cool?"
"No matter," I said.
"The reason we came out here," Vince said, "is because we—"
"Why'd they do it?" Freddie said.
I looked at him. "Why'd who do what?"
Vince looked at Freddie, then to me. "What Freddie means is, since you're from Oklahoma we thought you might know more about the bombers. Like, why'd they do it and stuff?"
"How would I know a thing like that?" I said, feeling my hands starting to shake.
Freddie stepped closer, smiling with half his mouth. "They're your people, right? So are they all, like, crazy cult members and snake handlers and morons with accents? Cause if so, what's the loss, right?"
Glancing around, I saw Kyle on the soccer field thirty yards away but no duty guards anywhere.
"You'd do well to shut up, Freddie." I licked my lips. "I'm a peaceable man by nature but if you don't quit it I may have to give in to my lesser instincts."
Freddie wrinkled up his eyebrows. "What did he just say?"
"He said he's gonna hurt you," Vince said.
I glared at Vince. "And you too, if you're with him."
"How?" Freddie said, laughing.
I narrowed my eyes down to slits. "I got my sources."
"Leave the little Southern boy alone," Vince said mockingly. "He's had a t—terrible mornin'."
"Yeah," Freddie said. "Ever since them childrens in that there daycare got k—killed by—"
I socked Freddie in the eyebrow, my knuckles throbbing instantly. For a second Freddie and Vince just looked at each other. Then Freddie punched me in the stomach and I stumbled back, nearly losing my breath. Vince, his head tucked in low, punched me in the chin, then stepped on my foot, making me fall back, hard, on my butt. As I tried to get up Freddie kicked me in the shoulder and I lost my balance. From beside me Vince back-fisted me in the mouth right as I punched him in the balls. Freddie kicked me in the cheekbone from the other side.
In the scuffle we'd moved to the edge of the court, where the concrete met the mud and the grass. Then, screaming, Kyle was there, shoving Vince and Freddie out of the way and taking shots to the ribs and back. Kyle offered me a hand and I took it. Back on my feet I was gasping, seeing Vince and Freddie coming in diagonally from my right and left. Kyle, facing me, had his arms out to protect me, like he was playing defense in basketball. I uppercutted him in the stomach, then shoved him over into a mud puddle. Suddenly Vince and Freddie were laughing too hard to hit me.
"What the hell, Kyle?" I screamed. "Can't you let a man fight his own fights?"
Kyle was wheezing, doubled over, a muddy hand over his stomach. "I was trying to help, man."
"Well you're disgracing me, is what you're doing."
Kyle looked up and shook his head. "Fuck you then."
Just then I felt a crack as Vince punched me in the jaw. From the other side, giggling, Freddie boxed me in the ear. Vince spit on my shirt. After that Vince and Freddie walked off, their heads back, their chests out. I didn't see where Kyle went.
I went directly to Mrs. Furman's office. She was bent over her desk, head down, rifling through papers. Her windows, with the blinds halfway drawn, looked out into the crowded administrative office. On her desk there was a red wood carving that said #1 Teacher and messy stacks of manila folders. The room smelled like licorice.
"Mrs. Furman," I said. "It occurred to me it might be for the better if I took you up on your offer to go home for the day."
She shoved a paper into a manila folder and looked up. "Clayton!" she said. "My God, you've been in a fight."
"No matter," I said. "It was a fair and dignified fight, except for the last few moments when—"
"But where were the duty guards?"
"I pretty much didn't see any."
"We'll remedy that." She smoothed out her dress. "Clayton. You must tell me who assaulted you."
"Maybe I won't."
"Please," she said, gesturing at a chair. "Sit down."
"Maybe I won't."
She sighed. "Will you at least tell me what you were fighting over?"
"Oklahoma."
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