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inane annals
My Inner Norman, pt.3
by Neil Sholer | 03 Sep 2007, 0:00

At 8:15 the next morning Kyle and I stood by the locked cafeteria doors, drinking Capri Suns.

"Want to go kick their asses right now?" Kyle said, his voice manic. "I'm ready! I mean, just let me put my backpack in homeroom first and then—"

"Maybe we won't."

"But you can't just them get away with it!"

"Oh, their day of reckoning is on its way. I just got something different in mind, is all."

"Can I help?"

"Absolutely," I said, smiling with the corners of my mouth. "In fact, you're an integral part of the plan."

*

Shortly after that, Kyle and I took synchronized bathroom breaks at 9:22 and met outside behind the multi-purpose room. On the far side of the school yard I saw a maintenance man flirting with a cafeteria worker who had big biddies. I nodded at Kyle and we ran, heads low, to the bike racks. Crouching down behind the brick wall I opened my backpack. Kyle's eyes opened wide.

"Whoa," he whispered. "Beer! How'd you get that?"

"I got my sources."

I took the two empty cans from my backpack and placed them on a small dirt mound six inches from the brick wall.

"Now Kyle," I said. "There are some other items I need you to hold."

Nodding, Kyle unzipped his backpack. I shoved two unopened cans of beer, and one empty one, into his backpack.

Kyle looked at the two empty beers cans on the dirt mound. "Are you just gonna leave those out here?"

"Absolutely."

Then I took the previous night's math homework assignment from my backpack. The name was left blank, and none of the answers were filled in. But, in sloppy permanent marker across the page, I'd written a message with my left hand. With a pencil I staked the homework assignment into the dirt mound so the wind wouldn't carry it away.

When Kyle saw the writing he bit his hand and covered his mouth to keep from cracking up.

"Get it all out of your system," I said, reaching in my backpack. "Cause I got two more of these beauties, and you need to hold onto 'em until later today."

After reading the other two homework assignments, also blank except for the writing in permanent marker, Kyle laughed even harder behind his hand. He was gasping, tears in his eyes. Fifteen seconds later he caught his breath and carefully slid the two assignments into his bag.

The message I'd staked into the dirt mound said, Mrs. Furman likes it wit wiffelball bats.

Heads down, Kyle and I ran back to the multi-purpose room and through the hallways. In the junction that forked into the fourth grade hall and the fifth grade hall, Kyle and I stopped.

He shook his head, still giggling. "You misspelled some of the words, I think."

"Sure enough," I said, smiling with the corners of my mouth. "That was done with the utmost deliberation."

Kyle's face got serious for a second. "Aren't they gonna know it's you when you don't turn in your math homework?"

"No matter. I made a copy beforehand and completed the assignment, so as not to arouse suspicion."

Smiling, Kyle shook his head. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

"I just might."

*

Kyle and I went our separate ways back to second period. In my third period class, which happened to be math, I passed in my homework and made a point of answering many of Mrs. Callahan's questions. From across the room Freddie flicked a rubber band at my ear and Vince laughed tauntingly. I ignored them.

Twenty minutes into class, the classroom door opened and Mrs. Furman walked in along with the school cop.

Raising her eyebrows, Mrs. Callahan pushed her glasses farther up her nose. "How may I help you, Mrs. Furman?"

Mrs. Furman walked to the front center of the room while the school cop stayed at the door, arms crossed. Mrs. Furman cleared her throat, then looked each of us in the eye.

"Earlier today we found some—something suspicious behind the bike racks," she said. "We suspect that the perpetrators got frightened, and, in their haste, left this evidence."

Mrs. Furman raised the two empty beers cans, now in a large Ziploc bag. Then, her face turning bright red, Mrs. Furman flashed the homework assignment which she'd tastefully folded in half.

Mrs. Callahan looked at Mrs. Furman. "I don't see what this has to do with my class."

Mrs. Furman pursed her lips, looking out at the classroom. "We know it was one, possibly two, fifth graders. "

"And how do you know that?" Mrs. Callahan said to Mrs. Furman.

Mrs. Furman stared at Mrs. Callahan, then walked over to her side. "This is a fifth grade math homework assignment, is it not?" Shielding it with her hand, Mrs. Furman halfway opened the homework assignment for Mrs. Callahan. Mrs. Callahan snorted, put her hand to her chest, and turned bright red.

Trembling, Mrs. Furman turned to face the class. "Since there are four fifth grade classes, we are unsure which class the perpetrators belong to. But I can assure you we'll find out by the end of the day. And I can assure you the punishment will be severe."

Mrs. Furman pivoted on her heel and walked toward the door. As she was walking out, Vince catcalled, "Thum—Thumthing thuspithus." Freddie burst out laughing. Turning around, Mrs. Furman glared at the two boys. Then she walked off.

*

At lunch Kyle and I met by the backstop on the far edge of the schoolyard. I told him my plan.

"Remember," I said. "Wait at the tetherball courts and pretend you don't know me."

Kyle swallowed, did the secret handshake, and trotted off. Three minutes later I rubbed toothpaste on my tongue and walked in the same direction. I could feel my saliva building.

Vince and Freddie's favorite lunch table was about forty feet from the tetherball courts, separated by a small grassy ravine. Near the tetherball courts was a large, shaded playground in a sandbox. I walked up to Vince and Freddie's table, my head hung low. As I stopped in front of their table Freddie poked my belly.

"Hey y'all," I said mournfully.

Freddie poked my belly again. Vince kicked my shins from under the table.

"Run along now, Southern boy." Vince said. "Or we'll have to hurt you."

"Yeah," Freddie said. "Beat it."

"Maybe I won't," I said looking them in the eye.

Vince and Freddie started to stand, their hands in fists.

"Sit down," I said, lowering my head and showing my palms. "I ain't gonna fight you."

"No?" Vince said. "Then it must be Southern boy day because I can't think of any other reason you'd show your sorry ass."

"Yeah, y'all," Freddie said.

"Actually," I said, looking up at them. "I was hoping to make a truce."

Vince and Freddie sat back down.

Freddie rolled his eyes. "I can't believe this."

"Well," I said. "Kyle was pretty much my only friend but now he won't even talk to me since I hit him and all."

Vince wrinkled up his face. "There's no way we'd be your friends."

"Nope," Freddie said, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh."

"No matter," I said, shrugging. "Figured I might be able to offer you some services anyhow."

Vince kicked my shin again. "What could we, the Slashers, do with a Southern boy like you?"

"It occurred to me you could use a gofer."

Vince narrowed his eyes.

"A what?" Freddie said.

I motioned with my hands. "Someone to fetch things for you, take care of little chores."

"And you'd do that for us?" Vince said.

I tightened my lips. "I just might."

"And you'd have to pay us, too." Freddie said, smirking.

Vince glared at Freddie.

"All right," I said. "Ten dollars a month sound reasonable?"

Vince stuck his chin out at me. "Twenty five."

I tilted my head to the left, then the right. "All right."

"Fine," Vince said, sticking his right hand out. "Shake on it."

Freddie put his hand out also.

I raised my eyebrows. "Where I'm from it's customary to spit on one's hand to seal a deal."

Freddie and Vince snickered, spit in their hands, then offered them to me again. Nodding, I dug for as much saliva as possible, gargling, letting it well up at the back of my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Then, shaking Vince's hand, I spit in his eyes while gouging Freddie in the throat with my left thumb. I was off and running while they recoiled in shock.

I heard their footsteps behind me as I ran around to the other side of the school. At a few points I glanced over my shoulder, seeing them farther behind each time. My training had paid off. On the other side of the school, barely winded, I scaled the six foot brick wall and stood on top of it.

Five seconds later Vince and Freddie arrived, panting and splotchy-faced.

Vince leaned back and tried to spit on me, but only hit the wall. "Get down, you Southern pussy."

With one of his arms Freddie swiped for my feet but missed. "Yeah, faggot."

"I just might," I said. "But do you really want to go to the infirmary?"

Freddie jumped up, latching one hand onto the rim of the wall. Just as he got his other hand up I stomped, hard, on the fingers of his right hand. As Freddie fell backwards, screaming, into the gravel, I jumped down with my knees bent, landing on Vince's chest and slamming him into the sidewalk with me on top. I rolled off and jumped up. Somehow I'd hit my head and I could feel a bad headache forming. Freddie, moaning and on one knee, was clutching his right hand to his chest. Vince was crawling on all fours, wheezing, the wind knocked out of him. I threw a roundhouse kick at Freddie's jaw, knocking him into the wall. Then, screaming, I drop-elbowed Vince in the spine and he collapsed, belly-down and spread-eagle, into the sidewalk. I kicked Vince in the face twice, then stomped on his head. Spinning around, I saw Freddie trying to stand up, holding his right wrist with his left hand. Just as he looked up at me I socked him in the nose, feeling it crack as he fell down. Suddenly I was being yanked backwards in a headlock, legs flailing, as a duty guard grabbed me.

A minute later Vince and Freddie had managed to stand up. They were both crying with bloody faces and dirty T-shirts. The duty guard, a squat man with blond highlights, had my arms pinned behind my back.

"Christ," the squat duty guard said, shaking me. "Who helped you?"

I looked Vince in the eye, who looked away. "A long line of Normans," I said.

"Well," the squat duty guard said, spitting on the ground. "You and your Normans and these two sorry sacks are going straight to the principal's office as soon as we get your backpacks."

"There's nothing I'd like better," I said, smiling with the corners of my mouth.

The squat duty guard escorted us back to Vince and Freddie's lunch table. The whole way there he had my arms pinned behind my back with my wrists bent at a painful angle. Vince and Freddie, crying softly, walked on either side of us with their heads down, wiping their wounds again and again with their T-shirts.

When we got back to the lunch table another duty guard was already there. The new duty guard, wearing aviator sunglasses, shook his head with his lips firmly shut. Vince and Freddie's backpacks were unzipped on top of the table.

"Which of you boys are Freddie and Vince?" the duty guard with sunglasses said.

They each mumbled.

"I can see today is a proud, proud day for you two," the duty guard said, smiling under his sunglasses. Then he opened the backpacks wider, exposing a full can of beer in each one. There was also an empty can on the concrete under the table.

"Wouldn't you know it," the squat duty guard said from behind my head. He let go of me and patted me on the shoulder. Then he grabbed Vince and Freddie, hard, under their triceps.

"What the hell?" Vince said. "That's not ours."

"Yeah," Freddie said. "That wasn't—"

The squat duty guard pinched their arms harder. "Shove it, you two."

"I found something else," the duty guard with sunglasses said. He chuckled, then made a stern face. From each of their backpacks he pulled out a homework assignment, blank except for a message scribbled in permanent marker.

The squat duty guard laughed, then bit his lip. "They're some kind of wordsmiths, these two."

The message on the left said, Mrs. Furman's huzband is a child mollestor.

The message on the right said, Mrs. Furman gots steele wool on her pussy.

At the top of the slide twenty yards away, Kyle was smiling. I nodded at him, slightly, and he slid down.

*

From my chair outside the principal's office I could hear Mrs. Furman hollering at Vince and Freddie.

"Last year when you two lit half the soccer field on fire I thought I'd seen it all. But no. You are incorrigible. First you assault a student who is humane enough to show some emotion after the terrible events in Oklahoma, and now you're getting drunk on school grounds. But what really boils my blood is your crass audacity in writing such profane messages about me! You two have a pair of filthy, degenerate minds. With your track record of previous offenses and your flagrant disregard for decency and authority, I feel absolutely justified in expelling both of you. Your second crack at fifth grade should be most humbling. Go back to class and get your things. I'm calling your parents."

Then the door to Mrs. Furman's office softly clicked open, and Vince walked out. He was sobbing. Right behind him was Freddie, also in tears. They trudged past without looking at me.

Two or three minutes later Mrs. Furman came out.

"Don't bother coming in my office," she said, her voice calmer. "It was obviously self-defense. I'm not going to suspend you, but you will be punished."

"Will it be corporal?"

She wrinkled up her face. "Of course not."

Neither one of us said anything for a few seconds.

"Mrs. Furman," I said. "You are wearing one lovely dress."

She laughed, blushing. "Thank you, Clayton."

Then she looked both ways, leaned closer to me, and started whispering. "You know what? I wish I could've seen the fight. How'd you manage to whup both of them so well?"

I smiled with the corners of my mouth. "I got my sources."

Smiling, she shook her head and stood back up. "For punishment you will write a one page essay about the lesson you've learned today."

"Might I include certain ideas about the Normans?"

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