"Okay, class dismissed," the "Rat" said, "but you," he saidpointing to me, "stay behind."
So there I was, being lectured by the "Rat," him telling me crap likehow I should keep good company and stay away from wild parties and allthe scandal I was usually involved in. "You know," he said, "one dayyou'll ask yourself, 'Was it all worth it? All the parties, all theskipping classes.' Well let me tell you, you don't fool me. You need tofocus your attention, you need one vision. You need to spread your wingsand fight from the inside to make something of yourself. Life is realandyou need to stop acting like you're playing the game. Otherwise, infifteen years from now you'll be just another white man sleeping on thesidewalk, and you'll realize that you were the loser in the end."
"Bravo, Rat, bravo," I retorted. "You take my breath away, you reallydo.Your lecture was excellent, but it's late and it's a beautiful day so Iwill be going. You and I don't see eye-to-eye on many things but letmetell you how I truly feel about you. You're so square, baby, I don'tcare.You seem to think you're my best friend and that you'll save me frommyself, but I don't need your help."
"Whew," I thought to myself as I left his room. "I go crazy talking tothat guy. Of all God's people, he must be one of the stupidest I've evermet. Some day, one day I'll show him..."
So there I was, outside the school, in the parking lot, thinking howlistening to Rat's speech was comparable to Chinese torture."Well," I said to no one in particular, "hang on in there, only sevenmore school days until graduation and then you'll be long away fromhere." I could see my car in the distance and somewhere deep in mybrain,I realized that my car was the love of my life, the only love in my lifefor that matter. On the windshield was a ticket for parking in ahandicapzone. What did I do, you might ask? I tore it up, just like I would tearit up now.
So there I was, sitting in my car. I turned on the radio and heard thenext two songs were going to be Tutti Frutti and Big Spender, bothredone by some British band, so I popped a cassette into the tape deck.An old friend of mine was right, the radio never has anything good onit.It's all radio blah-blah. I think my friend called it radio ga ga. Yeah,that's it, radio ga ga.
I just cruised and cruised in my car. Some might say I looked like aman on the prowl. I might as well have hung a sign on the car saying,"Calling All Girls, Calling All Girls, Anyone Interested?" There wereallkinds of guys in all kinds of places doing the exact same thing as Iwas,just them and their machines looking for the right woman to come theirway. I stopped at the local burger dump because I knew the girl of mydreams worked there. Her name? Mary Lou, and she makes me, well, let usjust say she makes me feel like I'm on the verge of a sheer heartattackwhen I see her beautiful face. I don't know if she even realizes howmuchI like her, and it is during these times that I think I'm going slightlymad. She appears to me as a White Queen, perfect in every way. It'sfunnyhow love is, this crazy little thing called love, because I'm notusuallyaffected by a woman in this way. If only I could tell her, "Mary Lou, Ineed your lovin'." I tried once, I did, I tell you, by memorizing thissong called "Las Palabras De Amor" which translates to "The Words OfLove",by this obscure little British band. But I couldn't bring myself to doit. Under pressure, I am no cool cat, and when it came time to profess mylove to her, I ordered a cheeseburger instead.
So there I was, on my way home; home being a two storey tenement,Tenement Funster I called it as a little boy because it was always wheremy friends and me gathered to have fun by playing games. My favorite wasalways WAR, but pretending I was an Invisible Man was a favorite also.
Anyway, I got home, walked into the kitchen and re-heated the alreadyre-heated macaroni and cheese which had been fermenting in the fridgeforthe last two weeks. It was amazing how the microwave could, in underthreeminutes, make the starchy goo in front of me appear to be edible. Itwas almost a kind of magic. I noticed an open box of cereal (Shreddies,in case anyone was wondering) and poured the contents out because therewas a prize, and everyone knew it was always at the bottom. Like usual,it was stuck right at the bottom, so I yelled, "Gimme the prize" (as ifyelling made the prize come out any easier), andyanked it out, pulling half of its contents out and onto the floor. Itturned out that the prize wasn't worth the effort though, because itwasjust a couple of cardboard cut-outs of three men holding swords, proudlyproclaiming themselves as the Princes of the Universe. "Don't loseyourhead now," I thought gleefully as I pulled their paper heads off theirpaper shoulders. Afterward, I felt much better, but maybe, just maybe, Mr..McGillicutty was right, I might have been stone cold crazy, even allthose years ago.
So there I was, lying in bed that night thinking to myself, "Well, thenight comes down, and in only seven days I'll be out of school." I couldimagine it: The procession of cars exiting the school yard, nevermore toenter its premises. Forever free from the clutches of men or women likethe Rat.
My dreams that night were more off-the-wall than usual. The firstwasof me, my car, and Mary Lou. It was strange that in the dream I was notthinking of my undying love for Mary Lou but instead, for the car. Ikeptthinking, "I'm in love with my car, I'm in love with my car..." I wasdriving Mary Lou home from a date (we had been celebrating our firstanniversary together--that one year of love had been better than alifetime alone). Suddenly, a huge motorcycle bore down on us. Witha flick of the wrist, the motorcycle came smashing into us, throwingusheadlong into a brick wall. Just before I died (or should I say woke upfrom the dream), I realized for some inane reason that pain was soclose to pleasure and that I worried more for the car than I did for thesafety of the two occupants.
My second dream, a continuance of the first, had me in a mythical landof imps and angels, set in a surrounding of flowers and plants of allsorts. Quite literally, Mary Lou and I sat in the lap of the Gods. MaryLou, looking stoic, just stared at me and repeated, "All dead, all dead;all the dreams we shared, how could you?". As if I wasn't feeling badenough, eh? The God whose lap Mary Lou sat in said, "Sail away sweetsister," and with that Mary Lou disappeared, leaving just God and I. Wewere surrounded by the Lilies of the Valley which gave me a sense oftranquility and comfort. "The miracle of life," he thundered, shaking meout of my tranquil state, "was given to you and this is how you use it."There was no innuendo here - he said everything and I said nothing."Theseare the days of our lives," he continued, and he showed my childhood tome with the entire, visible sky as the backdrop for my life story. Istaggeredsomewhat, as you can imagine, as I came to the full realization that Godknew all about me, including my thoughts. "Coming soon, you will begivenanother chance and with it you should make amends. The show must go on,either with you, or without you: the choice is yours."
Inexplicably I said, (without actually wishing to) "Who wants to liveforever? I certainly don't. Now I'm here so I might as well sayeverything I have been meaning to. Who needs you? I have got stayingpower, and I'll always manage to succeed with or without you. Sure, Iwantit all, but who doesn't? I like the person I am and I'm doing allright..."
"Stop," he thundered down at me. I hoped he knew that I really didn'tmean all those things, "All that is left for me to tell you is keepyourself alive." And with that, I re-awoke in my bed, albeit more thana little scared.
So there I was, lazing on a Sunday afternoon, the dream of thatprevious night far away and forgotten. I was day dreaming of my sweetlady, Mary Lou, hoping for a single chance to tell her, "Mary Lou, youtake my breath away." My daydream was usually the same. I was rich,veryrich, and I was throwing the usual huge party. The dream always startedwith me addressing the guests. "Dear friends," I would say, "I gatheredyou here today to tell you that I have found that special somebody tolove. I'd like to have the first dance, a waltz in fact, by Chopin orsomeothergeniuses, called 'The Millionaire Waltz.' Rather suitable don't youthink?" She, in my dreams, would always be a great dancer. The dreamalways had Mr.. McGillicutty nearby, saying, "I always knew that boywouldturn out to be a good old-fashioned lover boy. I just knew it." As Ire-entered reality, I could always feel my melancholy blues set in.
Sunday, like usual, came and went quickly. Monday morning meant school,and school meant countless hours of boredom. Sure, everyone liked me (orshould that be they feared me?), but I was known as a tough guy by mypeers and a liar by my teachers. I was the hero to the student bodybecause I stood up to theteachers and ANYBODY who got in my way (this reputation came from afightI got into during a game. It was now just simply known as "The FootballFight").
So here I am, all grown up and recalling my early childhood. Mr..McGillicutty was right: I never did become anything. After school I lefthome (and let me tell you, leaving home ain't easy) because, well let'sjust say my step-dad and I weren't having too many father-to-son talks,More like step-father beating son. I took to the street and that's myhome now; the streets. I'm 39 years old. Every now and then I think tomyself, "I want to break free and do something else," but I usuallydrown this feeling out with liquor. I know my drinking is killing me,sometimes my body seems to scream, "Stop! Please let me live," but Icontinue to drink and drink. Did I tell you that Mr.. McGillicutty passedby a few years ago and he recognized me. I don't remember much of whathesaid because I had been, yup, you guessed it; drinking at the time. Hisbody language had told me that he was uncomfortable being around me. Iwish we could've talked but he said something about being late for anappointment.
So here I am, not knowing how much more I should/can write, but Iwanted youto see what a fool I've been. I've been thinking of ridding the world ofmy useless existence, and when I think about it I ponder what mygravestone might say. I think "Death On Two Legs" would be suitable. Iremember a song, long, long ago called "Keep Passing the Open Window."Well, let me tell you, it's getting harder and harder every day. Withevery passing day the window gets bigger and bigger and...