Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Bullied - Chapter 2

Some say the end is near.
Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this,
Bullshit, three-ring circus sideshow

Ænema



Tool

Chapter Two


The tardy bell rang. Jon walked in the front doors of the school. Teacher’s voices from classrooms echoed through the empty halls. Ok, just go get your coat and go home.

He walked down the main hall. He passed the purple walls of the English and Music hallway across from the entrance of the cafeteria. The smell of burned beef and grease still poured from the cafeteria.

I won’t be eating in there again.

He picked up his pace.

Jon turned left down the yellow walls of the Science and Math hallway, which his locker stood tucked away at the very end of. Classroom doors stood open and teachers called out attendance.
“Matt Andrews.”

“Here.”

“Sally…”

“…ephanie Williams?”

“Here.”

“Holl….”
Here.

“…Turnball.”

“Jon Turnball?”

Giggles escaped the doorway of Jon’s first period class and echoed down the halls.

“ Nora Jam....”

“avid Moore”

Jon stopped.

“Yo.”

“Here will do fine Mr. Moore.”

“Yup.”

Jon moved passed the door quickly and stopped on the other side.

He is only two classrooms away from my science class. Jon’s mind spun a web of worries. His chin dropped to his chest as he moved towards his locker again.

This must be hell. Don’t know what I did, but… I’m in hell.

Fourteen. He spun the combination dial to the left, going around the number twice. One. Closing classroom doors echoed down the hallway. He spun the dial right. Thirty-…

“Mr. Turnball.” The voice of Mr. Adams, principal of the school, startled Jon and he spun the dial past the last number.”

Jon turned toward him. “Yes sir?” He looked at a spot of mortar that seeped from the crease of two of the over-waxed floor tiles between Mr. Adams’s shoes.

“Running a little late today?”

“Yes sir.” How did he know?

“And I understand you left school yesterday in quite a hurry.”

“Yes sir.” Does he know everything?

“Care to talk with me about it?”

Jon put his hands in his pockets. “No sir”

“Well Mr. Turnball, this is a tardy. With this and skipping the half a day of school unexcused means… You know what that means don’t you?”

Jon’s heart sank. “Yes sir.” Detention.

“Well then,” Mr. Adams said as he wrote on a pink pad of paper. “You will need to report to room one-zero-nine immediately after seventh period.” He tore the top sheet off the pad and handed it to Jon. “This’ll let Mr. Winders know we have spoken about this tardy.

“Yes sir.”

“Now gather your things from your locker and get to class.”

“Okay.” Jon turned to his locker. He heard the squeak of Mr. Adams’s shoes and looked. Mr. Adams walked down the pale-gray hall that ran parallel with the main hall connecting the Science and Math hall with the English and Music hall.

Jon turned to his locker. Detention. Mom is never going to understand this.

Jon put his hand on the combination dial. Fourteen…One…Thirty-three.

Jon pulled his notebook and science book from his backpack. He stuffed his backpack in the narrow opening of the locker and slammed it shut.

I can’t believe I got detention!

Jon turned and walked down the hall to his first period class. The door to David’s classroom was closed.

I need to avoid this spot after first period. He looked down at the main hall.

If I go that way, at least I’ll have the hall monitors watching for trouble. He continued to his class.

He stood in at the door of his classroom for a moment, placed his hand on the knob and turned. It didn’t move. Great!

Mr. Winders loved to make examples of tardy students. Jon knocked, reluctantly on the door. Jon looked at the scuffed toes of his once white shoes. The door opened.

“Why look everyone. Jonathon decided to bless us with his presence after all .”

The classroom filled with laughter.

“You have a pass I assume?”

Jon held out the pink paper Mr. Adams handed to him. Mr. Winders took it, looked at it long and hard and returned it to Jon’s hand.

“Very well. Come in and have a seat, any seat you wish.”

There was only one seat available: his seat.

**********************************************************

Jon sat through detention once before. It was quiet, only one or two other kids in the room. It worked out to be hour of sitting in silence, working on homework; a blessing to him.

Jon walked into room one-o-nine. Mrs. Williams sat at her desk and marked red ink all over English homework. Jon scanned the room.

I’m the only one here.

He moved to the far side of the room and sat in the first desk by the windows. The flickering overhead lights didn’t hurt his eyes as much with the natural light from outside filtering in.

He opened his backpack, pulled out his notebook and math book and opened it to the dog-eared page.

“Look here, its shit stain.”

Robyn. Jon looked towards the door. Why her?

Jon thought it was funny when he heard what she did in gym class, but wasn’t ready to spend an entire hour with her. He turned back to his book.

“That’ll be quite enough out of you Miss. Woodard. You’re late again I see.” Mrs. Williams said.

“They must not have enjoyed your artwork in the cafeteria, huh?” Robyn continued as if Mrs. Williams had said nothing.

Queasiness made a home in Jon’s stomach.

“Miss. Woodard, would you like another week added to your detention schedule?”

She has a detention schedule? I guess showing breasts to the boys gym class would get anyone that.

Robyn sat in the desk right next to Jon. She never answered Mrs. Williams, but the taunting stopped. Jon smelled the familiar scent of freshly smoked cigarettes. An unpleasant smell. It reminded him of home.

Jon tried to do his homework, but was unable to concentrate. He felt Robyn’s eyes burning into the side of his head. He never looked at her, but he knew she was waiting for him to. Jon looked at his math book, and flipped the page every so often, but he wasn’t really reading it.

What am I going to do after detention? I could stay after, pretending to have a homework question. No not a good idea. She could wait for me anywhere then. No I need to get out of this room first.

Jon listened to ticking of the clock. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. Tick… Tick… Tick… Jon jumped as Mrs. Williams’s chair squealed when she stood up. Jon’s teeth ached at the sound.

Why doesn’t she just scrape her nail across the chalkboard.

“I will be right back; I expect that you will continue with your homework…” Mrs. Williams said looking at Jon, “or what ever you are doing, she said turning her attention to Robyn. She walked out of the room.

Where is she going?

Robyn turned and faced Jon. “So shit stain; a little jumpy aren’cha? Why’d you get detention?”

Jon turned back to his book.

Ignore her and she will leave me alone.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Jon turned the page in his book.

“Hey shit stain,” Robyn said a little louder, shoving Jon’s shoulder.

Ignoring her isn’t going to work.

Jon turned to face her. His eyes met hers for a moment and then he looked at her gray tee-shirt. “I am here because I was late to school.”

Not that you really care.

“Oh really.” Robyn laughed. “Sure it wasn’t cause you spewed all over the cafeteria?

“Yes, I’m sure. I got here late and Mr. Adams gave me detention.”

“I remember. How’s your elbow?

Jon didn’t answer, just stared at her shirt.

“So you like staring at my boobs, huh?”

Jon’s eyes darted to the desk behind her. “I wasn’t looking at them.”

“Sure you weren’t you little perv. I oughta beat the shit out of you right now.” She moved to get up from her seat.

“Mrs. Woodard? What do you think you are doing?”

Jon snapped his head back to his book.

Thank you.

“Just stopping the little perv from staring at my boobs.”

Jon’s face warmed and he looked at Mrs. Williams shaking his head.

Robyn looked at him. “You lying piece of shit. I swear Mrs. Williams; he was gawking at my breasts.”

“Well now Robyn, since you have a week’s worth of detention for that little stunt in gym class, I doubt that Mr. Turnball was unprovoked.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Robyn shouted.

“Mrs. Wilson,” Jon piped in. “I wasn’t looking at her breasts. I was just explaining to her why I was here.”

“Jon, you are dismissed. Consider your detention obligation met. You may go now.”

Jon picked up his backpack and placed his things in it. He looked at the clock. 3:45.

I can still beat mom home.

“As for you Mrs. Woodard, you will have the privilege of joining Mr. Hanson for detention next week as well.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You should have thought of that before you... well you know.”

Jon walked around the front of his desk and past Robyn. She kicked at him, but only grazed his pant leg.

“You are such a bitch,” Robyn whispered.

“What was that Mrs. Woodard?”

Robyn sat silently.

“Let’s go ahead and make that two more weeks,” Mrs. Williams said.

Jon walked out of detention. The tension in his shoulders released a bit. He walked to the front doors of the school, stopped and put his coat on. He stepped out the front door and drew a deep breath air through his nose. Fresh air.

One hundred and nineteen…One hundred eighteen…One hundred seventeen…One hundred sixteen…

Four, Jon’s neck tightened. Three, his stomach cramped. Two, his heart pounded. One, he fought to breathe. The garage door was open and his mom’s car sat parked inside.

Mom’s home. Mom beat me home.

**********************************************************

Jon walked into the family room from the garage. His mom stood at the kitchen counter, phone cradled to her head. She spun around and said, “Never mind, he is here now.”

Oh man.

Him mom slammed the phone on the cradle. “Where have you been?” she yelled.

“I was at school.”

“School got out at 3:00. What have you been doing since then? I called Grandma, Sandy and Ned. I was just about to call the police. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was late getting to school this morning and got deten…”

“Late? How could you be late? You were fed and dressed before I left for work. What the hell happened?”

“I was watching cartoons… and I…”

“No more television in the mornings…you understand?”

“Yes.”

“So, you got detention again huh?”

“Yes.”

“You remember what your father and I said would happen to you if you got detention again?”

“Yes,” a switchin and grounded to my room.

“Go to your room. Your dad will be in there after he gets up and I will call you out when dinner is ready.”

Jon turned and headed towards his room.

“Good thing you brought that coat home mister.”

I know.

Jon closed his door behind him. He put his backpack on the floor next to his bed. Walked over to his closet, untied his shoes, took them off with his hands and placed them neatly in his closet.

Jon draped his coat over the end of the bed. He turned and looked at his radio, but thought better of it.

She probably means I am grounded from that too.

Jon looked at his backpack.

I don’t feel like doing homework.

He sat on his bed and pulled his nightstand drawer open. He grabbed his book and opened it to the dog-eared page. I can always count on you Mr. Merrick. The motor from the garage-door-opener resonated through the house.

Jon heard his parent’s bedroom door open. He heard heavy footsteps down the hall.

Dad’s up.

Jon dog-eared his book and put it back. “Maybe later Mr. Merrick,” he whispered. Jon lay back on his bed and listened to his parents.

“I don’t know what has gotten into him,” his mom said.

“I do. He’s getting at that age where all kids begin to rebel. It’s a phase, it will pass,” his dad said.

“Why do you always take the hands-off approach with him Tom?”

“What the hell are talking about?”

“You never discipline him.”

“Am I to blame for the way he is turning out?”

“Always say that’s what boys do at that age.”

“That’s because most of the time it’s true.”

“You don’t do anything but provide excuses for his behavior.”

“You know I work… graveyard I mind you,” his dad yelled.

“Well I work to you know,” his mom countered.

“I know.”

“I put in as many hours a week as you do. Then, I’m expected to clean the house, cook your meals, take care of your kid and still make time to have sex with you!”

Gross. I didn’t need to know that.

“Well you know what Helen? I bust my ass around this house as well.”

“All you do is sleep. You come home from work and sleep.” You wake up. Eat dinner and then take a nap before work. You don’t do half as much as I do!”

“Is that what you think?”

“Hell yes. If you think I’m wrong, prove me wrong.”

“I work ten hour nights and yeah I sleep all day and I take a nap before work, but when it comes to my weekends, I bust my ass around here. If it weren’t for me, you still wouldn’t have a dryer. The leak in the roof, were you going to fixed that?”

A moment of silence.

“Yeah I didn’t think so. No, I spent three weekends of hunting season putting a new roof on this house! Who mows the yard? Me! Who empties the garbage? Me! And built your deck in the backyard? That’s right, I did.”

“Don’t let your head get too big Mr. Villa. The deck isn’t even square and the dryer takes two cycles to dry a damn sock!”

“You think you can do better?

“I think you have it easy around here.”

“Aw, piss off.”

“Thomas Andrew Turnball!”

Jon heard the thudding footsteps of his dad coming down the hall. His bedroom door flew open and his dad stood there in his underwear, the pee-flap hanging open slightly. jon looked at the floor.

“Jonathon.” The volume of Tom’s voice didn’t drop a bit.

Jon looked at the wall of the hallway behind his dad.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the hell did you do this time?”

He doesn’t even know why mom is mad?

“I was late to school and got detention.”

“We live two blocks away.” His dad’s voice lowered and he shook his head. “How the hell were you late?”

“I was watching…”

“Cartoons? Yeah figures. We had a deal, remember? Go out back and get a switch off the maple tree and bring it to me.”

Jon slipped his shoes on walked down the hall and through the kitchen to the sliding glass door of the family room. His mom stood in the kitchen with her back to him the whole time. He opened the sliding glass door and walked outside.

Jon always picked a thicker switch, because his dad hit him easier with it and the thinner ones stung a whole lot more.

What kind of parent makes a kid get his own switch?

The lower part of tree, thinned out too well, made Jon look to the upper branches for a good switch. He snapped a good one off, stripped the leaves and nubbins and carried back into his bedroom.

His dad took the switch from him and said, “Take the position.”

Jon walked over to the bedpost at the foot of the bed. He dropped his pants to his knees.
At least it’s dad.

His mom had a bad aim and usually switched his lower back and upper legs, missing his butt completely. His dad took his time. Jon grabbed the bedpost with both hands.

“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” his dad said.

What does that mean, I’m the one getting hit.

The first switch landed. It didn’t sting too much, but Jon wailed like a wounded dog. He learned a long time ago that the sooner he cried out the easier his dad was with the rest of his swings.

“One,” Jon called out.

Jon heard the next one coming. Swoooo-…The incoming whispered in the room... -itch… as it connected with Jon’s underwear. He cried out again bur he wasn't faking it this time. He wanted nothing more than to let go of the bedpost, but knew the switching would only get worse if he did.

“Two,” he squeezed through his clinched jaw.

Three… Four... Five… Six… Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…

“Pull your pants up.” Jon did. “You need to think about this,” his dad continued. “Do you think we enjoy doing this?”

“No.” You must if you do it all the time.

“That’s right we don’t. But you give us no choice. You need to start thinking. Start using that brain and we won’t have to do this, okay?”

“Yes.” Jon wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Now stay here until dinner time. We’ll call you out.” His dad made is way to the door.

“Okay. Can I listen to my radio?”

“No you can’t!” his mom yelled from the other room. “As a matter of fact, I will bring you your dinner.”

“There ya go,” his dad said as he pulled the door shut.

Dinner in my room, she is “really” mad. I don’t understand. It’s not like I got in fight, or stole something.

Jon sat on his bed, carefully. Although he picked the least painful switch he could find, it still hurt and he knew it would leave bruises.

Why don’t they like me?

Jon scooted carefully up the bed and laid his head on his pillow.

Maybe they would be happier if I wasn’t here anymore.

Jon rolled on his left side facing away from the door. He stared at the sky-blue wall.

I could run away.

“There, ya happy?” His dad said.

Where would I go?

There was no reply from his mom.

Anywhere would be better.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall and his parent's bedrom door slammed.

But where?

Jon heard the shower start.

Anywhere but here.