CHAPTER 1
Oh, Cruel World
He who guards his mouth and his tonguekeeps himself from calamity.Proverbs 21:23
Nothing good can be said about Mondays, Christopherthought. Except for those with a Monday birthday, noone would really complain about its absence. On the otherhand, Tuesday would just become Monday and nothing wouldreally be accomplished anyway. If pressed, he would have to admitthat at least Monday was only one day and not any longer. Besideshe concluded, Monday was the first day of the end of the week.
This Monday had been a particularly foul one for the ten-year-old,blond-haired boy. He had such a wonderful weekend, andnow the beginning of the week weighed upon his grumbling heart.Disneyland on Saturday did not help, nor playing in the castleplayhouse his father finally finished by Sunday. Being jostled awakewith five days until Saturday, fun now gone forever, was more thana youth could take. Unfortunately for our hero, here began a vileday in the life of a boy who had everything, took it for granted,noticed primarily the bad, forgot quickly, and acknowledged littlein the way of joyful matters.
Stepping off the bus in the rain and slipping to his posterior inthe muck, accompanied by jeering laughs, was the first telltale sign.His next memory permanently ruined his fragile psyche forever.What a grinning blue eyed fool he was with his debonair glanceto the smiling girl with the long blond hair, only later to catch ahorrifying glimpse in the mirror of her motivation, the perfectvertical brown crust of mud upon his rump. He may as well havehad a wad of toilet paper tucked into his waist celebrating hisbathroom forays, he decided in elementary school agony.
At that moment he felt the same overwhelming burning feelingas when he realized the meaning of his mom's personalized licenseplate. His urologist father dealt with a subject too embarrassing tofathom! His sense of humor mirrored that shameful profession.Only he would think the personalized license plate, 8-NUTS-N-I,attached to his mother's Suburban which ferried him to all hisactivities, humorous. When he realized that it referred to his familyof four males and one female, he recalled the soccer practices, schoolevents, and drive-thru restaurants with a burning sensation in hishead. Perhaps it was like someone from the Ozarks realizing thata mullet haircut was way not popular in California, or committingsome similar unforgivable social miscue. He prayed daily that noone would guess the meaning as the presence of his mother's carannounced his humiliation to the world. Urologists. Why wouldsomeone be an urologist, he thought for the millionth time! I can'teven stand urine, Chris thought. My Dad always does stuff to bugme, he concluded.
And so the terrible day continued. A spot quiz on last week'sspelling first thing Monday morning continued his disaster. Mrs.Knapp had this way of doing annoying things like this at just thewrong time. As she walked down the aisle on her clunky heels, shesmiled ghoulishly at Chris as if he was carrion, personally delightedwith his discomfort. This proved the boy's theorem: like positivepoles of two magnets, kids and adults have equal and oppositefeelings about everything.
His nose also posed a recurrent problem that day. The big kidhated Chris, and he should have known as much when he smiledso mischievously at him during math drill. Five minutes later herealized his mistake, when the boy said just loud enough to engagethe entire room, "there's a big bugger hanging from your nose dipwad!" However, why did Michael tell him at lunch about Rachel'sbrother eating dog food just as he took that big drink of milk? Anyother time would be just fine, but to laugh with milk in your mouthand then have that milk come out of your nose was not in keepingwith the superior social air he strove for.
At least the day disappeared quickly, Chris thought. However, assoon as he began to feel comfortable with three o'clock approaching,he remembered something that made him shudder, the tortuous busride home.
Delores was a fine, albeit dull bus driver. At the time, he didnot know how fine she was. He even felt some remorse, mercilesslylaughing at the woman who mistook Michael Jordan for theambassador to England.
It was odd then the way that Delores disappeared from the busroute. One day she was there smiling and dull; the next day she wasjust gone. It was as if she met with some foul play. Knowing whathe now knew of her replacement, Chris was certain of it. That firstday when Hurley appeared he thought it was a bad joke. It was notthat he was ugly, fat, and filthy; those things the boy could acceptbecause those characteristics the man had no control over. Theterm: man, a loose description for the vile creature. Hurley was arank personality and very frightening. He had a particular dislikefor Chris as well. If anyone in the bus made a sound, Chris was sureto catch it. Hurley could sense his thoughts, the boy decided, andwhat he sensed he loathed with a brutal intensity bent on viscousretaliation. The more Chris saw of the man the more grotesque hebecame. His face appeared fatter and fatter and his eyes beadierand beadier. His clothes always too small, seemed to shrink daily,stretched over a protruding bouncing belly, producing folds of fatwhich could conceal a forgotten moldy sandwich with ease. Stainedfrom his last several meals, which were myriad, his clothes weredoused with greasy streaks of filthy slime. When he stood up andbent over, that crack with curly hair soared uncovered in the air,a sight the boy would rather forget. Hurley must have cultivatedthat foul and tainted breath, for nothing of this world smelled sorepulsive. As a matter of fact, rotting flesh was a distinct possibility!Yes, that was it! Delores was trapped inside of the man somewhere,kicking at his guts trying to escape. And sweat like a pig, why didhe always have to sweat? Even when it was cold and rainy outside,beads of cloudy perspiration punctuated his slippery, pink, pig-likehide.
The bell sounded ending a wicked Monday of school; however,his misery was just beginning. Chris slowly walked to the busknowing what to expect. The scowl that greeted him did notdisappoint the boy. He tried to make himself small, hoping to slipby Hurley. Trudging up the steps slowly, he passed by the driverwith his head lowered. Not to be disappointed, he was just past thedriver when he heard that familiar nicety. "Get in the back buttlips!" Today he added , "Way in the back you creep!"
Chris plopped down in the seat and stared in utter anguish. Thisguy was getting worse. He was about to go nuclear. He suspectedHurley as a serial murderer. The being made Chris so mad he couldspit! How could this guy exist? How in America could someone sovile be such a tyrant? Hurley was his personal, very own, naggingpersecutor! This wasn't right. It wasn't constitutional. Some oldcrusty document in DC would prove this for sure. His civilianrights, well for that matter his humanly rights, they definitelywere not being respected by this person of interest, this plague ofpestilence, this, this curse of a clown man.
Students passed by, filling the bus. Hurley seemed to only noticeour hero. As they began to move, Chris forced himself to forget.He sat near the back, away from the driver, and he felt much safer.Maybe it was not such a bad day after all. His mind raced back tothe past weekend and all the fun. Disneyland, now that was wherehe wanted to live. Thunder Mountain and Space Mountain hadalways frightened him but now he was old enough and they werefun. The Pirates of the Caribbean was the entire family's favorite."That world of pirates, ships and cannons, oh why can't we live ina world like that?" he thought?
With the start of their ride, there was some jostling for seats.Chris returned to the present and began to worry, for down the aislehe caught a glimpse of a little walking, talking nightmare. He wassitting alone on the window side of the bench seat. If not careful,the free seat would fill with the inquisition itself. Then there hewas, Robbie, standing in the aisle staring at Chris with that blanklook.
"Can I sit here Chris-toe-fer?" Robbie wondered.
The boy was a kindergartener, with white blond hair, blue eyes,and red-rimmed thick glasses, which always sat slightly crooked onthe boy's little nose. Today he was dressed in a ridiculous, yellow,hooded raincoat that was much too large for the small boy. Withhis usual blank stare looking at Chris for an answer, he appearedas if he might cry. Chris knew that the boy looked up to him, butthe boy was a non-stop question waiting to ask the next question.He would rattle along about eating chocolate fairies, or snakesinvading the playground, diamond door knobs, or some other crazything. Besides, sitting with such a youngster ruined the reputationthat was so important in the fifth grade social structure that Christraveled in.
"Uh, I got books Robbie, why don't you sit over there," Chrissaid, pointing hopefully down the bus as he pulled his backpackacross the empty seat.
Robbie looked at Chris's books dejectedly. He puffed out hislower lip, and for once straightened his glasses, which began tofog.
Oh no, he is gonna cry, and his nose looks full of runny snot.Chris grimaced now considering his options. He remembered thetime that the same boy had wet his pants when there was somethunder on the bus ride home. He could just see a strong streambursting out of the boy's rain coat catching him in the face as theboy agonized over his rejection. Against Chris's better judgment,he lifted his backpack and made room for the young boy.
"Fhank you," Robbie said on the edge of tears. He floppeddown on the seat. Quickly his tears dried up, and a smile returnedto his little oddball face.
Good thing little kids get happy pretty quickly Chris thought,as he watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. He was a littleashamed of not wanting him to sit down for he seemed like a nice,though a bit dorky boy, unstable bladder and all, but at the sametime today was not a day that he wanted Robbie to brighten up toomuch. He could only hope for some silence and a quick bus ridehome, Chris thought without much conviction. Then predictablythe barrage began.
"When I grow up I'm going to make the world's largestdonut."
"That's nice, Robbie," Chris said, trying not to laugh.
"Yes, I am ... I definitely am. I'll take lots and lots of flour, putit in a circle on my driveway, and cover it with tons and tons ofchocolate. Donuts can float you know, and they are very easy tosell, but I wouldn't sell this one just leave it forever. My mother loveschocolate, me too. I love Dalmatians, do you?" Without waiting foran answer, he went on. "I don't have 101 Dalmatians, but I definitelyhave more than five," he said referring to his stuffed animals athome.
Chris made the mistake of entering this conversation. "Howold are you Robbie?"
"Five years old," he responded.
"Kindergarten, huh," Chris responded, easily calculating hisgrade.
"How did you know that?" Robbie questioned, staring at Chrisin amazement. "How old are your friends?"
"Ten, maybe eleven," Christopher said, without interest.
"How did they get so big? Did they grow like that? What's itlike to be old? Can you still have a mom and eat milk and peanutbutter? Do they have their own houses? Why are their feet so big,do you have five toes? I am going to stay in my house forever. I willmake lemonade and cookies with lots of milk on my driveway."
Chris just blanked out at this point as the boy rattled on, closinghis eyes. He suddenly was very tired. The last thing he heard was,"Do dogs know they're naked?"
It happened just as it did every day. Hurley stood and turned towalk down the aisle. It seemed as if lifting his massive, grotesque,overweight body was just all his scrawny little legs could do. Still,he continued down the aisle staring with a sickening smile as hewalked toward no one but Chris.
However, the beast was different today. The closer he got tothe boy the more disgusting he became. Belching and grunting ashe walked, Chris realized that he really did not look like a man,but more like a pig. His face was a rounded doughy mass, andhis eyes were almost invisible, sunken into their fat-filled orbits.That nose, always pug-like, was much more so today. Chris knewthat at just the right angle, he would be able to look through hisnostrils and into that horrible skull, the contents of which werecertainly few. His hair, always thin, was curly, coarse, and almostnonexistent. No longer wearing those torn blue jeans with the toptwo fly buttons open by necessity, he had tight black leather pantson. As he lumbered down the aisle, Chris noticed that his shoeswere different as well. He had always worn those black scuffedshoes, the type the Sears repairman had worn. Today he had shiny,black, knee-high military boots, curiously new. As he walked, hisstubby arms swung in soldier like rhythm. His chest was exposed,some stubby hair in the middle just above that massive rotund belly,which hung over his leather britches. Black leather suspenders withskull and crossbones were in place, without which the security ofhis leather pantaloons would have been unstable.
With the entire bus oddly silent now, the menace stoppedpredictably in front of Chris, clicking his heels as if at militaryattention. The smell of the obese sweaty body was overpowering,and Chris felt an overwhelming desire to vomit and lose his lunch tothis man who might just be happy to consume the emesis. Wheezingand heaving, the man raised his arm in front of the boy slowly,bringing a riding strap just below the tip of his nose. Chris focusedon the strap's distal end, making his eyes cross. As if by a secretforce within the belching beast, he was forced to draw his gaze upalong the black leather strap. He could then not help his eyes frommeeting the stare of his tormentor. Hurley had that stupid grin sooften seen as he opened his mouth to chastise him. An upper andlower row of decaying yellowed teeth began slowly to form thewords, "Wake up mush for brains."
The bus jolted to a stop, awakening Chris. He was soaked withsweat, and his heart was pounding. Hurley was as usual perchedhopelessly on the tiny driver's seat that had seemed so satisfactoryfor Delores but so feeble for the present occupant. He had turnedin his seat and seemed to enjoy and understand Chris's recent fouldream. Grinning foolishly, Hurley yelled, "Your stop butt breath,"his entire fetid conflagration directed without question only to theboy. Curiously after the plague of his daydream, Chris received theinsult with joy. He jumped out of his seat, stopped on his way outof the bus, thanked the man like an idiot, and jumped down thestairs out of the bus past his nemesis. The boy noted that Hurleywas again dressed as usual, too tight unbuttoned jeans, but now stilldreamlike in his spit-polished military boots. He noticed the bootsjust in time to avoid the predictable trip over an outstretched leg inhis path. He was halfway up the hill towards his home before hisheart started beating again.
The birds were chirping and the sky a beautiful blue that springday in Temecula, but Chris did not notice. Brooding situations hada way of doing that to the boy. He slowed to a walk as his frightpassed. It had been a completely horrible Monday, even as Mondaysgo. Christopher agonized, reviewing his terrible fortunes as hecontinued a dejected trek home.
Chris' brother Alexander was five years old. He was homefrom Kindergarten now for several hours. He loved his bus driver,Miss Rebecca. She thought he was special. Birds would chirp asthey would sing and circle her lovely head. She would drop himpersonally at the door and wave, "Good-bye Alexander." Alexanderwould make it a point to mention this to Christopher some day, hethought.
Alex loved to invent things and today he was doing so in aprolific fashion. With sticks, string, and baseball cards, the ninja-poweredspaceship was nearing perfection. He wondered that day,as he often did, why big people bought so many new things forkids when an old discarded piece of plastic was so much morefun and useful? He decided against informing the Mom and Dadadult world however, what with Christmas and all; yes, safer to saynothing for now. He must make a note of that.
(Continues...)
