The next day, in the predawn hours, I fed and watered the animals. Though it was springtime, I was glad to find the water buckets hadn't frozen in the night. The long winters seem to stick with you, even after every sign of winter's departure has been observed. We hadn't even had a frost in a month, yet still it made me happy when the handle on the old water spickett came up easily, without a banshee scream. So, one smile led to another and so on, and then I was smiling ear to ear thinking of... you guessed it, Margret.
On my walk back up the path from the barns to the house I wondered what color sweater she'd be wearing today. I put on my usual jeans and a plain t-shirt. Margret could wear anything she wanted, it didn't matter, I'd love her just the same. But, thinking about what she'd be wearing I suddenly had the fear. The fear that creeps into young boys hearts when, shall we say, smitten. The fear that she wouldn't like this old faded t-shirt. My newer shirts all had band names and pictures: Nirvana, Pearl Jam, even a Neil Young print. I had no idea what Margret liked, music, art, science... I hadn't the slightest clue.
My paralysis broke when the stair risers creaked. My mother was coming up to check on me. I looked at the clock, ten minutes, got to hurry. Then, I looked down at myself. Somehow I had stripped off all my clothes and stood in front of my open bedroom door, naked as the day I was born. And my mother was almost at the top of the stairs.
In a rush, I pulled my underwear and pants back on. A different kind of fear crept into me in those seconds. There's nothing more embarrassing in this whole world than for a young boy - such as I once was - to have his mother walk in and find said young man naked. Oh, the horror. I was pulling my t-shirt back on when my mother leaned against the door jam. I knew she was there. When you inhabit a room (or a cell, depending) for more than ten years, you become attuned to certain things. The sound of my mother leaning against the door frame was one of those things.
"You're running late," she said with a touch - just a slight touch - of disappointment.
My head and one arm popped out of their respective holes in my shirt at the same time. "I know mom, I'm sorry. I'll get there in time." And with that I dashed past her and down the stairs. I grabbed my back pack and practically walked right into my Converse low-tops.
I was running now. I could hear the squeal of the brakes on the bus - go screech, screech, screech - at the stop before mine.
-
I made it, you know. Might not be able to sit on my bottom to this very day, if I hadn't. Oh, Scruffy, leave off would you! I apologize. Some cats, most I think, are very independent, Scruffy on the other hand, has the heart of a lap dog. The kind of dogs that are happy to see you even after you've just gone to use the bathroom. But never mind her, I can put her outside if she gets to bothering you too much. And please, let me know if my smoking is a problem. Terrible habit, that, easy as pie to pick up, almost impossible to put down. Anyway, where was I...
-
Margret didn't ride my bus that year. The powers that be changed the bussing routes to try and save money or something. I was fine with that. As much as I longed to be in Margret's presence, when she was around the fear dug in deep. I was all crimson and a total dork in those bitter sweet times. The extra fifteen minute bus ride, in the morning, helped me collect myself.
And here we are at the school. A line of yellow busses, like bees awaiting their daily assignments, off loaded dozens of children. I hustled off and fell in line with the other students. We headed in to the cafeteria were we'd wait for the bell to ring.
When I pushed open the heavy metal door and walked into the bus-room everything seemed normal. It was loud, sure, the big cider block room echoed everything. The volume wasn't bad though, most spoke in hushed, half-asleep voices. Of course there were the jocks that got loud now and then, and the kids - a lot of the regulars at Sherry's - making silence seem loud.
Everything was normal, and see, there she was, in the corner reading a text book today. Margret sat in the corner by the windows. She sat alone in the mornings, very much reserved and preparing for the task of learning. The same beautiful girl would be hanging out and laughing with the gang at Sherry's, amazing.
No! She's going to be sitting with you later. Don't be a chicken, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and did something different on this normal morning. Instead of sitting at the end of a table with kids that wouldn't say anything mean this early, I walked - still holding that deep breath, my chest all puffed out - up to the breakfast counter. I never did that, I never had the money. I got up that morning before my mom came to wake me, you see, and I got into the little stash of money I had. Twenty dollars went into my pocket before I went to school. Twenty dollars was plenty to get some breakfast and get Margret a float from Sherry's later. Plenty, of money.
If, if, it worked out like that. But, naturally, it didn't. I should have guessed and bailed on the breakfast when I saw who was sitting at the tables where the line started. Rob wasn't my best friend in the whole world, not at all. He was one of them that got loud from time to time in the mornings, and he got loud this morning. Funny, now, looking back, Rob got loud just as I was getting close to him and his buddies. I should have bailed, but I didn't. Margret consumed all of my thought.
Rob stood up right in front of me. I had to look up and I did - most days, I studied my shoes - a menacing grin looked right back at me.
"Well, well, well, look at Mr. Money Bags here," he started laughing.
Worse than the fear of my mother seeing me naked, worse than the fear of Margret not liking my outfit, worse than anything the shame that filled me. I was scared, scared right down to the shoes I'd so often studied. I was ashamed of that fear, it was painful. But the laughter and the shame were only the beginning.
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