Crowam 281

by Frank Nunez

  “You’re not in the position to give me orders, young man,” she said sternly from a distance.

  “It’s not an order. Just a request,” William said.

  “Take it easy, Willy. I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t touch my damn magazines.” I started to follow the headmaster’s assistant down the hall.

  “Why would I want to touch your filthy magazines?” William said under his breath.

  “I doubt it’s to read the intriguing commentary, Willy,” I yelled back from down the hall.

  Sitting in the waiting room at the headmaster’s office was a welcome respite from William. His hidden eagerness to pleasure himself with my magazines was a raw reminder of the raging hormones that stirred in all us teenage boys. There weren’t any good magazines to read, which made my wait annoyingly dull. Just the secretary typing away at some busy work nobody cares about. She had this fluffy gray hair and these glasses that were as thick as a telephone pole. I decided to kick my feet back on the coffee table.

  “Take your feet off the table,” the secretary said.

  “What? I’m just trying to relax.” I begrudgingly moved my feet to the carpet.

  “You’re being extremely rude and I don’t like your tone.”

  “My tone? My tone is perfectly lovely.”

  “Lovely? You have an awful tone. Perhaps the worst in the school.”

  This was hardly the first time that I got underneath her skin. I could tell she hated my guts. Not just because I rested my feet on the coffee table. It was just some old people didn’t like the young. They think they know everything.

  Maybe it was also because I had been to the headmaster’s office too many times to count. She probably thought we were all a bunch of delinquents who didn’t know any better. Maybe old people were all sore because death knocked around the corner.

  I sat in the waiting room as the secretary kept watch of me underneath those huge rims of hers, while she filed her nails.

  “So, what are you doing after work?” I was bored and needed to find a way to entertain myself.

  “Excuse me?” She stopped filing her nails and stared at me.

  “Yea, you know. What do you do when you’re not typing and filing your nails?” I snickered under my breath.

  “I don’t think that is any of your business, Mr. Hudson.”

  “What? I’m just starting a conversation.”

  “Well… keep your conversations to yourself.”

  “Rough crowd today.” I shifted in my seat.

  “Rough crowd?”

  “It’s a figure of speech.”

  “You Americans need to learn how to speak proper English.”

  “You know something lady? You’re probably right. I speak like a damn ignoramus, don’t I? A real dull blade.” I put my feet back on the table.

  “Mr. Hudson, I think you would be doing us both a favor if you didn’t speak anymore.”

  “That wouldn’t be any fun.”

  “Mr. Hudson?”

  I nodded.

  “Get your feet off of the table.” The phone rang and she picked it up, before slamming the phone into the receiver. “Mr. Raywood will see you now.”

  “Sounds swell. Are you going to miss me?”

  “Now, Mr. Hudson!”

  “Alright, alright. I’m going.” I walked toward the headmaster’s door. I turned back to stare at the secretary for a moment before opening the door.

  I was welcomed into the office by cigarette smoke. Mr. Raywood smoked like a damn chimney. He must have smoked eight cartons a day. He puffed away while reviewing my charts. His bald head shined underneath the office light. I sat in that chair for what seemed like an eternity before he even looked at me. He just sat at his desk, filling out paper work. Talk about a boring job. I mean think about it. Sitting behind some desk all day filling out paperwork. I think I would throw myself off a bridge before I took some desk job. I mean I sort of felt sorry for the guy.

  I got antsy just sitting there. I was twiddling my thumbs trying to find something to do…

  “From what it sounds like you were giving Ms. Ratchet a hard time out there?” he said, as he looked up from his paperwork.

  “Oh that wasn’t my intention sir. I was just starting a conversation, that’s all.”

  “I’m always up for good conversation. You should see me at dinner parties. I can talk up a storm.”

  “I’m sure you’re a regular party animal sir.”

  “Mr. Hudson. Do you know how many boarding schools you’ve been thrown out of?”

  “I sort of lost track to be honest.”

  “Six. Six times Mr. Hudson. Three in the past year. You seem to have worn out your welcome in a number of other institutions. And do you know why you are not welcome?”

  I hated questions. He was just dragging on and on about my record. What a bore. He really was. What in God’s name would he talk about at all those dinner parties? Watching two snails screw would be more exciting than listening to this guy. “No sir.”

  “Well let me enlighten you. You were cited for insubordination twelve times, Mr. Hudson. Some of your most compelling achievements included throwing a textbook at one of our finest professors, professor Hubert, giving the man a near heart attack. Of course, we can’t forget the number of physical altercations you have gotten into, and least I forget the Dem de la crème, sticking a cherry bomb in the men’s stall, which is the equivalent to half a stick of dynamite.”

  “It was just a little firecracker.”

  “A little firecracker that set a fire to the men’s bathroom, Mr. Hudson, which cost one thousand pounds to repair.”

  “That’s a lot of dough.”

  “A lot of dough it is indeed, Mr. Hudson. Now I have tried and tried to understand why you do these things. When you actually apply yourself, your grades are extraordinary. That’s of course if you apply yourself, which I’m sad to say is not very often. What would your parents have thought your behavior Mr. Hudson?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re dead.”

  Mr. Raywood let out one of these long sighs. The poor guy rubbed his bald head like he was going to peel the skin right off. “Mr. Hudson. I know deep down you have marvelous potential. But I cannot continue to tolerate your behavior any longer. I must set an example for the younger boys in this school. I’m afraid you’re being transferred.”

  “Which one of your fine institutions am I being sent to next?”

  “This isn’t just any institution, I’m afraid. It’s a special school for troubled boys. I wish I didn’t have to do this, Mr. Hudson. I really wanted to help you. But I have no choice in the matter.”

  “Sure, Mr. Raywood. I understand.”

  “The bus will pick you up first thing in the morning. Good day, Mr. Hudson.”

  “I guess that’s my cue,” I said as I stood up from the chair and walked toward the door.

  When I exited Mr. Raywood’s office, Ms. Ratchet was still filing her damn nails. Christ, you’d think filing her nails was part of her job description. “See ya around, Ms. Ratchet. You gonna miss me?” She just kept filing her nails like I wasn’t even in the room. “Guess not.”

  Chapter 2

  Have you ever gotten this sick feeling in your stomach like something bad’s going to happen? The morning they took me away, I just got this feeling. Call it a hunch, I guess. I just felt God awful. It could have been the breakfast I had in the morning: stale toast with jam and burnt coffee that wasn’t very appetizing but satisfied by hunger nonetheless. Some days breakfast would be great. Sometimes on Fridays they would serve eggs and bacon with toast. But because of the war, they only allowed a certain number of boys to eat the eggs and bacon now. The rest would eat biscuits. I didn’t mind the biscuits all that much. But you kind of got bored with them after a while. I’d eaten enough biscuits to turn into one!

  I sat in this pale blue school bus. It was just me and another chubby boy who sat across from me, eating a candy bar and getting the chocolate all
over his shirt. I became nauseous when the bus started moving. The stopping and going made me so queasy, I damn near puked all over myself. That would have been something. Arriving at school with bits of toast and vomit all over. I’m sure that would have impressed the other boys.

  Once we got out of London, we hit the main highway where the drive was smooth, without all that stopping and going because of the traffic in the city. I tried to get a little bit of shuteye. I couldn’t sleep much the night before. Willy kept snoring like a bastard. I swear he could have woken up the whole damn school with his snoring. I tried putting my pillow over my ears to drown out the noise. I threw one of my shoes at him to get him to pipe him down. He wasn’t too happy about it.

  “Why would you do something like that?” Willy said, before he tossed my shoe to the floor.

  “Because you snore like a damn animal, that’s why. Keep it down.”

  “I can’t. It’s a condition I have.”

  “A condition. What condition?”

  “The doctors say I have bad lungs.”

  “Bad lungs? They seem fine to me.”

  “Oh, why bother explaining it to an ignorant fool like yourself.”

  As a parting gift, I gave Willy the best gift a roommate could ask for: a bruise right in the face from my other shoe. Poor kid. He started bawling all over himself. I kind of felt bad afterward. I mean I had nothing against the kid. I guess he meant well in his own way. He just got on my nerves sometimes. “Would you stop crying? I didn’t throw it that hard.”

  “Yes you did. It hurts, I tell you.”

  “What do you want me to do? Kiss it for you?”

  “No, you bastard.”

  “Hey, I at least had parents. You’re the bastard.”

  “You’re awful. God awful. The worst sort of boy. You Americans. You think you can say and do whatever you want and get away with it.”

  “Hey, I thought we were allies. Regular chums, Willy. Don’t you remember the war.”

  “The war’s been over for sometime.”

  “Listen. I’m sorry.” I grabbed the nudie magazines from my bed and tossed them on his lap. “Better?”

  “What’s this?”

  “The constitution. What do you think they are? They’re my girlie magazines.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to even see them, let alone have them.”

  “Consider them a parting gift from me to you.”

  He started going through the pages. You should have seen his eyes. They lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my.”

  “What. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before.”

  “Not like these.”

  “I knew you would like ’em. Just don’t show them off to the other guys. They find out you have them and you’ll never see them again.”

  “Oh, I won’t.” Willy examined each page like he was an accountant analyzing a balance sheet. He just stared at the pages. He was breathing all heavy and weird.

  “Hey, what’s with the breathing? You’re weirding me out.”

  “It’s my lungs.”

  “Oh yea, sure.”

  “Jake?”

  “Yea?”

  “Why do they have so much hair?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, down there.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I don’t mind of course.”

  “I thought you said you’ve been with eight girls, Willy.” He started crying again. . Here was this seventeen year old kid crying like child. I really felt sorry for him. I never thought nudie mags could do that to a person.

  “What the hell is your problem now?”

  “Jake, can I be honest?”

  “I don’t know. Give it a shot.”

  “I’m a liar, Jake. A bloody liar.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yes. I lied. Some horrible lies. I hope you don’t think any less of me.”

  “Nah. We all lie sometimes. We can’t help it. It’s human nature.”

  “I feel like a fool.”

  “Hey. Relax. We’re among friends here.”

  “Are we?”

  “What?”

  “Friends?”

  “Sure. The best kind.”

  “Really?”

  “Yea, why not.”

  As soon as our friendship was confirmed, Willy ran off with my nudie mags and started jacking off in the bathroom. I know because I heard one of the hall monitors scream bloody murder when he went into the boys bathroom. The fruitcake couldn’t even wait to jack off in the stalls. He just did it right in the middle of the bathroom. I couldn’t get a wink of shuteye because Willy was being yelled at by one of the school proctors.

  So I was tired as all hell on the bus ride to who knows where because my roommate had to jack off in the bathroom. I got a bit of sleep once the bus made it on to the highway. I woke up to find lush English countryside outside the window. It was an unusually sunny day in England, making the countryside vibrant and colorful with green grass and trees that decorated the landscape. The chubby boy next to me finished eating his chocolate bar. I managed to sneak some biscuits from the cafeteria in my pocket. The biscuit was mushed and dull, but was still better than nothing during a long trip. I wanted to fall back asleep again. The countryside looked so tame and tranquil.

  “Psst,” the chubby boy whispered to me.

  I pretended to not hear him. I just wanted to be by myself and not be bothered by anybody.

  “Psst,” he whispered again. “Do you have any snacks?”

  “What?”

  “Snacks. I’m hungry.”

  “I just saw you wolf down a candy bar.”

  “I only had toast and jam for breakfast.”

  “That didn’t fill you up?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Let me guess. Because you have a condition?” I said.

  “Condition. Why no. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Well?”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t answer my question?”

  I didn’t recognize him from school. He was already on the bus when I got on. He had this blond hair with khaki shorts and these knee high socks. He wore these God-awful suspenders and a blazer, which looked hideous. “No. I don’t have snacks.”

  “Bloody hell. I’m starving.”

  “Crying about it won’t do you any good.”

  “Quit your bantering back there,” the Bus Driver yelled.

  I was sort of happy the bus driver told him to quit running his mouth. I just wanted to enjoy watching the countryside. I had nothing against the kid or anything. But he just got under my skin. I guess I understand how I got under the skin of people, too. Maybe it’s what I’m good at.

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name?”

  “You have a name don’t you?”

  “Jake, Jake Hudson. You?”

  “Charles. Charles Montgomery. Pleasure to meet you. Say, do you know anything about where we’re going?”

  “Not really. All I know it’s for us kids nobody else wants.”

  “And why does nobody want you?”

  “I don’t know. I get under people’s skin, I suppose.”

  “The teachers say I eat too bloody much. That’s why I’m being transferred.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re being transferred because you’re fat?”

  “Excuse me. I’m not fat. I’m husky. There is a difference.”

  “Oh sorry. You’re being transferred because you’re plump?”

  “I once ate an entire box of macaroons during Christmas dinner. They were absolutely delightful. The teachers only let me eat toast for breakfast and boiled eggs with ham for dinner for about a month.”

  “I said quiet back there,” the bus driver yelled again.

  “There’s no crime against talking,” I said. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Me and my big mouth. The Bus
Driver pulled the bus over. He was this big burly son of a bitch. He walked to the back of the bus where we were sitting. “What did you say?”

  “I said there’s no crime against talking.”

  “What do you know about what’s right and ain’t right?”

  “We promise not to talk again,” Charles said. That burly son of a bitch had these huge hands he could just strangle you with. He raised his right hand and slapped Charles right in the face. Damn startled me to tell you the truth. Charles’s left cheek was all red and purple.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” I thought the guy was going hit me next. There wasn’t much I could have done about it. He was as big as a house. One of the biggest sons of bitches I’d ever seen. “I don’t want to hear a peep out neither one of you. You understand?”

  I saw Charles cry a bit, his red cheeks glowing. The Bus Driver grinned at his tears. The driver reeved up the bus’s engine and continued our journey. Charles wiped away his tears. I grabbed the biscuit I had left in my pocket. “Psst,” I whispered. I tossed him a piece. Both of us ate biscuits while we went to destination unknown.

  Chapter 3

  It was late afternoon when we arrived at Crowam No. 281. We drove through these rusty steel gates. The rest of the perimeter was composed of concrete walls as tall as the trees decorating the serene countryside. The building had several windows with steel bars that gave the impression of an unscrupulous smirk giving the building a character all its own. It gave me the impression of a prison when we pulled beside the courtyard, where several rows of boys were already lined up.

  “Alright, let’s move you out,” the Bus Driver said.

  Once we got out of the bus, the driver told us to stand behind the last row of boys to the right of the school. The sky wasn’t sunny anymore. It was grey and depressing. The boys’ demeanor was laconic at best.

  “You think they have good food here?” Charles asked.

  “Would you shut up! Do you want to get slapped again?” I couldn’t believe that he would talk about food here, after what happened on the bus.

  “I’m just hungry.”