The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs

by Michael Ciardi

By the time I awakened from this most recent episode, the bell sounded, putting an end to my study hall duty. Before my eyes fully refocused on the scene, the majority of students had already scrambled out of the auditorium, seemingly oblivious to the visual evidence of my dilemma. A few stragglers hadn’t bothered to monitor my condition, either. Surprisingly, Dale McCoy was nowhere in sight. But at least I managed to elude any further ridicule from Drew Mincer. Intuition, however, supplied me with a notion that we were predestined to meet again before this day was over.

  The aftereffects of my malady remained onerous. My shirt was now thoroughly damp with perspiration. I anticipated such an outcome, so I stored an extra shirt and slacks in my car’s hatchback. Since I was scheduled to meet my wife in the parking lot in less than ten minutes, I decided to make a much-needed change of attire. Fortunately, the auditorium had exit doors on either side of the stage leading directly into a typically vacant corridor. Departing through this area provided assess to the building’s rear, adjacent to the tennis courts. I needed a little time to refresh myself, and going outside promised a brief pardon from the school’s musty air.

  Aside from a pervading scent of untidy teenagers, a more peculiar smell lingered in this corridor now. This stink was familiar to me, as I already encountered it on several instances today. The noxious fumes became heavier than my plodding footsteps. What was it? Glue? I managed to move furtively along the corridor until nearing the closest doors leading outside. The odor intensified in this general area, but a whistling tune that sounded exactly like my wife’s cell-phone now accompanied it.

  Once again, the crafty custodian managed to find me during my most vulnerable moments. I might’ve avoided his interaction on this occasion had it not been for his strategic placement in front of the same doors I wished to exit. He intercepted my progress here with his cleaning arsenal in tow, swirling the mop head on a floor that was already polished to an emerald shine. For reasons I didn’t yet surmise, the custodian’s straight-mouthed grin irked me. I wondered if he ever greeted anyone with a different expression. Since he blocked my passage with the fortitude of a linebacker, I had no option other than to entertain his meddlesome antics.

  “Looks like the sun is coming out after all,” he remarked. He cast a quick peek over his shoulder before smirking, “I might’ve known you’d be sprinting for the doors the first chance you got, Cobbs.”

  The fact that I preferred being outdoors as much as possible on sunny days was no secret to anyone who worked at this high school. The emergence of sunlight on this morning, however, pleasantly surprised me. “Is there something wrong about me going outside during my lunch period?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t bother me a bit. I myself am partial to tanning rays from time to time.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “But you know how people around here like to chatter like chipmunks,” the custodian resumed. “Heck, I’m willing to bet the faculty gossips as much as the kids around this place.”

  “Look,” I explained diplomatically, “I don’t really have much time for small talk right now, so would it be too much trouble for you to move aside so I can get through the doors without tripping over your mop?”

  The custodian skittered to one side of the floor, waving his mop with a distinct legerdemain. “No need to get hostile, old friend. You’re free to go wherever you want. Far be it from me to infringe upon your duty-free lunch period.”

  Although his sarcasm was irrefutable, I decided to ignore it by simply answering, “Thanks for understanding.”

  “No sweat, Cobbs, but I wouldn’t get too cozy out there while strolling around the tennis courts. They’re predicting more rain, and I still see quite a few gray clouds rolling around in the sky.”

  The idea that this custodian genuinely monitored my habits became more perplexing as this day went on. Apparently, this conspicuous hobby had occupied his time far longer than I realized. He knew my routine too well. Although I only had a few minutes before meeting my wife, I couldn’t contain my curiosity on this matter.

  “Is it your custom to spy on all the teachers in this school, or am I just the chosen one?” I asked him bluntly.

  “Spying? You’ve obviously mistaken my intentions,” he retaliated gleefully.

  “I’m not so sure. It feels as if you know my business better than I do.”

  “Well, that’s just your fertile imagination at work again. The truth of the matter is that your habits aren’t terribly interesting. But, as I said before, I admire you and wouldn’t want you to get the reputation as a loafer.”

  “A loafer? Is that what you think I am?”

  “Oh, certainly not, Cobbs. I know how hard you work. That’s why I got your back. But don’t forget about the chipmunks. Those little rascals like nibbling on things, taking portions out of place and filling in the blanks where they see fit. Come to think of it, maybe they’re more like rats than chipmunks.”

  “So the other teachers think I’m lazy because I go outside in the sunshine during my free period? Is that what you’re implying?”

  The custodian’s expression suddenly became as unreadable as a chunk of stone. His eyes dipped to the burnished floor, almost as if to scan for a speck of dust that wasn’t there. “Who really cares what they think, right, Cobbs? Let them hover around their stuffy workstations, all pale and deprived of supplements, grading stacks of papers that no one really gives a hoot about. If they were even as half as efficient as you, they’d be outside absorbing that UV light like slabs of blacktop.”

  I probably could’ve rushed past the custodian without being accosted, but my inquisitive nature served as a detriment just as often as it was an ally. “Let me ask you something,” I remarked. “Is there any time throughout the course of a day when you don’t know precisely where I am in this building?” He continued to avert his eyes from mine, while pretending to remove an imaginary smudge from the tiles under his feet. I’m certain he relished tormenting me by stalling with his response.

  “There’s more to this business than what you currently presume,” he finally replied. “Do you think this job only entails mopping up random puddles of blood and vomit? Let me assure you, Cobbs, it’s not as if I just schlep around this building everyday changing a lighting fixture or two. Those of us hunkered down in the trenches have a whole different perspective on the way things unwind in this high school. Considering how well I’ve inspected your habits of late, I’d expect a little gratitude.”

  “So then you admit you’ve been following me around?”

  “It’s hard for me not to,” he grimaced. “Believe me, sometimes I’m tempted to turn the other cheek.”

  “And you consider this behavior normal?”

  “Inevitable is more like it.”

  “I don’t understand you,” I sighed. “And I find another thing puzzling. I don’t ever see you stopping in the halls to chitchat with any of the other teachers in this school. What am I to make of that?”

  “Let’s just say you’re different from the rest, Cobbs. Maybe someday soon you’ll appreciate the point I’m trying to make.”

  “Look, if you have so much work to get done around this place, how do you find the time or energy to stalk me? I don’t have anything to hide.”

  The custodian continued to swirl the mop’s head on the floor as if he was tracing the tiles’ pattern. I listened to the mop’s wooden handle creak as he leaned his weight over the center of it. Rather than detain him from his duties any longer, I opted to end our conversation. But when I tried to maneuver around him and lunge for the doors, his probing eyes impaled my sensibilities once again.

  “The back parking lot isn’t as private as you might think it is,” he said with a grin.

  “Do you think I need privacy?”

  “Who am I to suggest what any man needs? Besides, if I know you, you’ll do whatever you think is right no matter what I say. So go to it. Why waste a second longer blathering to a fellow as inconsequential as a prying jan
itor?”

  At least the custodian’s conciliation afforded me with an opportunity to depart his company uncontested. As it was, I was already on the verge of being late to meet my wife. Maybe she deserved to wait for me, but I counted the ticks on my watch more fastidiously than a cardiologist monitored a heartbeat. Despite my delay, I still had enough time to change my shirt before she expected me. Yet, for motives I was just beginning to speculate, I suddenly found it impossible to pivot away from the custodian’s undaunted gaze.

  As I pushed the doors open, a draft of spring air channeled through the aperture. Newly clipped bluegrass and crocuses perfumed it. The custodian lifted his chin toward this revitalizing wind, inhaling it as if it was laced with confectionaries. Then, in his slyest tone he chimed, “Ah, there’s nothing like a breath from Persephone’s lungs to make a man feel young again, am I right, Cobbs?”

  “I won’t argue with that,” I answered, pacing outside.

  “At the season’s end, it’s all about renewal,” he went on. “Whether it’s a flower in the field or a flutter in your heart, the spring makes the soul sing.”

  The custodian’s poetic flair surprised me, but not as much as it would have if I hadn’t already conversed with him earlier today. Still, the oddity of his words caused me to reflect upon the present circumstances with Rachel. Of course, he couldn’t have known anything about my personal dilemma with my wife, but his voice’s ironical pitch hinted to the contrary. He seemed to have an uncanny prowess for dissecting my secrets. I therefore couldn’t dismiss his observations as hastily as I wished. I walked across the concrete sidewalk with the intention of keeping my eyes focused on the tennis courts. But the custodian’s whistled tune distracted me once again. He purposely positioned himself in the door’s frame so that his melody mixed cohesively with this morning’s placid wind.

  After I strayed outside of earshot of the custodian’s concerto, my thoughts immediately wrestled with the plight of my marriage. A frank discussion with Rachel couldn’t be postponed any longer. My attention wavered slightly as I stared at a pocket of sunlight bursting through a plume of silver clouds. The sunrays reflected off random puddles on the asphalt that formed during the earlier onslaught of rainfall. By the time I reached my VW Beetle to retrieve my spare shirt, I determined that the real storm hadn’t yet arrived over Ravendale High School.

  At any rate, I scanned the parking lot for Rachel’s vehicle during this reprieve. Even among an assemblage of more than sixty cars, I would’ve recognized her safari-green Jeep immediately. She hadn’t arrived yet. I checked my watch, confirming my own punctuality. When Rachel was running behind schedule, and this became more habitual of late, she occasionally sent me a text message. However, my phone showed no evidence of a missed message or phone call at the moment. After considering the potentially terse nature of our forthcoming conversation, I gathered she required a few extra minutes to rehearse her lines of denial.

  If I had any leverage now, it existed only through the conduits of hearsay. I had learned to never feel overly confident when quarrelling with Rachel on any matter. She had a talent for trickery when it came to the spoken word, and I sometimes wondered if she would’ve made a better lawyer than a real estate agent. At present, my frequent headaches rendered me almost useless for a prolonged exchange of hostilities. Even as I stood in the sunlight absorbing the sporadic wedges of warmth projected onto my skin, I sensed another episode looming over me. It was no different from the storm clouds accumulating like a garrison on the horizon.

  I sought no further shelter for myself now. The prospect of concealing my condition from my wife seemed foolhardy at this juncture. In fact, I needed Rachel to observe me in the vulnerable clutches of my internal nemesis. Perhaps if she witnessed the debilitating strife I encountered, she’d finally understand that my chronic complaints of ill health were justifiable. I didn’t beg for her pity, for that would’ve been as artificial as weeping at a stranger’s funeral. Maybe I just needed for her to understand me.

  Before drifting away to my next expedition, I attempted to center my thoughts on more jovial moments of matrimony. Spring’s tepid breezes often had a potent and positive effect on my mood, and I hoped on this occasion it would’ve persuaded me to explore a province of mirth within a world tainted by foreboding images.

  Chapter 37

  11:16 A.M.