The Obstacle Course

by JF Freedman

  “Do you really like it?” she asked anxiously.

  “Oh, yeah, it’s great.” I put the box down on the table.

  “Ta-da.” Ruthie handed me a big package, all wrapped up. “Happy birthday, baby brother.”

  “I’m taller now than you are, Ruthie.”

  “You’ll always be my baby brother, Roy,” she said.

  I almost creamed my jeans when I saw what she’d given me. It was this incredible sweater that she’d hand-knitted, every stitch. She’d been working on it since the beginning of the school year, and all winter long she’d been telling me she was making it for some boy she was hot for in her class. All that time she’d been doing it for me.

  “You sure pulled the wool over my eyes,” I kidded.

  She groaned. “Try it on.”

  I pulled it over my shirt. It was a little big, which was good, because I could get a lot of wear out of it. It was a V-neck in white and blue, Ravensburg High colors. I could wear it under my jacket, it would be a great combination.

  “Thanks, Ruthie. This is really nice.” Then I gave her a big hug, too. I almost felt like crying, I hadn’t expected anything.

  “We’ll have the cake for dessert,” my mom said. “I cooked your favorite dinner—stuffed pork chops. Go on upstairs and wash, dinner’ll be on the table in a minute.”

  I started up the stairs.

  “I almost forgot,” she said, calling me back. She rooted around in her wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill.

  “This is from your father,” she said.

  “Isn’t he coming home for dinner?” I asked. I knew things would be calmer if he wasn’t, but I wanted him here for my birthday anyway.

  “It’s his bowling night,” my mom reminded me, her voice taking on an embarrassed tone. “Normally he would’ve bagged it, but if they do good tonight they have a chance to get into the playoffs. He didn’t feel he could let the other fellows down.”

  “That would be great if they could make the playoffs,” I said. They’ve never made the playoffs in all the years my dad’s been bowling with them. I didn’t see how they could this year, either. They suck, plain and simple.

  “He said he knew you’d understand.”

  “You can’t let your friends down,” I told her, turning away in case my face had a look on it I didn’t want her to see. “I’m going up and wash, I’ll be right back.”

  I took the stairs three at a time. Make the playoffs—that was the biggest laugh I’d had all year.

  My favorite room in the Smithsonian is the Hall of Dinosaurs. It’s filled with skeletons of practically every dinosaur that’s ever lived, including the huge suckers like Tyrannosaurus rex and Brontosaurus. Next to it is the room with all the Ice Age shit, mastodons and mammoths and saber-toothed tigers, all rebuilt to look real, complete with skins and furs. They look pretty authentic—whoever makes them over does a good job. Most kids like the main building, with the Spirit of St. Louis hanging in the front hallway and all the other old planes, trains, and cars. I like it too, I like everything about the Smithsonian, it’s my favorite building in Washington—it’s just that I like the dinosaurs best of all. There’s something about going way back in time that’s exciting to me. If I didn’t want to go to Annapolis and have a career in the Navy I’d become an archaeologist, digging up old bones all over the world. You could see some incredibly neat shit doing that.

  We were on our field trip. Once a year every class in our school gets a field trip. That’s one of the good things about living near Washington—there’s a ton of great places to visit on field trips. We’ve been to the White House, the Washington Monument, the Capitol building, the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, all those places. Mt. Vernon, where Washington lived. One of the things I vividly remembered about Mt. Vernon was that there were quarters for about sixty slaves. We went there in fourth grade. It must’ve been hotter than shit down in those slave quarters in the middle of summer. Living in Washington in the middle of summer’s like living in a steam bath, and those places didn’t even have windows.

  “Isn’t that interesting, class?” Mrs. Fletcher was trying to get us to respond to this old guide who was giving us the tour. He looked as old as one of the skeletons, like he needed to be propped up, too. Mrs. Fletcher was trying in a half-assed way to get us to pay attention, but she wasn’t having too much luck; it was almost lunchtime and the natives were getting restless. The old guy was as bored as we were. What he was mostly interested in was checking out the girls, who were dressed up for the occasion, wearing stockings and high heels and girdles and all the rest. There’s some righteous pussy in our class, I shit you not—not just Darlene, lots of the girls are sexy. They work hard at it.

  “Does anyone have any questions before we move on?” Mrs. F. continued.

  Half the class didn’t even hear her. Old Burt was standing near her, though, and he raised his hand.

  “I have a question, Miz Fletcher.”

  “Yes, Burt, what is it?”

  Me and Joe were already cracking up. If Burt ever had a serious question about anything in his entire life I’d shit a gold-plated brick.

  “What’s black, has six legs, and catches flies?” he asked, in this super-serious voice.

  We actually did crack up. So did about half the other kids. He’s a natural-born comedian, that kid. Somebody ought to put him on “The Ed Sullivan Show.”

  Mrs. Fletcher tried to keep things under control: “I fail to see what that has to do with what we’ve been talking about.”

  “Well, it doesn’t, but I was wondering if you knew,” he said.

  “No, I don’t,” she said, pissed off. “Let’s move on, please.”

  “The New York Giants outfield.”

  We’d all heard it before, but we laughed anyway.

  “If you care to sit on the bus for the remainder of the day you’re more than welcome to,” she told him. Then she turned on her heel and marched off down the hall. You know she won’t be teaching when she’s an old lady, she hates us all already. If she lasts another year past this one it’ll be a miracle.

  All the time we’d been there I had hung with my buddies, but at the same time I was trying to bird-dog Darlene, who was in the middle of a bunch of her giggling girlfriends. Everything’s funny to the girls in ninth grade this year, it must have something to do with their tits growing out. She’d catch my eye and smile, but she stayed with the other girls.

  When we moved into the Ice Age room I managed to get next to her for a moment, and accidentally-on-purpose brushed my hand against her left tit.

  “Don’t, Roy,” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone’d seen it.

  “It was an accident.”

  “It was not and you know it.”

  I pretended like I was sulking. I wasn’t actually, I just wanted her to think I was.

  It worked: “You can’t do that in front of everyone, Roy,” she said, sweet-talking me, “now just wait until we’re alone.”

  “Jesus, it already feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life practically.” I really was horny for her—if I hadn’t jacked off every night, usually more than once, I’d have a case of blue balls like you couldn’t believe, that’s how hot I was for her.

  “Listen, Roy, I don’t even kiss every boy I go out with, let alone make out like we do.”

  “I know you don’t, but ain’t I special?”

  “I like you, Roy, really I do, it just scares me is all.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. Anything to make her come around.

  “I know how you feel,” she said. “I do, too.” She thought for a minute. “Why don’t you take me to the movies Friday night?”

  “Friday night?”

  “I mean if you’re not busy or anything,” she said, trying to act hurt.

  “No, I ain’t busy. But what about your mother?”

  “I’ll lie to her.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll say I’m going out with a friend. Joan. I�
�ll even have Joan come pick me up, then I can meet you at the movies.” She looked around to see if anyone was spying on us. They weren’t. “You aren’t mad, are you? That I’m not being with you today?”

  “No.” But I was. Not mad, actually, just pissed off that we couldn’t be together all the time, especially in a place like this, away from school.

  “Listen,” she whispered, like we were concocting up a plot, “I’ve got an idea. We could get together by that fountain outside if we finish our lunches early. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I whispered back, sucked right in.

  “We’d better not let anyone see us too friendly now,” she said. “Nobody even knows I’m going with you.” Then she drifted away to rejoin her circle of friends.

  I was floating, not knowing whether to shit or go blind. She’d said “going with you.” From her lips right into my ear.

  Like the idiot I am, I was the last student out of the museum cafeteria line. Everybody else had gone through by the time I’d woke up that it was lunchtime, because I’d been in my own world, mooning about Darlene. My girl, true love, all that stupid bullshit only girls are supposed to think about. I didn’t give a flying fuck, though—when the other boys in my class saw her on my arm next week, I would be king shit of Ravensburg Junior High.

  I found a seat at a table which was occupied by three ladies, real old-fashioned southern types, the kind that keep their hats on inside and carry lace handkerchiefs in their sleeves and have pale white skin with liver spots all over their veiny hands. They were eating sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and drinking iced tea. My plate was piled so high I could hardly see over it—not really, but there was enough food on it for three ordinary people. The old ladies looked at me like I was a dog turd somebody’d dropped in their laps. I wasn’t that keen on sitting with them, either, but it was the only seat I could find—lots of people, like government workers, eat here because the food’s good and it’s cheap.

  Across the room I could see the kids from my class. Most were almost finished. I started digging in, forking the food in my face as fast as I could. I really was hungry, and I was in a hurry, too, because I wanted to be with Darlene.

  “Have you ever been given instructions in the proper use of a knife and fork, young man?” one of the old biddies asked.

  “Yeah, lady,” I told her, my mouth stuffed with food, “I use them all the time.” I held them up in front of me like in a jail-house movie. “See?”

  I wasn’t being rude intentionally—I knew how to eat properly, I’d done fine at the admiral’s house, but I wanted to finish quickly, so I wouldn’t lose track of Darlene. I could see her across the room, sitting at a table with three other girls.

  The old lady turned away in disgust, ignoring me.

  “Riffraff,” she said under her breath, but loud enough so I’d hear.

  “That’s me, lady,” wiping my mouth, “the best white trash you’ll ever come across.” Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke, that’s one of my mottos.

  My classmates were drifting out of the room in twos and threes. Darlene and the other girls at her table got up. She was looking around for me, but she couldn’t see me because I was hidden from view by the hats of the three old ladies. She stood there for a minute, but then one of the girls said something to her and she left with them.

  I raced through my meal, even leaving half a piece of cherry pie. When I jumped up to go my chair tipped over, hitting the floor with a bang. The old ladies practically had a hemorrhage from the sound.

  “Sorry,” I apologized. They were nice old ladies, it wasn’t their fault they’d had to eat lunch with a crazy man.

  Outside the cafeteria there was another long corridor that led from one part of the building to another. As I came out into it I could see Darlene all the way down at the other end, walking slowly away from me. She was by herself—something she’d obviously arranged. As I watched, she turned the corner, out of sight.

  I took off down the corridor after her. It was near the end of our lunch break; we were supposed to meet up in about ten minutes. That would give Darlene and me ten minutes to be alone. You can get a lot done in ten minutes.

  I rounded the corner where I’d seen her disappear. At the far end I spied the door leading outside, where the fountain where Darlene had said she’d meet me was. I started towards it, my cock rising in my pants I was so hot-to-trot.

  There were several small rooms off this corridor, housing different exhibits. As I passed by one of the rooms, I heard this noise from behind the door. Even though I was hauling ass to catch up to Darlene, something about the sounds made me stop.

  There were two voices coming out of the room: a boy’s and a girl’s. The boy said something low that I couldn’t make out and the girl laughed, like he’d told her a joke, or, more likely, had said something sexy that had turned her on. Then they were quiet.

  I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop, because Darlene was waiting outside for me and we didn’t have much time, but I couldn’t help myself, I had to know who it was. Everybody always wants to know who’s going with who, what girl likes what boy and vice versa. I have a big nose, I always have to know what’s going on behind closed doors. So as quietly as I could, making sure they couldn’t hear me, I snuck up to the partly opened door and peeked inside.

  The girl in the room was Darlene, and the boy was Danny Detweiler. They were locked in a feverish kiss, her arms around him, her hands pulling at his hair, like she was trying to pull him right inside of her mouth. One of her legs was twisted up around his, her skirt was riding almost up to her pussy. I could see where her stocking was fastened to her girdle, even see a flash of white panties. One of his hands was moving around her ass to her front, like he was about to finger-fuck her.

  I couldn’t do anything but watch. Danny put his other hand inside Darlene’s sweater and started massaging her left tit like crazy, squeezing it so hard it looked like the damn thing would come off in his hand. She was groaning and panting like a bitch-dog in heat.

  Burt had been right. Darlene was a cocktease, plain and simple. Only a blind man wouldn’t have seen it. She’d been using me to make Danny jealous, and it had worked—he was all over her, before long she’d have a ring through his nose. I’d been a goddamn dupe for her.

  For what felt like forever I was a piece of petrified wood, locked there. Then I snapped out of it, looking around to see if anyone was watching me watching them—watching the horns grow on me, the horns that motherfucker and the girl I’d thought loved me had put on me.

  No one was there. I was alone.

  Without making a sound, I turned and left the building.

  I hung around outside, trying to get my heart to stop pounding. I’d completely lost track of the time. The last thing I wanted was to go back and look at Darlene. I didn’t know what she’d say to me, what lie she’d make up, but it would be a beaut, that I knew. Lying cunt. Even worse would be having to face Danny pussyface Detweiler, who had successfully bird-dogged me.

  After a while I went into the main building, where I knew the class wouldn’t be, since that had been our first stop, and checked out the old trains and planes and cars, like the Wright Brothers’ plane, the one that flew at Kitty Hawk, even though I’ve seen it a million times and didn’t at that particular minute give a rat’s ass about it, anyway. Near it was the Spirit of St. Louis. Sometimes I think I’d like to become a Navy pilot instead of a ship’s commander, landing on an aircraft carrier late at night in the North Atlantic. I love it when the newsreels have scenes of that happening.

  But I didn’t feel any of that. My mind was on other things: one other thing. First, how to get her to want me back worse than anything she’d ever wanted in her young life. Then, after that, to shit all over her, worse than she had shit on me.

  I kept wandering aimlessly, but finally I knew I had to face the music. I went outside to the parking lot, where the school bus was parked.

  Except the bus wasn’t there. I ran over to
the attendant in the parking booth.

  “Hey, what happened to that bus that was here?” I asked. “The school bus.”

  “It left,” he said, almost hitting my shoes with a big squirt of snuff juice.

  “Left?”

  “About a half-hour ago.”

  I panicked. “What time is it?”

  He looked at his watch. “Close to four.”

  “Sonofabitch!”

  “That your bus?” he asked.

  Stupid asshole. Like what the fuck am I asking for? I cursed again under my breath, mad as hell at myself. How could I have been so stupid that I missed the goddamn bus? That would be another one I’d owe Darlene.

  I took off running down the street.

  “You ain’t gonna catch it,” the attendant called after me, laughing like it was a goddamn joke. “She’s long gone.”

  I don’t know how long I moped around. Longer than I should have. I didn’t feel like being back in Ravensburg, that I knew, so I cruised around the streets, making my way down E Street, where all the pawnshops and hillbilly bars are clustered. I had money in my pocket, because I’d taken ten bucks from my washing-machine stash the day before and changed it into dollars at the Mobil station down the block from my house, in case I wanted to buy something at the Smithsonian. A souvenir for Darlene was what I’d had in mind, something she’d always have to remember the day by. Mr. Big Shot, showing off for her, showing her how much money I had, like the older high school guys she dated. Now the money sat in my wallet like burnt ashes. One thing for sure, I wouldn’t spend a dime on her again if my life depended on it.

  It was dark by the time I walked up 12th Street to the Greyhound station.

  “One way to Ravensburg,” I told the cashier, pushing a buck under the ticket window. The bus costs eighty-five cents, I’ve taken it a million times.