One Summer Day

A Summer Day in August

I AM MORE THAN A MAN.

AH, A NORMAL DAY. TERRIFYING. Not for long, though. Not for much
longer. There were thirsts to be quenched, but it would have to wait,
but not for long thank God. Not for long. The sweat draining into the
eyes, the stinging, the burning, making visibility bad. Can't have
that. Can't wait much longer-only have one try, one attempt, and the
thirst must be quenched. That sweat was so sour on cracked lips, so
wet, but it didn't quench.

I MUST HAVE IT.

There was not a choice, no reasoning to it. There was no compromise. It
must be had, and the wait, thank God, wouldn't have to be a long
one.
* * *

It was a normal, pleasant summer day where the sky was like a blue pane
of frosted glass and there was a mesh of smoky clouds blended in, as if
rendered by an artist's stroke.

The heat was intense, but willingly tolerated by the students of
Trenton Elementary, who would put up with any kind of weather as long
as they were in recess instead of class.

It was their next to last recess of the day, but one could mistake it
for the last one they would ever know, for these children enjoyed each
and every one of those fifteen minutes like a connoisseur would savor a
sip of fine wine. Next year, junior high would come and take away the
simple pleasures of a grade school recess, where it was easy to see
sixth-grade politics at work: the reclusive girls jumping rope or
swinging, the popular ones huddled in a gossiping mass; the athletic
boys playing catch or basketball; and the "nerds" that usually spread
out and away from the other groups in a feeble attempt to hide their
playground "ethnicity." Some other boys would try and infiltrate the
huddle of girls, trying to get a head start on their high school years,
while some that fit in more than one clique would file from group to
group or just sit around and talk in pairs.

The bell rang, and as the children filed into an orderly line to return
to class, there was Pete Harris-an exception to the rule. He didn't fit
into any group, any clique, and you could see it in his expressionless
face and his lumbering walk that brought up the rear of the line.
Unenthusiastic and seemingly bored, there was nothing extra-special
about this boy to the naked eye, no real reason for his outcast status,
only timing.

He had come to Trenton but a year ago, and lacking real communication
skills had lacked the ability to make any real friends-a devastating
error in a town so small.

Everyone knew him as an acquaintance, but no one knew him very
personally. He was normal to a fault: nothing about him jumped out,
except maybe for his eyes, as blue as the sky they left behind as the
students filed into their respective classrooms. A mop of light hair
and strong, acne-free features made him unassumingly handsome, and the
subject of private conversation among the girls-but God forbid if any
of the popular boys knew they were talking about Pete, for if that were
to happen, not one of those girls would ever hear the end of it.

He walked into the sixth-grade classroom with his head down,
disinterested in the chaotic goings on as the students settled into
their chairs. He took his hands from his pockets and was the first to
sit down, drawing a glance from Miss Perkins, his teacher, who knew
full well what was going on.

A younger teacher of just a couple of years, she was disappointed that
more people weren't very friendly with such a bright child, and always
kept a close eye on him, making sure that none of the boys would bully
him. Alex and Robbie got on his case a little last year.

When he first arrived, Alex pushed him down after an altercation
involving some insulting questions-the always tasteful "do you fuck
your sister new kid?" and the classic trick question, "you ever get
caught jacking off in the closet?"

Alex was waiting to hit on the "good hiding place isn't it" punch line,
but Pete told him that he didn't jack off unless Alex's mother was
there to watch. Most people would at least revel in a chuckle, but Pete
kept a strangely straight face during the ordeal, and he got a road
rash on his elbow that lasted for two months when Robbie got behind
Pete and held his foot out for Alex to push him over.

A few of the boys began to talk of his weirdness, but no one else
really wanted to mess with him. Rumors that he was doing drugs in the
bathroom and that his father was a wanted murderer surfaced, but Miss
Perkins crushed them with an iron fist, giving any student who spoke of
it unspeakable time on the wall, a desolate place where the punished
had to watch in anguish as every other student got to enjoy the recess
period.

So Pete coasted through the year on his own, hungry to communicate, but
afraid that his greatest secret might surface: he was in love with
Chastity Osbourne, the silk haired beauty that was now gathering her
books while she chatted with her best friend Pam.

He tried very hard not to let anyone see him watching her from time to
time, and felt he did a damn good job of it--it was indeed a difficult
task to look away from what was to him a natural and perfect beauty.
Her face and her smile were the essence of that perfection. She could
hypnotize with a casual conversation, and every boy in the class was
trying their best to let her know just how nice they were, just how
much they thought of her, and Pete did nothing but watch in horror, mad
at himself for never getting the guts to be one of those guys.

But he didn't have the words to describe what he felt or what she meant
to him--how she kept him sane. He was sure that he would die for her,
and had tried many times to describe her beauty on paper, his intention
to "accidentally" drop it near her desk, but had failed every time in
not only providing an accurate description, but also in gathering what
he called the "testicular fortitude" to make sure that she got
it.

The smell of sweet, freshly cut grass wafted in from the open windows,
and the bees were fondling the dandelions outside. As he looked about
the room, Miss Perkins was writing and outline on the board in
preparation for a forty minute social studies session, and the students
were still to restless to sit: they chatted in groups of two or three,
and Miss Perkins was just too taken with the beauty of the day to make
them sit quite yet.

Pete couldn't wait to go back outside, to lose himself in this summer
day. Maybe he would get invited to play in the baseball game-he did
late last year and dazzled them with his strong arm-he dazzled them
just enough for them to fear that if he played, he would show them up,
and consequently hasn't been invited since. Then he glanced over at
Chastity, and was warm, inside and out. He was feeling too good to look
away, besides, she was distracted in her conversation with Pam, and
just watching her lips move as she threw her hair behind her ear was
enough for him. Dear God in heaven, the way her hair dangled past her
shoulder and onto her books . . . it was simply a dream he wouldn't
allow himself to wake from-until she made sudden and what was to him
frightening yet glorious eye contact.

He quickly buried his head in a book, and then tried to cover himself,
acting as if he was just looking around aimlessly.

"Don't look now, but I think ol' Peter was staring at you!"

"Come on Pammie, don't be stupid like that. He wasn't looking at me . .
. well, he wasn't meaning to."

"You come on Chass, you know me better than that. Why would I be joking
about Pete and those wandering eyes of his, especially to you?"

An uncomfortable silence followed, but smiles were plastered on both
faces. "You did say you liked him, didn't you?" Pam said with an air of
both curiosity and conviction.

"Well, at least I can admit it! Just tell me he's not the cutest thing
you've ever seen."

"Admit it my ass Chastity. I'm the only person on Earth that even has
the slightest hint that you may be sweet on him."

"I meant at least I can admit it to you now. I know I act like I kind
of like him, but I've never come out and said that I like him. Can't
you tell the difference? Or are you just another dumb blonde like
me?"

"You might have a point, but don't you think he's sort of . . . creepy?
Like Edward Scissorhands creepy. I mean he just doesn't talk a whole
lot, it's like he's hiding something, dead bodies in the basement or
something."

"What would you do if you got treated the way he does?" Chastity said.
"I know you hear how Alex and the others talk about him."

"And they'd get on you bad bad if they knew you liked him. And him?
They might just kill him, so you'd bettered shut up if you want the
rest of the year to be a good rest of the year."

"Maybe I don't. Maybe I want to know what he's really like, ya know?
The Johnny Depp underneath the Scissorhands. Maybe, just maybe, I don't
give a shit what anyone in this class says or does. And maybe, he was
looking at me because he . . . "

"What?" Pam said, knowing what she would say. The dramatic pause didn't
fool her one bit.

"Because he likes me!" She playfully slapped at Pam's arm as she said
it, full of excitement, trailing off the last few syllables.

It was too late. Alex just knew he heard what she was saying, glancing
over every few seconds, focusing on the low tone the girls were holding
their conversation in. In the meantime he was half-heartedly paying
attention to Kenny Landreth, who thought the Cubs should sell Wrigley
Field to sign Alex Rodriguez when the off-season arrived.

"I don't fucking believe it," Alex said in a stunned voice, trying to
comprehend what he just overheard. To him it was absolutely
shocking.

"You better fucking believe it, with Rodriguez you and McGwire may as
well forfeit the goddam season. Hey I know this year hasn't been our
year so far, but with him hitting in front of Sosa next year, screw
Grace with a lubed up Louisville Slugger, let him sign somewhere else.
And then they'll have more money for another starting pitcher . . .
"

Kenny was rolling on and by now Alex wasn't even looking at him, let
alone listening. There were the seedlings of a master plan forming in
his adolescent little head, and there was no room for baseball talk
with Kenny Landreth and that stupid-ass Chicago drawl. It almost made
him sound like a foreigner.

After hearing Chastity and Pam talking, he was feeling jealous and just
a little bit angry. Miss Perkins told the students to be seated, and
under the droning, whirring camouflage of the ceiling fans, the
whispering began.

* * *

What was it that he craved so much? What was it he thirsted? It
could've been any number of things. Something to break the stillness of
such a terribly normal day? Was he bored? Was it hate? Was it her? Him
maybe? Every single fucking one of them? There was no reasoning to it.
No logic. He didn't know what he wanted . . . wait, he did. The thirst.
I must have it. She could help quench it. They all could, he supposed.
Only one way to find out. Only one way to quench his thirst. Oh, what
torture, not knowing what he lusted for so greatly. He would die to
have it, that he was sure of. That or he would die waiting. Not long
now, not long.

* * *

"You're kidding me right?" Robbie made sure he kept his eyes on his
social studies book, which was open to keep him undercover.

"Would I fuckin kid about somethin' like that?" Alex said. "Trust is
the key to friendship slappy, you need to learn that. But seriously, I
heard her talking about it with Beth. I swear on the life of Tony
LaRussa, she was saying something about Pete. I think she likes
him."

He was trying to be as quiet as possible--he didn't want the attention
of anyone else, especially Miss Perkins.

Alex had his eye on Chastity for a while now, and the very fact she
would consider Pete before him made him feel a bit helpless, as if he
needed to do something, anything about it.

"So, what exactly are you going to do about it? Why the hell are you so
worried?" Robbie inquired.

"What can I do? If she wants his gangly ass, that's just fine by me.
She wants a nerd, fine by me. I don't really care."

"That's bull shit and you know it. Every single day you try and get up
on her, and now you're pissed that a kid who barely talks is stealing
your thunder, so don't give me this 'whaaa, I don't care, let him have
her, I don't care' crybaby shit."

All Alex could do was smile, and it wasn't for Robbie's surprisingly
accurate imitation of a crying baby despite the fact that he had to
whisper.

"Uh oh. I know that look Mr. Alex. That, my friend, is the look of a
man with a plan. But knowing judging by your last report card, I'll bet
that your brilliant ten step plan is about as dumb as a cow pie. Let me
guess, you're going to whip his ass? Could it be that complex, because
I don't know if I can follow it, so take your time explaining it to me
Dr. Evil."

"Maybe I won't have to whip his ass," Alex said, almost aloud, a
devious look branded on his face. With his sudden rise in volume, he
immediately got the reaction he was looking for-the most overused,
repeatedly uttered sentence in the history of grade school
teaching.

"Something you wish to share with the class, Alex?" Miss Perkins
boomed, whipping around from the chalkboard with that trademark
glare.

The devilish smile on his face was enough to get even Pete's
attention.

"Not really. It was just that I overheard Chass saying how much she
liked Pete. Sorry Miss Perkins."

Pete felt like hot water was poured down his back, jolting to attention
at the mention of his name. He was now in the only place he didn't like
to be in-the spotlight. Everyone was either looking at him or Chass,
and sweat broke out on top of more sweat as he sat in fear and
surprisingly enough, anticipation. He said nothing, but what would she
say?

"I . . . I . . . " Chass' face wrinkled like she was about to cry. "I
do not!" were the only words that could escape her, and she knew she
didn't mean what she was saying, but there was an overwhelming
factor-she was giving in to a self-preservation instinct, assuring that
she nailed Pete to the proverbial cross but kept her name clean, making
everything she said earlier sound like a distant memory.

She could already feel the regret building up, but it was too
late.

Miss Perkins was not amused. "Alex, you will see me after school
today." She let out a deep breath, for she knew that a delicate
balance, a neutrality had been disturbed.

Pete was strong, but this was too much. The dream that he had used as a
crutch had tumbled away from him, and he was falling. His confidence in
her unwavering goodness and purity was critically damaged. His face
fell forward, buried in his perspiration glazed arms. He tried his best
not to cry, but he had no one to blame but himself--he never did tell
Chass how he felt, and he was reaping the consequences. How could she
like him when she didn't even know him? When everyone thought he was
strange?

He took some deep breaths and regrouped despite the muttered laughter
of the class. He concentrated deeply, thinking of anything he could to
prevent the whispers and giggles from penetrating his psyche.

It was then he decided, no more. It was time to tell her who he was,
and how he felt. It couldn't get any worse than this, not by a long
shot, and Pete was an absolute statue, a paragon of determination until
recess came.

"How could you have done that?" Pam whispered when things settled down.
Chass seemed pretty upset, but also looked like she had performed a
duty.

"You do know you did exactly what Alex wanted you to. That fucker
must've heard us talking." She offered a hateful stare in his
direction. He was still smiling.

"What just happened? Tell me I didn't just start a whole bunch of shit
and mess everything, everything up. Tell me Pammie, as a matter of
fact, just lie to me."

There was no reassurance for her or Pete, not even her swollen eyes,
suppressing the tears that Alex was without a doubt waiting for.

"I don't know what you want to hear, hon. You just broke his heart,
that is, if he has one. We can't even be sure of that, I mean look at
him over there."

"I think he's just scared Pam. I am looking at him. There's . . . I
don't know. There's just something about him. I'm telling him. At
recess. I'm telling him that I didn't mean it and I don't give a shit
what anyone says."

"What exactly are you going to say?" She asked.

"I don't know. I won't know until I talk to him." Again, she couldn't
help but hate the smiles being exchanged between Alex and Robbie. It
seemed as if they weren't finished.

Meanwhile, Miss Perkins was pressing the chalk onto the board with
considerable force. Even though she was supposed to disperse equal
justice, she couldn't help but feel considerable pity for Pete. She was
seething mad at Alex and his little sidekick for what they pulled, and
she was mad at Chass for reacting the way she did. Miss Perkins knew
that Chastity didn't want to say that, she was sure of it. She would
deal with Alex after school.

The only reason she didn't revoke his upcoming recess was because she
was deeply curious to see where this little escapade was heading. She
was a loving teacher who was supposed to treat the children equally,
but there was something about Alex's swagger that she didn't like, the
way he was smiling. He was like a gargoyle carved from human flesh-too
much for her wholesomeness to handle.

The only consolation she had was that Alex was acting like a normal
little boy, hurt and jealous, looking for trouble. It wasn't much of a
consolation.

"How'd ya like that, Roberto? Now that is what you call a plan.
Fighting is what you do when a plan fails, but this, this was too
sweet. Can you believe this shit? I mean, just my little announcement
was enough, but tell me how Peter Pan must feel after Chastity pulled
that shit." Not once did Alex's grin cease to reach from ear to ear. He
had embarrassed the two people that had gotten on his bad side, and was
going to bask in the glory until recess.

"It was a stroke of genius, my friend." Robbie responded. He sounded a
bit cynical, but Alex was too stupid to realize what the tone in his
voice meant.

Robbie didn't have a mean bone in his body, and something about this
didn't feel right. He wanted to talk things over with Alex, to try and
wipe the hatred from his face, but Miss Perkins was wearing out the
chalkboard in anger, and he thought better of it.

"Oh, it's not done if you get my drift. Not by a long shot. There are
still a few things to be said about Pete and Chass-didn't you hear her
say something about going to see him the other night?"

After a long pause, Robbie's face lit up with comprehension and
disgust, but he wasn't one to argue. "Yeah," he said nodding his head.
"Yes, I believe I did."

"And I do know what she did with him. She might not yet, but I
do-yourself?"

"Anything you say, Alex."

"You know what the beauty of this is?"

"What's that?"

"That little bastard won't lift one finger, say one word. No one fucks
with us Robbie. That is just too sweet, but I wish to God that he
would. I'd sit on that fuckin' wall all year to plug him. And I mean
it."

The simplicity of lying about Pete and Chass satisfied him. He was the
proverbial "man" in this room, the big cheese. The girls swooned over
him, and that is the way it would stay. He would make sure that the
thirty-minute late afternoon recess was one that she and Pete, and the
rest of the class for that matter, would never forget. Some weird
feeling told him that Pete knew just how far he was willing to go to
embarrass them. But like he said, Pete wouldn't do a damn thing about
it, or so he thought. A simple scrunchie was about to change
everything.

* * *

He was the only one who could stop it. The day that is. The thirst told
him that. It was finally coming to him. The thirst was peeking around
the corners of his mind, tempting him with a reason. It wasn't hate, or
was it? Curiosity? Maybe it was just a thirst for something to stop the
blue sky from being so blue, the heat from being so hot, the sheep from
being herded and trained and sheared and slaughtered in the same
methodical order every time. Maybe it was to teach, because to teach is
a symbol of superiority which means I am more than a man. The lesson
would be great. Revel in your horrors my friends. They can always be
worse. How utterly fucking delicious is that? Hey bud, why don't you
savor the slow amputation of your leg, it could always be the both of
them instead of just one! How would you like that? But people never
realize this, they only pity themselves. Things can get better. What a
fucking cop out. They can always get worse. The same conflicts and
fights and squabbles and dilemmas-it takes a god to turn them trivial,
to stop the sheer horror of normality. I am more than a man. It could
be, would be stopped, and he could do it. He could be the teacher. I
MUST HAVE IT. On this day he was a god because he needed to be
quenched, the thirst was with him. The thirst was his power and his
master, as divine as him--the thirst for . . . revenge pleasure
something love hate all rolled up into two lovely syllables that rolled
from the tongue like the loveliest of notes roll from the bow of a
violin . . . chaos.

* * *

Time passed as slowly as honey in an hourglass. Pete dreaded the
upcoming recess, trying to remain faithful to his own promise, to tell
Chastity what she meant to him, how it was her beauty, her aura that
kept him stunned and quiet all this time.

Little did he know that she was just as afraid as he was, with sweating
palms and shaking hands, her layer of summer sweat just a little warmer
and thicker than everyone else's. Her friend was also a bit
nervous.

Pam knew full well that getting on Alex and Robbie's bad side could
very well cost them the great luxury of comfort, if not their
popularity in general, but she had decided to stick by her friend
despite what might happen. In a way it seemed too trivial, that she
would look back on this many years from now and laugh. She hoped that
she would, but for now, what was about to occur was the most important
thing in her and her friend's life.

Then, the bell rang, and recess was upon them. Everyone rose in what
had become a ritual manner, but Pete was a little more reluctant. He
made sure he was slow and methodical in putting away his books,
stalling for a few more precious seconds. As he rose to catch up to
everyone else, Miss Perkin's voice startled him.

"You okay, Peter?"

After clearing his throat, he found the strength to answer, and tried
very hard to sound like he were in normal spirits.

"Just fine, thanks. Please don't worry about me, Miss Perkins. I think
I'll be just fine." With that, he put his back to her and headed for
the hallway where he could hear the echoes of his classmates filing out
the door onto the grill that was the blacktop playground.

"I know you will, Peter," she whispered. She felt like crying as he
walked out. There was such fear in his answer.

He was alone in the hallway, walking towards the light of the glass
door like a death row inmate to an imminent fate, hoping that his voice
would be steadier when he talked to her. Just then it hit him, he
didn't have to talk to her. Could he live with that? Coasting along his
horribly uneventful life knowing that the one time he had the guts to
face her he didn't?

Just as he was about to answer the question yes and turn around, he saw
it. Her hair tie, or scrunchie, whatever the girls liked to call it,
was sitting there in the hallway, and he knew full well it was
hers.

He saw it earlier, and it was much more than what it appeared to be at
this point. The simplicity of the whiteness was memorizing. A simple,
unassuming, hair scrunchie held his fate. He had seen that single band
of white holding her blonde hair back loosely and playfully more than
once. It must have fallen out as her hair flowed from shoulder to
shoulder during the course of the day-and he was the one to return it.
Other boys might have passed it up, afraid of whom it belonged to,
intimidated by the possibility of embarrassment, but not him.

It seemed so easy now, he would just return it and see what would
happen. At least it sounded easy. He picked it up, and he could feel a
part of her. How sweet and perfect, this trophy. And how lucky he was
to find it. It was both a reason and a motivation to talk to her.

With new resolve, he walked through the doors and was blasted by the
two o'clock heat. It was wet and heavy, and the blacktop served as a
stove, magnifying and attracting it. It made Pete feel small. With no
hesitation, he walked-he walked like they had never seen him walk
before, with his head up and proud, showing off his good looks and deep
eyes. His lips were pursed with focus. His steps were brisk, and he
held the tie with a moist, tense grip, like it gave him super
powers.

He saw them: Pam, Laura, Gina, a couple others he couldn't make out
from behind, and Chastity. What he couldn't figure out was what they
were looking at, for everyone's eyes were either directly on him or
behind him. They all held the same stunned glazed look. Even Chass
looked up- the look in her eyes was by no means reassuring-and for a
moment, the thought that she was afraid of him flashed through his
head, that everyone was thinking what the hell is he doing, trying to
talk to her? She's outta his league, hell, he's outta our league, he
has no league for God's sakes! After all, she did look scared. No
matter.

He walked, and for the first time in his life he felt powerful, not one
twinge of embarrassment or hesitation, ready to enter a fucking league
through hell or high water. It was then that he realized what they were
looking at. He heard the footsteps.

"What the fuck" was all Robbie heard Alex say, and then Alex was gone,
sprinting toward Pete.

Robbie noticed that Pete was holding something in his hand, knew what
it was, and knew what Alex was going to do. With one loud thud, Alex
blind-sided Pete with a tightly balled right hand to the temple--the
poor guy never saw it coming, and he fell hard onto the ground.

For one moment, for the first time, Robbie felt sorry for Pete, and
wasn't going to let it go on any further than it already has. He began
jogging toward them, wondering exactly what he meant to do.

"How you like that, you little bitch!" Alex was enraged, waiting for
Pete to stir-but all he was doing was groaning. He felt a sticky
substance on the side of his head-blood.

It wasn't the side that was punched--it was the side that hit the
blacktop. Dizzily, he tried to get back to his feet. Alex drew back to
strike him again just as he got to all fours. He could hear the
screaming of some of the girls, pleading with Alex to leave him
alone.

Pete kind of enjoyed that, it was good to know that a few of his
classmates thought enough of him to not want his ass totally
beaten-then he heard a male voice that he knew, and was just as
surprised as Alex was.

"Fuckin stop it!" Robbie screamed as he caught Alex's arm in the back
swing, it was ready to strike the death blow like a coiled snake. He
did it with enough force to turn him around, and was surprised by
Alex's eyes--they seemed inhuman in his state of jealous rage.

"That's enough," Robbie said, softening his tone, partly because he was
out of breath. Alex was beyond rage at this point.

"I thought you were my friend! Why did you do that? Huh?" he screamed,
pushing him back. Alex rushed him again, Robbie grabbed him, and they
grappled to a stalemate.

Alex was trying to get a punch off while Robbie made sure that his arms
were tied up as they wrestled around, both men trying to stay on their
feet in a tangle of arms and butting heads. All that one could hear was
the shuffle of their feet as they tried to throw each other around, the
grunted, muffled swearing of Alex, and Robbie saying "that's enough
goddam it."

"Let him go!" someone bellowed with the force of a general, and it was
indeed loud and strong enough to prompt the two to stop.

Stunned, the two boys saw that Pete had risen to his feet like an
insane Phoenix from the ashes, a pencil sized stream of blood on his
temple, and strange looking gravel-tough eyes.

"Do you have a fucking problem Alex?" Pete said as he approached him,
not hesitating one bit. He was like a mystic apparition, no person
would dare mess with this imposing, intimidating figure, but Alex had a
reputation to protect.

"She doesn't like you. No one likes you. You're a fuckin' freak," Alex
said as he poked him in the chest.

"So," Pete said. "It won't matter to them if I do . . . this."

With one lightning fast strike, he whipped his fist square into Alex's
nose. The popping sound was loud, firm, and reasonant in the stunned
silence of the grade school onlookers. He had definitely knocked
something loose-a flood of blood began to stream out of his
nostrils.

Alex staggered back. Before long, he fell hard onto his rump, squealing
like a pig and bleeding like one to boot. He could hear Robbie whisper
"nice shot" as he walked away, disgusted and confused. Then, he looked
up and saw Miss Perkins galloping their way in her high heels, looking
right at Pete.

She then leaned over Alex, who was still clutching his nose and
offering suffocated sobs, and said something she couldn't make
out.

"Well, it looks like you've got your nose gasket out of wack young
man." She then looked over toward Kenny Landreth, who was sharing his
opinions with another disinterested crowd before the scuffle.

"Kenneth, do me a favor hon and go get the nurse. Tell her that Alex
hurt his nose, ok?" she said in a steady, calm voice. She then looked
at Pete, who seemed quite stunned with what just happened.

"I'll deal with you when I'm done talking to him." She checked her
watch, glanced over at a huddle of girls muttering about the day's
occurrences, and tried to help Alex to his feet. Then she did something
that made it all feel alright again. She smiled. It wasn't a big one, a
smirk at best, and he knew why.

There was twenty minutes left in recess, and he had yet another monkey
to get off of his back.

* * *

It's almost time, it feels like you're in a movie theater and the
lights dim and the curtains widen. It's when you finally get strapped
into that brand new roller coaster after four hours in line. It's
Christmas morning, your parents just woke up and it's time to gather
undiscovered treasures. The fight, the squabble was reason enough, it
only further proved a point. Pointless motions, pointless. Almost time.
Why exactly am I waiting? Deliver me the goods. Deliver me, deliver us
all, Pizza Hut delivery! Makin it great! Time to make it great
everybody, and don't you know I'll make it fuckin A great . . .

* * *

"I think this belongs to you," Pete said confidently, offering the
white hair tie to Chastity. "It's a little dirty, but it's still yours.
Sorry."

She took it up, smiling a big smile along with every other one of the
girls. Pete stood with his hands now shyly tucked away in his pockets,
waiting for her to say something, to break the ice that was freezing
his very blood.

"I need to talk to you," she said in a rather provocative voice. She
turned to Pam and the others. "Alone."

They both took a few steps to the edge of the blacktop, and Pete was
breathless at the picture before him. On the horizon, the sun was
crowning the forest behind her-the one that sheltered their nature
trail for science class.

It was lush and green, and it framed her beautiful face. He was looking
past her with soft eyes, seemingly dazed. Funny how a small town can
bring such natural beauty.

"I . . . I didn't mean what I said in there. It was just, it was just
so . . . "

"I know," he said plainly. "I know exactly what you're thinking. Do you
know what I'm thinking?"

"That you hate me, that you think that I'm stuck up, I'm a bitch,
things like that. Honestly, I really don't mean to ignore you, it's
just that . . . ."

"I don't mean to interrupt you and stuff, but I think I like you more
than you could ever possibly imagine," he said. "I've felt like that
since I first looked at you, heard you talk. It felt like if I talked,
that if people got to know me, that they, and you, wouldn't want
anything to do with me. I couldn't live with that. But I just found out
that I can't live like that forever. You're the closest thing I have to
a friend around here, and I've never really talked to you."

He waited for a response, and she was really stunned, her mouth wide
open, but she said nothing, so he pushed on.

"You're the reason I can come to school everyday. That's the truth, and
nothing you can say or do can change my feelings."

Her eyes full of awe, she kissed him quickly on the cheek. Then she
went to his ear and whispered, "Thank-you."

"And that certainly won't change my feelings I hope you know." He was
smiling big now, feeling high on life, feeling like things were turning
around for once. There was a pause, and she was looking down. She took
both of his hands in hers.

"I can't say exactly how I feel like you do, I guess I'm not that
smart, but holding your hand feels good. Mabye it's because you're so
sweet."

* * *

Time for some special delivery, will you bring a two liter with that
sir? I'm awfully parched-awfully thirsty. It's time it's time it's
time, it's time it's time it's time it's time, it's time oh sweet Jesus
in heaven it's time it's time it's time it's time and it sounds like a
fucking song, a delicious song that dances a jig in my head, tortures
me and now it's finally time. God in heaven am I thirsty, thirsty for
them two syllables and I don't mean water . . .

* * *

Pete glanced around them to see if anyone was looking. Miss Perkins was
bent over Alex, whose nose was beginning to swell and turn blue. Robbie
and a couple other children were around them, talking to Miss Perkins
who was trying to piece together exactly what had happened. The rest of
the children were in their usual clustered masses or playing games. But
the majority of them were either trying to peek in on what happened to
Alex, or to see exactly what Chastity Osbourne was doing holding Pete's
hands.

"What are you looking at Pete?" Chastity asked.

"I'm making sure that everyone is looking when I kiss you." She said
nothing. "On the lips?" he added in an interrogative tone.

Still nothing but a smile. He put their intertwined hands on her waist,
a lovely smooth waist and the sundress she was wearing gave the
smoothness of her skin justice. He made sure to take his time leaning
forward, so that he could savor this moment as long as he possibly
could, for it would last him a lifetime.

* * *

. . . and I don't mean ginger ale, either. I mean a lust and a love
and a hate, so what the hell do I appreciate? Anything that isn't
something that happens everyday, something that isn't so horrifyingly
on fucking schedule with everything else. Life is usually nothing--but
a shitpile of normal. Doesn't anyone know how fuckingly horrible that
is? Don't they know anything about being spontaneous? They will . . .
they will in a few fucking sec . . . no, they will know right now, for
if I don't let them know what they're getting into right now, if I
don't teach them, I might die of a desert thirst, so feed me Lord, feed
me, let me drink, and above all let me teach and have no mercy on my
soul because we all want to go to Heaven, and what is the fun in that
when everyone wants to go there and most do? Huh? Where in the name of
us is the fun in that? Here's the fun. Here's the drink. Here is the
final chaotic moments of a boring and wasted up til now life that I
have lived.

* * *

Pete hadn't leaned forward very far when he heard what he thought was a
plane passing over. It certainly sounded like one had passed at the
speed of sound, an echoing crackle that startled him.

I MUST HAVE IT!

Chass jerked in his arms. It wasn't a plane, it was a bullet, and
before the sound could register in his mind, the bullet found the back
of her head. She fell limp and her eyes drained of both life and
color-and as he lowered her down, he took her head in his hands. The
hardness of bone was gone, replaced with the ooze of blood and tissue.
The back of her head was slowly spilling its contents into his
hands.

In shocked disbelief, his tears fell onto her blank face. He could feel
her last breath leave--he couldn't hear it leave over the continuous
report of the high-powered rifle and the screaming, cackling
victims-to-be in Trenton Elementary.

There wasn't much of a place for them to hide, and the man in the woods
was effectively on target and well practiced with almost each shot as
they came in continuous, firecracker rhythm. Each shot seemed to be the
product of concentration and skill, drawing blood at a very high
rate.

Feet hit the ground in frantic gallops, bodies hit the ground with
sickening thuds, blood hit the ground with grisly consistency-there
weren't drops, there were puddles where several bodies lay close
together since the children made the mistake of socializing in
groups.

One of these puddles was fueled by Pam and Laura, who clutched at each
other's shirts, circling as they shrieked and screamed, not knowing
what was going on around them. They knew two shots later.

Pam received a bullet in the stomach-she was clutching at her wound as
she fell and Laura fell next to her, a bullet lodged in the left
ventricle of her heart.

She died almost instantly, but Pam got to live a few more minutes,
listening to the report of the gun go off again and again and again
with a senseless, merciless wrath.

Laura's chest was like a geyser, spurting horrors into the air that Pam
had only seen in slasher movies. She was glad when the world began to
black out for good-she couldn't take it a minute longer.

Alex lived. He rolled over from his prone, injured, pity-gathering
position on the blacktop and ran, and it earned him a bullet in the
back, nicking his spinal cord. When he hit the ground, he blacked out,
and when he woke up, he couldn't feel himself from the neck down, but
he could feel the ache of his nose and the searing pain in his hollow
heart, not for his dead friends but for himself.

Robbie made the mistake of running the wrong way, but there was no way
for him or any of the children to know where the echoes of evil thunder
were coming from.

Seeing that he would be easy to get, the assassin tagged a few more
people before moving to Robbie, who was now easy pickings as he
approached.

He got lung shot just twenty-five yards from the tree line that marked
the beginning of the woods-the bullet went in cleanly and left messily,
and he drowned on his own blood, gargling and choking on his own
crimson gore until he couldn't take another bubbled, wheezing
breath.

During Robbie's sprint, Miss Perkins had a bullet glance off of her eye
socket right into her brain. She was yet another of the lucky few who
died instantly, with a stunned look sewn onto her face.

As her body hit the ground, a girl named Rose was trying to crawl up
the steps and into the doorway of the school where she would be out of
range. In the stampede to safety, the dainty, ninety-pound girl with
freckles that were as red as her hair was overrun, and the femur in her
left leg was splintered against the first concrete stair. She had
pulled herself up to the fourth step when the eyes in the woods saw her
slow movement.

Marred with sweat, and bouncing with laughter, he took three shots
before she was hit in the side. Her climb to freedom and safety stopped
abruptly.

Then there was Pete, who died on top of Chastity. He was the last to
get shot.

He simply refused to run--he was simply too shocked, leaning over her
when one of the bullets missed its primary mark between his eyes twice.
There was then ten seconds of peace while the man reloaded his
rifle.

Pete still did not move, but his cries were still drowned out by the
frantic living around him and the laughter that he could only sense in
the distance. Two more attempts were made to hit Pete between the eyes
and hit nothing.

Fifteen long seconds passed, and the third shot missed what was the
original mark, instead drilling him right in the throat. The power of
the shot knocked him back, but with the last of his energy he crawled
to Chastity and made a sound that was supposed to be an "I love you,"
which he would've admitted in his final seconds was the appropriate
thing to say despite the fact he knew very little about feeling love
for anyone but his mother. Instead, all that came out was a gleeful
whistling sound, and of course, more blood.

Some lived, making it into the cover of the school, but the wounded
outnumbered them.

The blacktop was a microscope slide of utter terror and disbelief.
Soon, the sirens shrieked as loudly as the people left as the police
and ambulances arrived. The same people always arrived within minutes,
hungry for horror, for the shocking, living off of whatever wasn't
normal, especially shocking in a town that only had six hundred people
living in it.

The newspaper and TV trucks arrived. Spectators and psychologists
arrived, and the more people that arrived, the more scrambled the scene
became-the tears, the sobs, the screaming, the crying-the snapping of
photos, the red lights gazing from the cameras that were shooting live,
the police heading toward the woods while the people unfortunate enough
to arrive in the early stages of the tragedy could only cry out the one
nauseating word that made it even more tragic, the question that would
be asked eternally--why?

* * *

Because of the thirst, and I'll be damned-still thirsty. Even though
the scenes of life and death don't get more interesting than this, they
have been savored long enough. Maybe it'll be fun to shoot at the
police that come this way? Why? There is no use. That will not quench
the thirst. It would be fun, but the lesson is now taught. It is my
time to sit in my rightful place on the left hand of the thirst. I
should've known that if you quench a thirst, it ceases to exist. And
the thirst is an eternal piece of the divine plan. It is forever. It
will live in another, and my job is finally done. But damn, how much
fun was that? To decide the living and the dead? To teach? What an
absolutely gorgeous day this is, I haven't laughed like this in so
long, but I'm not done yet. There is but one more divine decision for
this angel-no . . . god sounds much better, don't you think? I thought
so. I knew so. There is one more decision for this god of death to
make. It is time to sit in my rightful place, because, quite simply, I
will now live forever. I am more than a man.

And with that, he calmly and rather messily deposited the contents of
his head onto the tree behind him with the help of the same rifle he
wielded with the vengeance and methodical precision of the Reaper's
scythe.

* * *

It was indeed a gorgeous day, and Pete's mother had enjoyed the better
part of it in the mall just a few hours away.

It was a rare treat with her rather low income, especially seeing that
she was a single mother, but she had saved up for this day, the day
that she would splurge and get Pete a baseball glove, hoping that he
would then be more apt to interact with his classmates instead of
sitting home all day writing poems for a girl he's barely talked
to.

She smiled as she felt the smoothness of the glove, and decided that
when she got home with it, after his radiant blue eyes got real big,
she would take him out back and play catch with him. Not a mommy-like
thing to do, but then again, Pete didn't have many friends. Maybe when
he got the glove things would be different. Maybe he'd finally go down
to the city park and play with the rest of the boys-Pete did have an
arm.

After all, was there a better way to spend a boring, normal, absolutely
beautiful day than with a game of baseball?