It's lunch time and everyone is
starting to fall apart. Not me. Aside from my hands shaking
uncontrollably when they choose to I'm still my happy self. Sad Sack
is still upset at Mr. W. Scott for telling him about the bounced
check. I tried to explain to him that this place isn't free and he
flipped my bed over.
With me in it.
I started talking about Black Rage and
he left the room. I didn't even get to tell him about Softy and how
her dad runs this place. I need to figure out why she's even here.
Maybe she's a spy. I bet she is. Damn it! I knew something was wrong
with this place! Man, it's as hot as a crotch in here!
“Are you hot?” I ask Happy Hands
which turns out to be a bad move on my part. His tongue darts in and
out of his mouth about two dozen times in a couple of seconds and he
locks eyes with me. I start to turn away but he places his hand on my
shoulder and I am forced to face him.
“I'm always hot” he whispers.
“Where's you other hand?” I ask. He
just smiles and I bolt. I see Boobs sitting with two guys and decide
that it would be responsible of me, you know socially, to leave her
alone. Honestly, its the fact that she is smiling and her smile looks
like it could dent steel. Its Africa hot in this place. I wipe my
brow and my hand is covered in sweat. “What the hell is going on?”
“Delirium tremens” Mr. W. Scott
says from behind me. “I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Mr.
Thompson.”
“I know that's supposed to scare me
but it makes me feel all warm and tingly inside” I say to him as I
hug myself. He just looks down at his clipboard and checks something
off.
“There will be a session immediately
following lunch” he says. “I dare you to be late.”
“Sir, yes, sir” I say and salute
him. He just walks away. I spot Mary and Joseph with their heads
bowed and praying again. I walk over to them and something gives me
away because they both stop and stare at me before I reach them.
“Leave us alone before I break your
fucking dick off” Mary says.
“That seems excessive” I tell her.
“And then I'll jam it up you and your
nigger boyfriends ass” Joseph tells me.
“Whoa!” I say an hold my hands up.
“Just...whoa. I don't appreciate that kinda language, okay? He's
not my boyfriend. We're just pals.” They both sneer at me before
going right back to praying. I walk over to this small guy wearing a
shirt that's two sizes too small, pants that belong to a teenager,
and facial hair that I can smell from a distance. “Did you hear
what those two said?”
“Yeah” he says while drinking from
a juice box. Where'd he get a juice box? I want a juice box? Its so
hot in here! “You know why they're in here, right?”
“Oh, do tell.”
“They are trying to pray their hate
away” he says and finishes off his juice box. “Their kid started
dating a Black kid and they lost their minds, went to the kids'
family, and set their lawn on fire.”
“That's them?!” I ask. I had heard
about this on the news about a week before I came here. “But they
look too young to have a kid.”
“They're 26 and 24 years old but had
their kid when they were 16 and 14 and are possibly brother and sister” he tells me.
“How do you know so much?”
“I know a lot of things” he says
and has another goddamned juice box! I didn't even see where he got
it from!
“Thanks, Google” I say, shake his
hand, and walk away. A bell rings and a few people groan as we make
our way to an assembly room. Its set up in a circle with a podium in
the center. After everyone sits down, I make sure to sit next to Sad
Sack and Boobs is on the other side, the lights dim and a spotlight
shines down in the center. Mr. W. Scott appears out of thin air! I
shit you not. Someone even gasps.
“Wretches” he says. “Filth. This
very moment there are men dying from knife wounds in alleys all
across this country that have more children than they would care to
admit, have never paid taxes, and have not earned a honest dollar in
their lives that are worth more than any of you. Fetuses left in
public restrooms on prom night stand more of a chance of contributing
to society than any of you. The phlegm expectorated from the lungs of
a dying cancer patient means more to me than your lives.” Someone in
the back claps, Mr. W. Scott looks up, the clapping stops. “Yes, let us
applaud your failures. That is what this is about. Where I stand is
the Shame Circle. Each of you will--” he stops speaking. We all
turn and see a very large man raising his hand. “I do not recall
asking for questions. Perhaps you would like to volunteer to go
first?”
“Actually...” the guy says and then
takes a deep breath. I'll call him Beef. “...I'm not good
at...talking, you know, publicly.”
“But you are doing it right now”
Mr. W. Scott says.
“Uh...I know, but...” and then
smack! Mr. W. Scott launches a notepad through the air, over our
heads, and gets Beef right between the eyes. He leaves the Shame
Circle, the spotlight following him the entire time, and the chairs
part as he nears Beef.
“You interrupt me ever again and I
will stick my fist so far up your buttocks your flatulence will have
to ask my elbow permission to leave your anus” he says. He lifts
Beef up, with one hand!, off the ground and slams him into his seat.
Beef is breathing even harder and tears are welling up in his eyes.
“If a single tear falls from your eyes I will kill you.”
“This...is intense” I mumble.
“Thank you for volunteering to go first, Mr. Thompson.”
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