Excerpt (2)

I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that this would be the last time I would drive myself anywhere, especially from the Bay Area to Humboldt county, but as I pulled the car up to the curb in front of that familiar blue roof I was fully invested in controlling my own transportational destiny.  I climbed out of the WRX to be greeted by someone from the school standing next to a PR handler that had been working on my behalf up here but whom I’d never actually met.  The school official placed a hand on my elbow, starting to guide me towards the entrance of the school and said “Thank god you’re here Mr. Reber, we’ve managed to clear the way for you and make sure most everyone is inside the multi purpose room at this point.”  I smiled at the PR handler, who was nervously eyeing the hand softly softly gripping my elbow.  “Listen,” I said warmly and sincerely, already warming up for the crowd, “what was your name again?”  I was looking at the handler with a broad smile, which was real.  I had no need to fake these smiles yet.  “Jennifer,” she replied apprehensively, meeting my gaze.  “Yes, Jennifer.  There’s something you need to know about me that will be different from everyone else you’ve worked for.”  I paused and put my arm around the shoulder of the school employee.  “These are my people, and there’s absolutely no need for apprehension.”  The lady was blushing, not quite relaxing into my arm, and sneaking looks at me out the corner of her eye.  “When you’re on my team, I direct traffic.  All you need to do is to do what you do so well.  I could never do what you do, and you could never do what I do, and once we all understand that about each other, we will be approaching the true definition of a team.”  It was in the way I said this, the tones and inflections, the body language, movements of my face and sentiments in my eyes that truly conveyed how non-condescending or patronizing I was being to this lady, my employee.  I knew several things that she was about to learn for the first time, and I’ve always felt it best to prepare people, to truly welcome them into my way of doing things, which is certainly very different from, even in some cases diametrically opposed to, the accepted norms and tacit agreements that bind our society.  “I understand that you’re unsure of this event, you’ve only met me a few times and don’t know me that well.  But trust me, you’re doing a great job and you have nothing to be worried about.  Try to adapt and look towards the future.”  I knew that a lot of what I was saying would make vastly more sense after the speech I was about to give.  I pulled the school official, who by now had relaxed a little, in closer and held out my other arm to welcome in the confused PR maven.  She hesitated, still meeting my gaze, and after I smiled again, turning up the warmth until it was almost real heat, and she remembered that I was her boss, she came in closer and I circled the arm around her.  Bringing us into a group hug, I relished the awkward ambivalence of the two women.  


When people are confronted with ‘celebrities,’ especially ones they don’t know, they are always willing to bend social etiquette more than usual, something I learned long ago.  They were wondering when this long embrace was going to end, but I was fully committed.  I was drawing on these wonderful women’s strength to carry me through what was guaranteed to be a very long day.  Finally, I released them from the pressure of my unifying arms, allowed to stand back a little, and looked back and forth between their eyes while squeezing their shoulders.  The school employee, whose name I never asked nor learned, was looking at me with a combination of awe and terror.  Jennifer looked back at me blankly; she hadn’t decided how to compartmentalize this interaction yet.  I sighed deeply and smiled again.  “Thank you ladies, for your hard work and for being who you are.  Now let’s get me in there and accept this honor!”  My heart was filling with gladness now, as we three turned and strode toward the gym, down the halls I had trod thousands of times or more.  I knew the women shared a glance as they walked behind me, but as long as they were still with me, still on my side, I knew that I would make sense to them, to anyone, eventually.  Or at least this is what I was counting on in the beginning, before the waters got so choppy that I feared I might lose myself in the rapids, coming up for air once more and finding myself under the boat thinking I was dead.

“Mr. Reber we’ve planned an introduction for you from the current Principle, it won’t be long, just going over some of your history and accomplishments and how you’ve reflected on the town and the school.  If this isn’t to your liking we could skip it and just let you go straight to the acceptance, I don’t know how you would like to do things and I know you’re not one to dwell on yourself or your past so we thought it best to just clear it with you first and get”  “That will be fine, I assure you," I interrupted.  "This is your ceremony, I’m simply here to accept the honor, because it really does mean a lot to me.  Just treat it as you would any other.”  “Well, Mr. Reber, we don’t usually have these ceremonies for inductees, but since you have become so high profile, and since you always make sure to mention Arcata and Sunny Brae.  It really means a lot to people here.”  I looked at her straight on while walking.  “Please, by all means do what you have planned.  I’m here to be a part.”  She started to speak again, but closed her mouth.  

We walked on in silence, turning the corner and walking in between the wall dotted with classroom and doors, and the three-barred railing separating the concrete walkway that we now walked upon from the grassy areas separating the buildings.  These grassy areas would become so saturated with rainwater in the winter months that they would remain patches of deep mud with a covering of grass for most of the school year, the near constant rainfall replenishing the mud steadily.  I never realized before, but this was probably the main reason for the railings.  A sudden memory came to me so strongly I almost had to pause and let it overtake me, but after a slight stutter in my step I reapplied my smile and kept moving, while allowing the memory to surface and fully permeate:

A group of the more authority resistant kids stood by the railings, some standing on the first bar and holding onto the third.  The CKY videos, which would form the basis for the show Jackass, had just emerged in popularity among the skaters and punk rock enthusiasts, and we had stunts and mayhem on the brain.  I don’t remember how Gabe so quickly became the target of the idea, but it was probably his willingness to consider it more than anything else.  Gabe Fugott, who had pointed out that by spelling out the letters of his last name you were required to say “F U,” and whenever I thought of him from then on I thought of Gabe F-U-gott.  The money began with 3 dollars here, 5 dollars there, the meager sums that are cherished by youth.  It quickly rose to some 27 odd dollars, which would have made more than a few of us consider doing the stunt, but the onus had already fallen on Gabe, and he dutifully considered the logistics.  Quickly, he came up with an elegant and creative solution.  “I will pay anyone 5 bucks out of the money to borrow their jacket,” he intoned to the gathering crowd, all business.  Without thinking, I volunteered my own heavy jacket and I believe one other did the same.  Gabe looked down at his pants, gears in his mind grinding away, but realized the futility and shrugged.  He donned the jackets, making his short, stocky form lumpy and huge.  He climbed the railing, putting one leg over and staying there for a second, uncommitted either way.  The other boys started to make comments and softly taunt him.  I never doubted his tenacity in following through with this, so I just stood and watched, the back of my mind gently nagging me about whether it had been worth it to go jacket-less for the rest of the cold winter day for a payout of 5 bucks, though such a sum was decidedly non-measly at that time in my life.  Gabe swung his other leg over the railing and flopped down into the stew of rainwater, thick mud and wet muddy grass.  

The others roared their approval with the hint of violence gleaming in their eyes.  Gabe started crawling and wiggling his way foreword, almost swimming through the mud at an understandably slow pace.  He lay belly down, and was instantly saturated.  Keeping his head up and neck-length hair out of the mess was promoting a visible strain on his neck, and he bared his teeth and flexed his neck.  “Roll over on your back!”  Davey was shouting, “We’re not payin’ you to stay clean!”  Gabe evidently heard Davey amongst the general shouting and instantly threw himself on his back and writhed, sealing the deal as far as any hope for my jacket went.  He was really throwing himself into the act, and for good reason.  Once you’re down in the mud pit you may as well revel in it.  I began wondering, as I’m sure most others did, when some type of school authority would show up and stop this show.  I hoped that Gabe’s veracity in the task would still guarantee the payout, even if he failed to make it all the way across the lawn.  The crowd watching grew steadily, and pushed against the railing.  All eyes were locked on Gabe.  Many were laughing, some were shouting encouragement, a few girls expressing disbelief or disgust.  Gabe had capitulated entirely to the muddy compote by this point, no longer straining to raise his head above the ground.  When he had flopped onto his back, his hair had become saturated with mud, which now clung to it in thick clumps.  Every movement he made was sharp and desperate, every spasm throwing drops of mud and water from him.  He had found a rhythm, which reminded me of soldiers crawling under razor wire in the few war movies I had seen at the time.  His right elbow and right knee were thrust foreword, using them to drag his left elbow and knee foreword in a wriggling motion.  His mouth remained tightly pinched shut, his lips a mud-stained pink line.  His eyes were shut tightly leaving clear patches on his forehead where the skin bunched up.  I had become so focused on the spectacle, crowded shoulder to shoulder with the other boys up against the railing, that my vision began to narrow, and almost zoom in, on Gabe.  We stood there, unified in slack jawed awe and excitement, shouting, knowing that this illicit situation was one we had created and one that only we could have derived this kind of entertainment from.  Movement from the down the hall broke me out of this zone, and I lifted my eyes from the mud to see Mr. Kellish turning the corner from out of the enclosed hallway and onto the cement pathway. 

I must have been one of the first of the crowd to absorb this new information because when the flight side of my fight or flight mechanism was activated and I let go of the railing and took two steps backwards I noticed that I was the only one moving away from the mud and the event.  The sight of Mr. Kellish caused a ripple backwards in the observers.  Like me, they caught themselves before fleeing the scene, the desire to see this play out heavily outweighing the fear of retribution from Kellish.  If Gabe noticed the appearance of authority onto the pathway he deserves a lot more respect, I realized in retrospect, for his frenetic pace never slowed.  

Mr. Kellish must have been appraised of the general situation before he made his stiff-paced way out of his office in the front of the school, down the hall between the lockers and out into the courtyard.  Whoever was the snitch-teacher, student, employee-is forever lost to history.  We all recognized that it couldn’t last, and I know I was surprised it lasted as long as it did.  Mr. Kellish was not a bad Principal, nor a bad man.  He was unusually involved in discipline of students, making him a well-known figure on campus.  All Principals are hated by some; it is a thankless, complex and hard job with many varied, vague and sometimes indefinable duties.  Kellish always struck me as a kind man, made somewhat harried by his duties.  His ruddy, bearded bespectacled face bespoke a stereotypical therapist and he was known to assume a facsimile of that role with the students on occasion (God knows the actual school counselor, also the sponsor and coach of the rugby club, was absolutely no use to anyone-to boot his son was one of the biggest bullies in the school).  He wore a loose grey sweater with darker grey zig-zag stripes, neatly pressed brown slacks and immaculate black dress shoes as he strode purposefully down the corridor towards us, towards me.  His stare was laser fixed on all of us and each one of simultaneously, as experienced and talented public officials are capable of.  His gait slowed as his desire to confront and bust those of us making up the crowd gave way to his realization that Gabe would need to be dealt with first, immediately.  


He came to a reluctant stop to the left of where Gabe F-U-gott was still thrashing around, hell bent on completing his meaningless mission.  He gave one last glare at us, all of whom were now focused on the unseen lines of tension, glowing electric, connecting these two humans who could not have been more different at that moment.  “GABE.”  It was one syllable, intoned in a hugely projected, sharp tenor voice.  A voice honed by decades of quieting classrooms and calling assemblies to attention.  A voice now harsh and demanding, traced with flecks of pure anger.  Gabe stopped swimming immediately, and leaned to his left, his upper body craned upward out of the mud.  He jerked his head, flinging his hair back from his eyes and casting an arc of mud that just managed to reach the opposite wall that created the eastern border of the grassy area, marking it with brown flecks which would be visible for several months after.  He opened his eyes, twin oasis’ of white and blue in the middle of a dark brown desert.  Mud had gotten into his mouth, it covered his lips, and deep into his nostrils, which he blew out with a snort.  Mud dripped from his earlobes.  His eyes had stayed remarkably clean due to how tight he had clinched them shut, until he blinked for the first time since opening them, then they too became sullied and his vision must have blurred.  He opened his mouth to respond to Mr. Kellish who remained looming over him, now gripping the railing as I had been previously.  No one moved.  No words came to Gabe, and he closed his mouth slightly.  “C’mon Gabe, get up.  Get out of there.”  Mr. Kellish said flatly.  

Gabe wordlessly got up, slowly climbed the two bars of the railing and flopped down onto the concrete, shedding mud in a steady flow.  He took off my jacket and his own, and draped them over the top railing.  His own undershirt was surprisingly clean.  His pants were a lost cause, and his shoes had each gained about 5 lbs. of weight.  He kicked them off one at a time, one hitting the wall and leaving another mud mark, which would be cleaned by the janitor that evening.  Mr. Kellish turned and walked toward the hall lined with lockers, and Gabe followed him with his head down.  By now the crowd gathered had begun to disperse, deflated like an air mattress oozing down to the ground.  We speculated on the punishment, which we all agreed would be substantial.  There was no disappointment really, just a general meandering off.  We felt slightly guilty on some level, because we all knew that the punishment for this infraction would surely be nothing to sneeze at.  Gabe was used to being singled out, and was ready, but still.  He had made his money and we had obtained temporary dumb-headed entertainment.  


In my next class my seat was by the door where I had a clear view of the hall.  I immediately noticed Gabe coming out of the inner hall that was lined by the lockers, the same path that Mr. Kellish had trod earlier in his voyage of discovery, and taking a left instead of a right to get to his next class.  He was dressed in extremely baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both emblazoned with the Sunny Brae Roadrunner logo.  I noticed that both of the jackets were gone from the railing as he passed.  Now only a patina of mud remained, unable to dry in the foggy, cold air.  Gabe shuffled down the corridor, a lumpy mass of soft material.  All trace of mud was gone from his body, and the sweat-clothes made him look extremely clean, the contrast, I remember thinking, seeming like he had just got out of a shower.  

He turned and looked back down the hall as he shuffled.  Seeing me practically leaning out the door of the classroom I was in and staring at him, he smiled sheepishly.  It would be two weeks before I saw the five dollars. 


The memory's hold on me fading, I turned to Jennifer.  "I sure learned a lot while I was here," I intoned while flashing the best, most genuine smile at her.  This instance stayed with me, and later I would reflect on it and wish I could summon such a smile at will.  
"I'm sure that will mean a lot for everyone to hear, Mr. Reber," She smiled tight and met my eyes briefly before looking away.