LB |
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Chapter 8 |
| Got up much later in the day. My dad called and said I would not be going to see the Pretenders if I didn't go
to work -- was I going? I was going, all right -- going to get ready to see my band again. Called Theresa with
alternate instructions -- if I don't call and tell you otherwise, pick me up over the hill. I was going to hop
out my window an hour or so before anyone would expect me to try to leave the house, climb our back fence and walk
up and over the hill, hide in the park and wait until it was time to go. It was a good plan and would've worked
had I needed it, but... my dad's a softy. Someone at work ragged on him to let me go -- so what if I missed a couple
days of school? I normally never missed any and never got into serious trouble. I was a stubborn but pretty good
kid. You're only young once, right? So Dad talked my mother into letting me go. I would've anyhow. That night was good too, but after being up front, after savouring the flavour of front row, nothing else is satisfying. Outside the venue, someone was selling pictures of the band. Bought pictures, got a free cloth sticker that KQAK "The Quake" was giving away. More Pretenders stuff. Always more stuff. I didn't graduate with the rest of my class in 1984. The system was set up so you could lose ten credits and still graduate (I would know this). In eleventh grade, or maybe it was tenth, when forced to take swimming in P.E., I refused. It wasn't that I didn't know how to swim -- I'd done it every day in the summer from ages 6-10. I was totally burned out on it and couldn't bear the thought of it. I lost 2.5 credits. In eleventh grade I failed History (too much homework, and by now you know how I felt about that) -- a loss of 5 credits. In my senior year, I had an English class that I actually enjoyed, then had to transfer out of it and ended up in a shitty class. I had learned the year before that my sister was willing to write and type up papers for me for cash. She needed the money, I needed the grades (and I wasn't going to do it -- not with all these bands to see!). Another service she provided was reading stories and taking notes on index cards. In eleventh grade I had to do an oral presentation on F. Scott Fitzgerald and two of his stories. Theresa refused at first -- how could I possibly pull that off? But if I was willing to pay her, what did she care if I got an F? I never read the stories -- only knew their titles. Went over my note cards while the teacher took attendance at the beginning of the class, gave my presentation. Marlene, who was in the same class, was amazed. I'd turned my typed note cards over to the teacher first, and she handed me a slip of paper on which was written the grade I received for my presentation. I flashed it at Marlene: B+. She'd spent weeks on her report. She was in a state of disbelief... and amusement. "I can't believe you just did that," she whispered as I walked past her to get to my seat. "Man, I don't know how you always get away with such crap." My senior year, English was OK, until the middle of the third quarter when I had to change my schedule around. Marlene and I were once again in the same English class. I sat behind her again, which made passing notes easy. I followed my routine of not doing homework. When the teacher harassed me about it, I also stopped doing anything in class. I'd write poetry... or letters... or lyrics to songs... ANYTHING to get my mind out of that polluted cell. We were supposed to read "Ode to a Grecian Urn" in class one day. Instead of doing the assignment, I glanced at the poem and rewrote it my way -- something like "Ode to a Grecian Pisspot." "O pisspot, o pisspot" it started. I handed it to Marlene who nearly peed her pants from laughing. I got the giggles too, but she got dirty looks from the teacher. This particular teacher was an extremely religious person and I am, um... not. He always put God in places where there was no God. You can make anything sound like something else -- exaggerate, twist, stretch. I do it all the time without lying outright. I can make chocolate and raw liver sound like the same thing if I have to (both are a silky brown and are considered delicacies in different parts of the world). So this teacher was always inserting his deity where it didn't belong. (That's according to me -- and if I get riled up, I'm right, no matter what. Hey, I never said I was a reasonable person.) He told me one day that I needed to get a C on my final exam in order to pass the class. Exam day came and the first part was multiple choice (the first part was given on a regular school day and the second part on a day for finals -- that's how long the damn thing was). I only answered what I knew for sure, didn't bother with the rest -- didn't even study for it. The following week, he told us he only graded us on what we answered -- anything unanswered didn't count against us. I'd aced that piece of shit. Part two was essay questions -- only two of them. Wrote the now forgotten first one. The second question was, "In the stories we have read, did man or God determine the outcome?" I thought for a bit. I should just b.s. my way through it. I knew the answer he wanted, could've easily given it to him. God, God, God, I thought, here comes my F and I am doomed -- my parents will kill me. I sighed. I wrote what I thought. When I returned for my test results, he apologized -- I'd gotten the C on my final that he'd said I needed to pass, but I really needed an A. Sorry. So he lied. It couldn't have given him as much satisfaction being mean as I got from being honest with myself. I took two weeks of summer school (strangely enough, I was assigned to a class that was held in the same room as my shitty English class), and graduated with an excess of 2.5 credits. My dad picked up my diploma -- I never wanted it. July 1984. Jennifer asked me if I wanted a train or plane ticket. I said train -- she gave me an Amtrak ticket to Connecticut for my birthday, to finally meet K. and M. and see the Pretenders in Worcester, Massachusetts. The boss said no to two weeks off, so I quit. Out of school forever and free of employment obligation, I split. Now I knew what Chrissie was talking about -- all those years she'd spoken of dropping everything and leaving, or at least not tying herself down to begin with. This was it -- ohhhhh, it was good. Tore off my shackles and left. Even the bonds of friendship can be too binding. Friends expect certain things of you. Mine were cool, calm, nearly always unruffled. I've never been cool... more, well, prone to turbulence. My scales tip wildly to one side and I run like hell to the other end to even it all out. Then back again. I didn't find balance until later, when I met someone who showed me how it was done. So off I rode into the magenta sunset. |
