500 Words

Peter had gotten trapped when someone pushed his jacket off of the bench and under the bleachers. He probably should have left the crappy blue corduroy thing down there for the mice to gnaw on, but jackets, as his mom was fond of saying, didn’t grow on trees. He had tried to imagine a jacket tree with a great deal of success, but it, like most things in his imagination, remained firmly entrenched in the ether. So down he went.

He wasn’t really trapped, making his way out wouldn’t be impossible. All that blocked his way were his classmates’ bodies and more importantly a screen of jeers. “Freak!” “Weirdo!” “Stupid fucker!” and other taunts pelted him like verbal garbage. That most of the assault came from girls, made it even more of a challenge. He’d been taught from a young age that a girl’s body was sacrosanct. You weren’t to touch them without permission and hitting them was right out. The insults really didn’t even hurt any more. Where once he would have felt shame or fear, there was now only annoyance and a rising anger. With each passing minute he came closer and closer to the breaking point. What that meant, he wasn’t quite sure. This time around though, he was saved by a whistle.

Coach Tim’s black plastic medallion chased the students off their seats. “Alright you slackers, get to your classes.” As the thundering herd obeyed the order, the only one they were likely to listen to all day, Peter could hear the coach’s final words intended for the middle aged man’s ears alone. “If you worked like you should you wouldn’t have such fat asses.”

Peter watched as Tim chuckled at his own doggerel. He could imagine the adult practicing that wit in his head, waiting for the right moment to unleash it. That thought instantly made Peter feel only half as pitiful as he had moments before. With some effort he climbed out of his wooden prison.

“Shelton? What the hell were you doin’ down there?” Tim pushed his ball cap back and scratched at thinning hair. “Never mind. You get on to class too.”

Peter wasted no time in doing as he was told. His English class had library time today, which meant he could indulge in the only freedom he knew, the kind that came between the covers of a book.

Eyes an unhealthy distance from the page, Peter was engrossed. A peculiar mix of body odor and a sort of sweetness announced someone’s presence before words were necessary. “Hey Donnie.” Peter said, not even bothering to look up.

Donnie, a typical Goth at least on the outside, flopped into the burnt orange chair across from his reclusive friend. Every stitch of his clothing was black, the only spot of color a smiley face button with a single eye in the middle of what would be its forehead. “Hey loser. You do realize that there is, at this moment, a ferocious dust kitten attacking your right kneecap?”

Peter looked and sure enough a clump of dust and who knew what else was firmly attached to his denim clad leg. He brushed it away and set the book in his lap, holding place with his forefinger. “Loser? Who are you to call me a loser?”

“Damn son, loser I may be, but at least I wasn’t hiding under the bleachers.” He crossed his legs and rested vinyl boots on the small table separating them. It was a clear violation of the library rules, but that was Donnie, dangerously edgy.

The book would have flown across the small reading room had not Peter possessed a near reverence for the written word. “Word travels fast, huh. Well it’s not like I have face to lose.”

“Cheer up son, cheer up. Things are always worse than they seem.” Donnie smiled, black lip stick making his teeth seem preternaturally white.

Donnie’s twisted logic often made Peter’s brain hurt. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

The question went unanswered while Donnie pulled a duct tape covered book from his messenger bag. He leafed through it appearing to be satisfied with what he found there. “When you begin to understand the universe, your place in it, and the despair that should cause the only way to go from there is up. ‘What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?’” He snapped his Bible shut and looked at his friend with soft eyes. “Son, I know your life sucks, embrace it.”

A short laugh barked from Peter before he could stop himself. “Thanks Donnie. I can always depend on you, even if I never understand you.” A loud shush came from the desk a few steps outside of this alcove. Mrs. Potters did not brook laughter in her domain.

“Yeah, yeah, look you’re coming over to my house this weekend and we’re gonna rock out ‘til dawn on some Guitar Hero, while drinking our fill of caffeinated beverages. It’ll make you feel like a new nerd.” His look said that resistance would not only be futile, but silly.

“I think that can be arranged. Mom’s working doubles all weekend so I think she’d argue that even my unhealthy ‘anti-social bevior’ with my incredibly weird friends is better than sitting at home alone.”

“Spanking it,” Donnie finished the thought.

Peter’s ears turned pink. “Yeah. So have you invited Gregory?” The third part of their triumvirate insisted on being called by his full name.

“If I didn’t, more the fool me. He’s bringing the Go Juice.” The made stereo faces at the thought of the taste. Neither of them liked the reddish brown goo, but its powers of legal stimulation were legendary. Without another word, ear buds went home and Donnie checked out of this world and into the bizarre inner realm of his imagination, fueled by a mix of music and spoken word compositions that were his own creations.

Peter shook his head, a bit envious that Donnie had probably already finished his book reports for the year, halfway through said year. Well if he was going to spend this weekend vegging there was reading to be done.

The camo backpack’s straps bit into Peter’s shoulders under the weight of all the books and dice. He knew that the plan was centered mostly around video games, but it never hurt to be prepared. Sunlight spattered the long driveway that led up to Donnie’s house. The boy’s parents were seriously loaded. His dad was somehow involved in banking. Every time Donnie tried to explain it, Peter’s head began to throb. That was a familiar feeling any time the two were around one another.

Peter began the half-mile trek, wondering, not for the first time, why he didn’t simply let Mom drive him all the way up. Sometimes he didn’t even make sense to himself. He shrugged and continued walking.

Birds sang and a stiff breeze kept things cool. His own personal geek uniform of Vans knockoffs, jeans, and the latest PvP tee shirt was augmented by his cursed corduroy. Mom had insisted he wear it as it might be cold tonight and he was already thankful for it. Halfway up the rise he heard a loud snap come from a stand of trees off to the right. Naturally he jumped and cursed himself for a scaredy cat. He looked and didn’t see anything. Still he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Peter touched the Scout knife in his right pocket. Not that it would be of any use as a weapon, but ever since the snipe hunt it had been a source of comfort for him.

Another loud crack sounded, this time from his left, followed by a snickering that immediately drained all tension. “Okay Gregory, game over.” Peter looked toward the source of the noises and waited.

Gregory Ramirez stepped out from behind a huge cedar and bowed theatrically. He was dressed in his Junior ROTC battle dress uniform. The camouflage pattern was incredibly effective. It wasn’t until someone was actually using it for its intended purpose that you realized there was a method to the random swirls of color. Peter was just so used to seeing it in malls and at school that the painfully obvious suddenly became clear.

Gregory quick jogged to the driveway. He was wearing a backpack that matched Peter’s own. They had met in the JROTC in eighth grade and formed their unlikely bond. Peter opted out after that first year, but Gregory stuck with it and it worked for him. “Hey there slacker!” he sang out. “Got you good didn’t I?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah you got me alright. Jackass.” The boys exchanged mock salutes, smiles, and slapped hands. They continued on up the path. “So how long have you been waiting for me?”

“Oh, maybe an hour.” Gregory glanced at his watch. “I hiked here and figured I might as well wait. His royal highness won’t even be out of bed yet.”

“Heh, yeah. I wouldn’t even be here this early but Mom had to go in at ten. I figured I’d just catch up on some reading and maybe do some game prep while I was waiting.” Peter said.

They came in sight of the house. It was a three story job, and Peter reckoned it at about five thousand square feet. Every inch was pretentious and the only saving grace was the dog house. It was the basement apartment that Donnie’s parents had given him as his thirteenth birthday present. With three bedrooms, a full kitchen and a fantastic entertainment center it was the go to place for all of the boys’ gatherings. His Mom was more than glad to give their son an area that could be as thoroughly trashed as any teen's room should be, without it spreading into the rest of their show place. As long as his grades stayed up and he stayed out of trouble it was his.

“Lucky S.O.B.” Gregory said, mirroring Peter’s own thoughts.

The two boys approached the stairs leading down to the basement apartment. When Peter saw the large black duffle bug he was filled with a sense of fear and anticipation. It meant that Gregory had come with a Mission in mind. Usually they were a sort of military live action role play, a grander version of playing soldier. One or two had been somewhat risky, involving invasions into gang territory. They were never boring. Peter knew better than to ask about it though. Gregory never revealed anything about his Missions until everyone involved was together.

Gregory grabbed the bag and headed down first. “Time for Sleeping Beauty to get up.” He raised his fist to make their presence known and just as he would have made contact the door swung open.

“Been awake for hours, chumps.” Donnie ushered in his friends with a sweep of his arm. He was dressed simply in a plain white tee and a pair of navy sweat pants. His normally unruly black hair was kept restrained in a pony tail by a thick leather band. There wasn’t a bit of makeup in site. In short, he looked like a normal teenage boy. This was the Donnie that the school never saw.

Once all of the bags had been dumped and the first of many bags of chips had been opened the boys sat facing each other. Each sat in a large, overstuffed recliner separated by a four foot square table covered in one inch hexes. Peter was the first to speak. “So what’s the plan?”

A grin split Gregory’s face. “I have a Plan.” You could hear the capital P in his voice. “Next year we’ll be Juniors. You know as well as I do that means that we’ll all be far too busy for adventures until the summer at least. We need one big blow-out Mission before that happens. We also need to kick off this summer in a major way. Vacation starts in a month and I have plans to make men of you both yet.”

Donnie smirked. “Does that mean I’ll have to stop wearing panties?”

“Wear what you like freak boy, but Peter here needs to man up and you need to stop hiding behind that stupid Goth crap.” The words were said without anger, but there was a good deal of long standing frustration.

Peter started humming the Be All You Can Be theme and even Gregory cracked up. “Look Colonel, I know you have ‘what’s best’ for us in mind and I’m sure it involves getting drunk and losing our precious virginity so that we can be ‘real men’, but I ain’t a grup yet and I don’t plan to spend my precious, waning childhood days trying to be one. Love you man, but ease up.”

“Well maybe we aren’t grups, but you need to learn to stand up to the punks at school and Queenie over there…”

“Lecture over, Gregory.” Donnie said around a mouthful of chips. He swallowed and looked at Peter. “You do have a point about our resident coward though.”

“Hey,” Peter said a little weakly.

Donnie soldiered on. “Dude, you’re scared of your own dang shadow if you don’t have dice in your hand. So what do you have in mind for us?”

All name calling and character assassination stopped as Gregory pulled a small notebook from a cargo pocket. “Well you know the old chemical plant outside of town?” He didn’t wait for answers. “We’re going to break in and camp out there.”

“That’s it?” Peter asked. He tried not to think of how creepy it must be at night.

“No, that’s not it. We’ll have to avoid some security cameras and scale some barbed wire fence just to get in. And in addition to that I have it on highest authority that that’s where the stash is.”

His audience seemed to get even more thoughtful at the mention of the stash. It was rumored to contain everything from drugs and booze to stacks of cash that the seniors would use for their big end of year party.

“If we found that…” Peter left the thought unfinished. There was a great amount of potential for mayhem.

The rest of that morning and afternoon passed in a flurry of activity. Satellite maps were pulled from the ‘net, discussions were had on what to wear and take, thoughts about what exactly might be in the Stash were thought, but went largely unexpressed. They even made time for a few rounds of Omega Chess.

When the time came to leave Peter looked at his comrades in arms. Gregory had changed into a set of all black BDUs and was even wearing a black balaclava, rolled up for now. Donnie called him Snake-Eyes whenever this get up made its appearance and usually that earned a solid punch in the arm. Occasionally that devolved into a wrestling match. Not today though, today was serious business.

Donnie had changed into a pair of heavy-duty black carpenter’s jeans and pulled a dark grey hoodie on over a xDEATHSTARx logo tee. A pair of black twenty eye Docs covered his feet and black greasepaint was smeared all over his face. Not someone Peter would have wanted to meet anywhere.

In contrast Peter looked almost comically underdressed. He hadn’t realized that there was going to be a night mission and really had only what he usually wore. His jeans were dark blue as was his jacket. That would have to be enough. He borrowed a pair of Donnie’s boots since more rugged footgear seemed called for and some paint for his face. His ever present backpack completed the ensemble, now filled with water, “iron rations” aka PB and J on Donnie’s housekeeper’s dark wheat bread, and a few hand tools. They all carried mini flashlights and little cheapo digital cameras to document their adventure.

The plant was about a thirty minute bike ride from Donnie’s house. Starting this time of year they all left their bikes here, since this is where they spent most of their free time. Donnie winked at his friends. “I think we’re about as ready as we’ll ever be. Let’s roll out!” Minutes later the quiet whir of rubber on asphalt filled the air as the three began their trek.

The moon was waning full and there were few clouds. There was already a bite in the air which meant a cold camp, not something any of them looked forward to. Peter spent the time worrying. He was a champ at worrying. What if there were guards? What if they had guns? What if the Seniors were there tonight? What if he fell and broke his collar bone? His stomach kept doing these little flips and rolls. He knew that he could call this off. A quick double flash and the other two would pull over. He’d explain that he’d really rather be playing video games. They’d call him more than a few names. Everyone would be pissy and disappointed, even Peter. Still two hours later they’d be immersed in sensory overload and all would be forgotten, mostly.

“No.” Peter said through gritted teeth. “Not this time.” Gregory was right. He needed this. They all needed this. He’d be damned if he’d call it off. Peter knew he was a coward. Left to his own devices he would have been chewed up and spit out by high school. Thank God he’d had his friends to back him, but that wouldn’t last much longer. They were all headed different ways, had been for the last year. He’d need to learn how to make it on his own. Maybe this would help or maybe it was just a last hurrah. Either way the sodium arc lights brightened the near horizon telling him that they were well past midway and whatever happened tonight, good or bad, he was down. They all were.