Suburbia - ch. 4-5

Ch. 4

The plan was simple. It consisted of Don's vintage Ford pickup truck and senior skip day. They would find something to cover the bed of the truck as to not scratch the silver paint job. Then they would have to drive to their victim's residence where they would steal the basketball goal in the drive way while everyone else was at work.

Roger and Don would meet up at a busy parking lot about three miles from the house. This is where Roger would leave his mustang and ride with Don to the scene of the crime. From there they would back the truck up into the parking lot and steal the goal.

Don didn't think that was enough and he decided to add a paper bag filled with his dog's shit on the steps of the front door of the house, lighting it on fire as they speed away victoriously. This plan would work like a charm.

Roger was always a misfit. It all started the day of his conception when his mother and father made him out of wedlock. The pregnancy was a nightmare for the couple as well and his mother had thought more than once to abort the baby. Sometimes she thinks it should have been the right thing to do. Unfortunately, for Brownwood, it didn't happen.

He was born prematurely which became a quick burden on his mother. The baby was expensive from the very start. The parents were not ready for this responsibility and his early years were filled with confused messages and lack of attention. He began to slack at school at an early age and was picked on because of his size.

All of this changed in junior high school when he had a growth spurt and instantly became the brawny muscle he is today. For all the times he had been teased and picked on, it was now time for him to share that love with his fellow classmates. Soon everyone at the school would remember his name, Roger Fernandez.

This was another problem he had growing up. He was Caucasian with a Spanish name. This often confused his teachers as well as his peers. "Whitey Chico" was his name growing up and if anyone were to call him that now there would be missing teeth. The ironic thing about punching out someone's teeth for saying that name is that without front teeth the name sounds like "Why Chico?"

Roger and Don were close friends but still had a rivalry over women. Secretly they both wanted the other's girlfriend. They never said it to one another. It was one of those things you just don't tell your friend. They both played on the football team but Roger had quit for his senior year. He said it was a waste of time.

The fact is, the coach kicked him from the star role because he wasn't a team player. Roger couldn't bare the thought and he left outraged telling everyone that the game was stupid, the team was pathetic, and the coaches were mindless freaks. Don knew better and stayed. His team was definitely good enough for state this year.

"Dude, where you at?" Don said into his cell phone after Roger picked up.

"I'm on my way, bro. I'm about five minutes away. I got stuck behind this soccer ball mom!" Roger seemed furious over the wire.

"Yeah what ever, just meet me in the parking lot. I'm in Aisle F near Wal-mart."

"See you in a sec."

The red mustang rolls down the aisle like a dream. The V-8 turbo charged engine was growing heavy under the pounding bass vibrating in the trunk. There is something about white urban boys trying to act cool with their thumping rap music and their hat flipped backwards. For this occasion Roger was wearing a giant gold cross. It was a cheap rip off from a music video he saw once.

A hand pokes out of the vintage truck and waves the mustang over. The red beast rolls into a spot near the truck and the hood of the car extracts from its hidden frame. It could rain, always the possibility in Brownwood.

Roger locks the canvas and removes his bling and slips it into the glove department. He slips out of the car and closes the door and pushes a button locking it with a single beep.

"Yo man, never thought I'd make it!" Roger chuckles while walking with a limp, holding the front of his pants as if they were about to fall to his ankles. Don could see his reflection in the black shades Roger was wearing as he leans on the window frame of the truck.

"Get off the truck Roger! What the fuck are you thinking?" Don was always paranoid about the truck. It was vintage after all and it wouldn't be easily replaced.

The two exchanged insults and Roger enters the passenger seat, "Let's get going."

Don shouts a howl and turns the engine of the truck. There was another roaring growl as his truck creeps from its space and into the mess of traffic. Within a few minutes the two of them would be well on their way to criminal mischief.

"Did you get the shit?" Roger asks.

"Yeah dude, it's in the back of the truck."

Roger shakes his head, "Man that's dope."

Trends and fads come and go, dope once meant idiocy and then transformed into a generic title for drugs and apparently now it means that something is outstanding.

The music in the truck blared loudly as they accessed the highway. They ignored the rest of the world as they passed by the "Welcome to ignorance, America!" sign.

Ch. 5

Lockers at the high school were small compartments to conserve space for optimal capacity. This was the blue print that was proposed by the architects and sold to the state under the assumption that the building process would be cheaper and more efficient. Three lockers per column extending as far as the eyes could see. This was Brownwood High School's answer to space saving.

The school board bought the idea and the students suffered convenience in return. It's not as if the state politicians cared about it much. Each student had a price tag and each head would bring lucrative profits into their pockets. This process is similar to breeding and herding cattle in Texas. The only difference between the two tasks is that driving an entire arm into the cow's anus to check for pregnancy was not required for students.

One of the lockers slammed repeatedly as Jimmy fought to conserve the space in his backpack. Jimmy's locker was . Shreds of crumbled paper and notebooks flapped about like a white out blizzard in winter inside the confined space of the locker as he pounded the door closed. The latch only mocked Jimmy with each attempt and tossed the door back out like a used whore.

Rejection was a word Jimmy knew quite well.

Cursing and screaming obnoxiously at inanimate objects never resolves a problem but it certainly makes the frustration a little more tolerable. Jimmy continued on his epic quest to close his locker, his black backpack swinging to and fro on his back was liable to hit an innocent spectator waltzing down the congested hallway between Jimmy's class periods. He had just finished English literature where he received another bloody document with a very low number and he was about to sit in on a government class where he watched the teacher from behind his eyelids. This was the way things went on 'T days.' Wake up, go to school, fight the locker, sleep through class, head to lunch, and go home.

Jimmy stops and looks over his shoulder as an annoying prodding finger pressed into his neck. The nerds would name this the Vulcan choke hold. Rachel called it fun. The frustrated kid spins around and was prepared to curse at this new-found animate object but to his disbelief it wasn't one of the boys. He was taken off guard and began to stutter. Jimmy wasn't much of a public speaker. He rarely spoke at school except to tell people to leave him alone. Besides, she was a goddess to him, Italian beauty, he imagines her profile pinned up on his wall. He imagines her groping herself and her tongue drawn out of her mouth like a hungry tiger. Maybe Jimmy should stop day dreaming so much.

Rachel blinks as Jimmy spins around as though prepared to destroy the world in rage. Half expecting him to speak German and flail his head around spitting she takes a step back and tries to smile but it turns out awkward, "Hey Jimmy…"

Her voice was a chorus of perfect harmony to the anxious and angry boy. His vicious angry face turned into a gentle courteous appreciation. Those manic eyes turn somber and he smiles something just as awkward, "Hello Rachel." He tries to hide the swinging metal door of his locker but fails miserably.

He looks over her shoulder half expecting a prank. He didn't see the boys around and Jimmy stayed on guard as he asks her, "What's up?"

Rachel replies, "Yeah. I just wanted to tell you that I don't appreciate how the others treat you."
Why was she saying this to him? He would question the madness of the world around him, has everything gone to the dogs? Had he missed the nuclear sirens or perhaps he was already dead?

What in the world was going on?

"Well, you can't stop them Rachel," He said back defensively. He was curious and he ask her,

"Why are you talking to me now?"

Rachel quirks her lip and replies, "I just wanted you to know that I don't appreciate it was all."

Yeah, he got that already. He wasn't hard of hearing.

"Okay…" Jimmy said. He didn't know what to say next.

Rachel nods, "Okay, well, I have to go back to class."

That was simple, Jimmy thought to himself. It was strange, he would add. This isn't going to be a normal day is it? He asked himself.

Jimmy turns around and begins to walk to class thinking about what had just happened. He didn't pay attention to his locker door still opened and slams right into it. He falls to the ground and hits his head on the painted concrete and rolls his eyes closed. He drools on himself a little before blacking out completely.

The locker door was just as dazed. Slamming backwards on closed lockers and bouncing off latching closed with a powerful noise which echoed the corridor. Unfortunately Jimmy was unconscious and didn't see the secret of closing it.

The sound of nothing followed by the sound of more nothing becomes an echo inside of little Jimmy's head. This is similar to floating underwater in a pool at the park and there's dozens of people swimming about inside with you. Even though you know they are there and you can hear the faint nothing in their splash or while they laugh above the water, the sound just isn't the same. It's quiet under here. Some would like to stay under in this watery paradise forever but
now and again there's that problem with breathing.

Jimmy was stuck in something similar. The words spoke to him were meaningless and distant. His mind was dark and clouded with thoughts of black and void of wonder. Here Jimmy was with himself and at peace, Zen. Floating pointlessly under water in the deep ocean blue he was sinking. The boy touches his face and feels the soft texture of his own skin. The subtle beating of his heart pulsing blood through his veins became like a melody. Everything was perfect in this pointless world until Jimmy tried to breathe.

Forty-thousand watts of electricity running through every vein in the body and nerve ending should be painful. It should leave a mark; those wretched veins bulge blue from flesh. Nerve endings trigger and synapses fire jolts of electricity from line to line often leaving terrible electrical burns. Stick a metal fork into a toaster that's currently cooking a slice of bread. All of this pain and suffering was something that doesn't seem to bother little dying Jimmy. This shock is like a massage really, the coursing fingers running up and down his body like frantic ballet dancers on stage fluttering their toes in the air and spinning gracefully around on his skin. This was Jimmy's escape from everything.

Burnt flesh has a distinct aroma that is difficult to explain. The smell is somewhere in a rating between sewer garbage and unkempt crotch. Janice was having problems with her self image today and smelled only slightly better on the burnt flesh meter. Janice and her self image, deep down inside she was a Cinderella bought in slavery by a white trash warlord. She simply felt dirty today.

A door opens slowly and in comes a super model dazzled in sparkling jewelry and a silver shimmering evening gown made from the silk in some far off distant unpronounceable country. Her daunting eyes staring out to the end of the catwalk, her hip on her shoulder and her black hair bounding off her shoulders gave a perfect image. Janice was losing it again.

She blinked and shook off Rachel's appearance. She wasn't even wearing a dress, she hated dresses. Rachel hated Janice's taste in clothing. Rachel could explain Janice's taste in a single word, 'skank.'

She throws her backpack around from over her should and on the top of the black slab tabletop of the wooden desk before scooting herself into the seat next to her ever friendly wicked Cinderella.

An even more potent smell creeps high on the burnt flesh scale, a distinct odor that can be defined by the color shit-green. The science lab smelled of formaldehyde today in preparation for the mass butcher of amphibians. Janice was quiet as Rachel sat beside her stuck in her own trance as if she were sitting in Tienemen Square. God himself wouldn't be able to budge her in this trance. Paralyzed with fear and wretched crotch, she ignored the world.

"Jan? Are you feeling alright?" Rachel waves her hand in front of Janice's face.

Janice sees nothing.

Rachel blows in Janice's ear and prods at her head, "Wake up!"

Janice hears nothing.

"What got into you today?" Rachel asks her, now feeling concerned.

Janice says nothing.