Alter Boys (24 page)

He allowed himself a final look in the mirror, wondering why he had never realized the need to look at himself before.  Suddenly an inner voice raged.  The voice came without words but the meaning was monstrously clear: 

(
You don’t want to go there
!)

It was dangerous.  Whatever it was that was inside him was dangerous.  So dangerous that it had prevented him from seeing who he was for so long. 

But that was over now.  He had been Greaser.  Fine.  But it was finished, done, all in the past.  And that strong voice?  Well that was just a lingering memory of what he had been. 

Now he would remember to wash his hair each day.  And the other kids, well, they would forget… in time.  Or they would find someone else to pick on.

Already he could see the edges of his hair drying out, becoming light, fluffy, like the other kids.  The oil slicks on his nose and cheeks had been scrubbed away.  He would remember to wash his face each day too.  His teeth?  He was savvy enough to know that that would not be an overnight job, but he could easily avoid smiling for a few weeks or months.  Yes, everything was now in order. 

That is, from the neck up.

Had he expanded the scope of his vision beyond his face and took in his full image he would have seen and perhaps even become aware.

Clad in flaming checkered pants and a pullover shirt with broad orange and green stripes, he was unaware that he had identified only part of the problem.  Greaser might be gone, but a new name was waiting.

Part
4

Demon

Chapter 1

1

As we have learned, if Demon was one thing, he was socially clueless.  Throughout his life he had been oblivious to things like the basics of hygiene and the most fundamental level of social interaction.  Sure, he could recite the weekly program lineup on channel 5, but engage in any type of conversation?  Fat chance. 

And so he had to learn the art of becoming human, not from his peers, parents or teachers, but by unrelated events of extreme misfortune; markers of Demon’s high school career.   That, and of course, television.

He had become adept with the practice of washing his hair, forgoing the morning television test pattern for a blot of Suave shampoo and a head dunking in the bathroom sink.  His face may not have cleared up entirely, but at least it no longer resembled the oil-stained driveway of a clumsy mechanic.

And his teeth?  Those too had vastly improved thanks to a first, second and soon starting on a third bottle of Pearl Drops. 

Still, he did not bathe, save for the obligatory 30 seconds in the shower once a week following gym class.  But despite this one omission of hygiene, he eventually shed the old moniker.  And as freshman gave way to sophomore and winter made room for spring, and no longer hearing the taunts of “Greaser!” he felt confident that he now fit in.

2

It was a Friday afternoon, warm and sunny, far too nice of a combination for anything scholastic, and likely the reason that
Mr. Leonard, the music teacher, had called in sick after taking an inordinately long lunch. 

Scrambling, the school secretary called a young teacher’s assistant, who was more than happy to help out on short notice, to rush in and cover music appreciation class. 

The grinning longhaired TA had swaggered into the classroom, and, to the students delight set up a portable record player and uncrated a healthy stack of 45’s.  He smiled a little too broadly while slowly choosing his words.  Each student would get to pick one record to be played on the turntable and class time could be used as ‘study hall’ while listening to the music.

The class was ecstatic.  Outwardly they maintained the composure that is reserved for the appearance of a new classroom authority figure.  Inwardly they were stoked about spending an hour grooving to some tunes. 

And although their smiles were not reefer induced (most of them that is), the students grinned along with the hip TA.  Damn!  What a great way to spend a spring afternoon in school!

Demon did not smile.  He sat in trepidation.  He knew nothing about popular music. 

To his chagrin the TA started the passing of the milk crate on Demon’s side of the room.

Picking out a popular record to be scrutinized by his classmates would be like a galley slave arranging the entertainment for the captain’s ball.

As the crate approached and the songs took their turn in the queue, Demon wondered how he would know his record when it actually played.   He watched jealously as Bronwyn Poe rapidly flipped through the offerings, plucked out 4 potentials and then confidently narrowed her choice to one. 

He saw her confirm the title:  ‘Crimson and Clover.’  He would remember that; and maybe it would help him identify his selection when it came up next in line. 

Bronwyn grimaced as she passed the tray of vinyl to her right.  The kid had finally bought a clue about soap and water but he was still a weirdo.  God!  Who picked out his clothes for him, Helen Keller?  For the past week he had been wearing the same orange flannel shirt and striped pants that could only have come out of a thrift box from the land of Oz. 

“Here.”  She handed the records over, grateful that she was on the delivering and not the receiving end of the creep.

Demon took the records soundlessly.   Within moments, he knew that the task was out of his league.

Flipping through the records Demon realized that he didn’t have a clue as to what he should select.  The names and titles were all foreign to him.  The
Jackson
Five?  Tony Orlando and Dawn?

Several records had already had their spin and he had observed how the class had responded to each, congratulating each other on their selections.  Choosing the wrong record would expose him, make him a social outcast.   

The Rolling Stones? 

Demon continued through the stack and considered his options.  He could make a random choice and hope for the best, or he could skip his turn and pass to the next person.

He would have been better off with the pass. 

He flipped to the next disc and discovered a name he recognized.  “The Beatles.”  He had seen the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show and they had been received with favor.  It seemed safe so he chose.  He passed the stack to his right and then ferried his
selection to the front of the room to be placed in the queue after Crimson and Clover.

It really was a shame that class didn’t end before the set list was complete. 

“Crimson and Clover” went over huge with the group.  Bronwyn Poe proudly accepted her accolades while several class members sang along or tapped out the beat on their desk tops.  “Over and over, Crimson and Clover, over and overrrrr.”

Even before the record changer dropped his selection on top of Tommy James and the Shondells, Demon began to feel the edges of panic creep in.  Bronwyn Poe had stolen the show and now he had to follow.

The tone arm lifted the stylus from the groove and retreated.  The spindle clicked and dropped Demon’s record in placed.  The arm swung back, gently lowered and began tracing the single continuous circuit of vinyl.

Anticipation lasted a moment.  Mortification a millennium. 

A sick harmonica brought heads up from their desks and mouths open in gag.  Eyes looked around accusatorily to identify who had chosen this hillbilly crap. 

The Beatles compounded the aberration by singing:

“Luv, luv me do.  You know I love you.  I’ll always be true.  So pleeeeease, luv me do.” 

Infantile lyrics.  Caveman drumbeat.  And that harmonica from hell. 

“Gawd!  What is that?” from Dee
Schuster
.   She scowled; eyes scanning the room to assess the blame.  “Burn!” She punctuated.  “Burn!”

“
That
is where it came from!”  Bronwyn Poe, overly confident after her victory with Tommy James, nodded at Demon.  “Gawd, burn is right!” 

Classroom ‘burns,’ ‘what the
hell’s
,’ and ‘kill me please somebody just kill me’ were now liberally competing with John, Paul George and Ringo.

The TA took no notice.  He sat and smiled, spacing out on the chalkboards that rolled like ocean waves.

Sergeant Denker, always ready to capitalize on a skirmish, worked the mob.  “Psychological warfare!  Every man for himself!”  He clasped his head.  “Demon’s in my ears!  Demon’s in my eyes!  Look!  It’s the devils camouflage!”  He bravely risked uncovering one ear to alert his troops to Demon’s clothing.

Demon shrunk in his seat and wished for death.

“The demon is among us!  He appears in many forms and shapes!  Plaids, checkers and stripes oh my!  Plaids, checkers and stripes oh my!  Turn away or go blind!”

The tone of the class was now a blend of musical revolt and military amusement.

“The demon is too powerful for a mortal army.  Gabriel sound the trumpets in heaven.  Only an army of angels can stop the demon!”

Mercifully, Luv me do eventually faded out and made room for Bad, bad Leroy Brown.  The mob, visibly relieved, turned their attention to Jim Croce.  But Sergeant Denker was still in full command.  He pillaged the lyrics: