The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" (3 page)

It
was then my stomach sank. Travis suddenly cowered, and guiltily looked past me.
I knew that meant only one thing: I was in deep doo-doo.

As
if I were being recorded in slow motion on video, my head slowly turned around.
Ms. Bricky, a tall, ramrod woman with horn-rimmed glasses and wrinkles
deep-lining her rigid face, was futilely patting at a huge water stain on her
dress, just below her sagging boobs. I realized what had happened. Ms. Bricky
was just about to nab me for leaving class unsupervised. And Travis had
accidentally spit water on her. Now this was worse. Much, much worse.

She
grabbed me firmly by my arm; any harder, and she would have broken it. We
called her the Bricky because her body had a boxy shape, and she could have
moonlighted as a professional wrestler. 

After
leaving the class in the hands of a teacher’s aide, the Bricky started marching
me down the hallway, en route to the principal’s office.  Travis witnessed the
entire spectacle, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

With
the Bricky’s steely grip latched onto my biceps, I passed a group of girls who
were giggling and pointing at me. My heart sank as I realized one of those
girls was Mariah Espinosa.

In
track meets, she finished first place in the events that the boys typically
dominated. She was bright, beautiful, and she made me feel as if I had happily
died and gone to heaven. It was magical listening to her musical-sounding
Spanish banter and watching her thick black hair sway about her shoulders,
while she gestured with her hands.

I
arrived at the office of Miss Pinckney, the principal. ‘Why did you do this
Theodore?’ she moaned—and not for the first time, either. Reluctantly, I
answered, explaining what had happened at the water fountain. I admit it felt
good to tell the truth. She picked up the phone, and dialed up my mother while
my stomach remained twisted in knots. I kept staring at her perfectly coiffured
hairdo as I listened to everything she said to my mother. ‘Uh huh,’ Miss
Pinckney said, as she decisively lowered the phone back into its holder. “Your
mother’s on her way.”

I
knew Ann had been at home packing for our trip to Taylors Falls. I wasn’t
looking forward to her coming to my school, because my friend Jason was
supposed to go to the falls with us and I didn’t want to ruin that.

Taylors
Falls was north of the Twin Cities.  It was breathtakingly beautiful in autumn,
when the colors of red, orange, and yellow proudly staked out their domain over
the forest canopy. The numerous cliffs of Taylors Falls had eons ago been
carved out and shaped by the powerful St. Croix River. To miss such a craved
opportunity to escape the Red Bricks over mischief would have been a shame.

At
school, I waited for further pain and loss from my family, as I fully expected
my dad would cancel our trip to Taylors Falls. I knew what was coming, and I
would have liked to crawl through a rabbit hole to disappear.

From
Miss Pinckney’s window, I could see my mother Ann pull up in her long shiny
black car, with red trim riding down the side of it. It was a gift from my
maternal grandparents. They had a couple of successful small businesses that
afforded them the cash to buy extravagant gifts.

When
my mom stepped out of the vehicle, I could tell she was upset, because she
almost tripped over the curb. She wanted to get to me. Her weapon of choice at
home was the wooden spoon.

The
door of the principal’s office swung open, and my mother stood stiffly before
me, as if she meant business. ‘What did he do this time?’ Ann demanded, with
her hands over her hips and eyes that could burn through a concrete road
barrier. ‘Wait till your dad gets a hold of you!’

‘Your
son kicked a boy in the private area today and from what he told us we reasoned
to believe that he learned this action from his father. You don’t condone this
type of action, do you Mrs. Crane?’ Miss Pinckney asked, as she strutted across
the room in her hideous pink suit-dress. If Miss Pinckney waved her finger one
more time, my mom would have chewed it off her hand in one bite.

Ann
scoffed and said, ‘Of course not. Why his father?’

‘I
am curious, what would his father do?’ Miss Pinckney asked, suddenly softening
her tone. ‘What will you do to discipline him? Theodore told me that his dad
hits him. Is this true?’ Stunned, I looked at my principal as she faced my
mother. It appeared as if the revelation had softened my principal’s harsh
expression, and now she was pleading to protect me.

Ann
looked ferociously angry. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth draped open. I
could probably fit the end of a pop can in it.

Without
retort, she yanked my arm and dragged me to the car. Once inside, she screamed
at me. She told me, not for the first time, that she had never planned on
having me, and that I was an ‘accident.’

I
screamed back at her, ‘You guys don’t care about me. You and dad are jerks!’

The
car screeched to a stop.

‘Get
out of the car, you little son of a bitch!’ she said with spit flying, causing
me to wipe my eyes. Oddly, I was distracted by her faint, but perceptible
moustache too.

Shaken,
I opened the door wide and put one foot on the ground. Appearing flustered and
apologetic, she told me to get back in. Confused, I started to shift my weight
back into the car. As if Ann had a panic attack, she shifted the car forward
with a burst, causing me to lose my balance. Panting heavily with my adrenalin
out of control, I grabbed onto the handle of my door, with the toe of my
sneaker scraping along the pavement. I feared I would fall onto the asphalt and
be run over by the car.

“I’m
sorry, Ted,” my mother gasped as she realized she had lost control of her
senses. She gazed at me with pleading eyes. 

I
solemnly entered the car, closed the door, and we took off. When we both
stopped crying, there was silence.

Punctuating
our brooding silence, the horn blared as my mother firmly swerved her steering
wheel. We knowingly looked at each other and, to our mutual relief, exchanged
the thinnest of smiles. My mom’s car looked nice and had a great interior, but
every time she made a hard right, the horn went off. It was something that only
seemed to occur in the best of times to bring about some humor.

I
sat there briefly thinking about our engagement, but I was distracted by a pressing
desire to pee, and I twisted my legs like pretzels in hope of deterring the
urgency.

We
finally arrived home, and I ran off to the bathroom.

Since
my misdeed had occurred “offside” from my father’s domain, he laughed it off as
a school incident. I think he just liked hearing about how a guy got it in the
nuts. From there it went into parental “damage control” overdrive. Ann called
Travis’s dad and told him about the entire thing. I was worried that Travis
himself would catch a beating. It wasn’t what I planned to do. I was carried
away with the whole thing. But, no. Nothing immediate would happen to Travis,
to my relief. You see, the four parents involved all had an “adult” discussion
in bits and pieces and gleefully conspired to make things right.

So
it was all settled. Despite the ordeal, we Cranes still made the trip to
Taylors Falls, on one condition: Travis had to go. Since Jason was already
invited, I sarcastically imagined he would be thrilled to bits at the
last-minute invite extended to Travis.

“Yes,
my father and Travis’s father decided that it would be good for us to be
men
about it, and it would help if we were forced into hanging with each other.
Travis, Jason, and I—we all rode to the cliffs, squished together in the back
of a Chrysler Lebaron. I wasn’t happy, but thankfully, Jason sat between us.”

I
glance at my recording device, my throat hoarse. I stand up and pace for a
moment, then lean against this wall, sliding my back downward until my butt
touches the gritty floor.

There
is only a bit of muscle or fat between my bones and the hardness of the cell. I
sigh. Every rustle and scrape seems loud against the silence. Even when I
refresh my mouth, I can sense tiny ‘slurps,’ as my saliva courses through the
gaps between my teeth.

Where
my tailbone meets the floor, I slip my hand underneath my butt to futilely
cushion the impact. I am feeling weak and skinny. My body has long been
deteriorating in this hell hole.

I
realize that even the acts of pacing and speaking into the tablet exhaust me.
There is no rest in a small cell when oppressive boredom stalks you, minute by
minute, and all you have are your own memories to entertain and torment you.

I
pick the tablet up, and even though it is light like a full can of pop, my limp
fingers buckle under its weight. Gravity almost snatches the tablet out of my
palm, but I rescue it at the last second. Turning it on, I warily see double
images, and figure it is best to get on with it before I pass out.

“Okay,
now for the dirty business.” I say, breathing deeply to tally some strength to
push through, “In the car, we were joking, singing, and producing fart sounds.
It was amazing what a vacation would do to people: it has an amnesiac effect.”

Jason
and Travis talked quietly about something. They whispered, to evade earshot,
and the sound of psychedelic rock from the car radio masked their conspiring.

‘I
actually thought MJ sounded like a wimp,’ Jason whispered.

‘Jason,
I hate to break your heart, but that was a pre-recorded message. You didn’t say
anything. So what makes you think a professional ball player would take the
time to talk to you?’ Travis asked, with a whisper and a roll of his eyes.
Jason shrugged his shoulders, crossed his arms, and leaned toward Travis’s
face, as if about to break a sinister secret.

‘Your
breath smells like a cow’s butt-hole,’ Travis said, deliberately not whispering
enough.

Everyone
heard him, and after a slight pause, we all laughed. Now, let me tell you about
what they were speaking of previously.

See,
they snuck a football-shaped phone into Jason’s room, and they used it to call
the code nine-hundred numbers displayed on sports card packages. They also
pranked a suburban cab company twenty times. The cab company’s number was (651)
555-2222. Really, what did they expect?

The
trip continued. After all these games of padiddle and slug-bug, I grew tired
enough to fall asleep.

I
awoke as our journey neared the end, covered in sweat and greeted by Jason’s
armpit stench. His hand was cupped against his underarm, ripping manufactured
farts and wafting body odor in my direction. It was playful and funny.

We
drove through the town of Taylors Falls; there were many people hauling the
necessary camping equipment. People had kayaks, canoes, fishing poles and
tackle. Excitement hung in the air. The woods were thick, and the ground around
the base of each tree was woven with ferns and other vegetation.

I
could smell the presence of a river. It smelled fresh and brisk rather than
give off the odor of a port-a-potty. If you wanted
that
pungent smell,
go visit the Mississippi River on one of its best days.

We
stopped to fuel up. I pressed my face against the window of my parents’ car to
make a face at a neighboring vehicle that also had a kid pressing his face
against a window.

I
contorted my face to look ugly, so I took it as a win. I left the trace of my
oily skin from my nose and forehead onto the window. I then wiped them away
quickly with the edge of my shirt, because my dad hated such nonsense.

After
leaving the station, we drove about a mile to the campsite, parked, and it was
time to unpack. My mom and dad waved us off, preferring to set up tent without
us kids horseplaying around.

 ‘Here
are the ground rules, guys,’ my dad said, even as he looked up at the darkening
sky; a storm seemed to be approaching. He always set guidelines, even though he
rarely abided by any. ‘No cliff jumping. That crap is for the older kids and
grown-ups. If I catch you guys doing anything out of the ordinary, which
includes pyrotechnics, Jason—you will be in for hell. Do you guys understand
me?’

‘Yes
sir,’ we all said in harmony, with false motivation.

We
were instructed to walk east if we became lost, and to look for the fire.
‘Which would be difficult if it rains,’ I pointed out. My dad just shrugged.

As
soon as Bill cut us loose, we started to rush to the wood-line, eagerly
grabbing our compasses and flashlights. My dad yelled for me to come back
before I got very far. Checking to make sure that Jason and Travis were out of
earshot, he whispered conspiratorially to me, ‘Good job teaching that boy a
lesson today in class. He will not mess with you again.’ Bill patted me on my
ass and told me to catch up to them. He hardly ever gave me praise for
anything; and when he did, it was always for the wrong reason. Still, I’d take
what I could get.

It
was a mad sprint, but eventually I met up with Jason and Travis.

We
took the worn paths along the edge of the cliffs. The weather took a turn for
the worse, as drizzling rain fell and temperatures plunged. The sky was dark
and sinister, as a storm approached.