Bennett The Brave

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Peter Gilbert's expulsion from school was the nearest thing to a scandal our town had seen, at least as long as I lived there. I don't think any of us expected Peter to get shipped off to military school, but considering his total flame-out, it's not terribly surprising.

Mayebe I'm getting ahead of myself.

After our first scuffle where I managed to bust Peter in the nuts and sent him careening down a flight of stairs, Peter had been warned to steer well clear of me. For the most part he did. However, broken teeth and collar-bone notwithstanding, Peter also suffered the ignominy of judgement from his two cohorts. They took him to task, several times in my presence, for losing the fight, provoking and prodding him to arrange a rematch. When Peter refused, they accused him of being a pussy, or worse, some kind of fag.

I had only the faintest idea of what a "fag" was, but to my mind, it conjured up pictures of foppish, silly, mincing little men, dressed in tacky women's clothing, flitting about and screaming "Whoopsie!" all over the place. In my school, it represented the direst insult a person could render to a male. It was an epithet that could not go unchallenged, lest it be considered truth.

Late one Wednesday, after P.E., Peter apparently reached his limit and cornered me in the shower. I was lathering my hair and some shampoo ran into my eyes; I did not see him enter the shower stall as I blinked and tried to rinse the stinging soap away. My heart froze when I heard his icy voice behind me, dripping with grim threats. I managed to get my eyes open in time to see him swing at me; I feinted backward, his fist only grazing my jaw.

My jump back, and the lack of a solid connection to my chin, caused Peter to lose balance. Peter's feet made comical slapping sounds as he struggled to keep his balance. Peter fell flat, slamming his face onto the hard tiled floor. The shouts of the other boys brought the teacher, who scrambled into the shower bay to see the sodden and bloodied Peter Gilbert on his hands and knees, his broken nose dripping a steady, crimson stream. Peter made strangled, gasping, sobbing sounds as he swore deadly oaths to me.

The teacher quickly ascertained the situation from the other boys. I just stood there naked, numb, shivering and wet, blinking the still stinging soap from my eyes; a dull ache settling into the back of my jaw. I watched the teacher hoist Peter up by one arm. He raised his head and gave me this crazy smile, his recently repaired front teeth now stained with red.

"Don't worry Bennett," he growled menacingly, "I'll get you back, don't you FUCKING worry about that!" He spat a gob of clotted blood, which landed on my chest and slid obscenely down my abdomen and leg, I watched it go.

"You'll do no such thing!" exclaimed the teacher, wrenching Peter up by his arm, causing him to howl in pain. The teacher hauled Peter out into the locker room and I stood there, unable to move, listening to the scene unfold. The teacher ordered Peter to get dressed, which Peter initially refused. The boys remaining with me, gathered at the doorway of the shower bay, I could hear Peter arguing with the teacher, his voice growing progressively shrill. Another teacher, hearing the din from outside the locker room, came in to help. This provoked Peter even more, he began yelling a stream of profanities and obscenities. There were a couple of loud bangs and then a scuffle.

"Holy Shit!", one of my classmates, peering around the door jamb, started blurting out a play-by-play, "Peter took a swing at Mr. Brown! Whoa, they just tackled him!" I tentatively joined the group of us, perhaps five or six, naked boys, clustering around the opening of the shower bay to watch the spectacle. Little sprays of blood where all over the lockers and benches, from Peter's struggles. The two teachers eventually pinioned Peter's arms behind him, and muscled him out the door. We heard Peter yelling at the top of his lungs, in a high, girlish pitch, as they went.