"Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it." ~ George Santayana.
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After lunch with May, the rest of my day is spent drifting through like a slow low tide. My first post-lunch class is U.S. Government with literally the most boring human on the face of the planet, Teacher Ancient History. I literally have to challenge myself to find something sublimely interesting about the man, besides the geraniums dying next to the window. Because as soon as the bell rings, this crooner clears his throat and beings reading straight out from the introduction to the book, so we can all follow along with him into the mystery that is history.
Slowly droning out word for painful word in a precisely measured metronome cadence, and with such careful clarity of pronunciation, it's mesmerizing in its brutal beauty. He is only a quarter the way through the first page of his deadly rendition of the intoxicating introduction to democracy, and I am almost sold on naming him Mr. Murder. Not just because history is mostly about how killing alters the flow of the power paradigm of empires, but cause this dude is killing it! And when I say he's killing it, I mean every single one of us looks like we want to die. Even the greying geraniums on the windowsill are starting to look slightly suicidal ...but ...in ...super ...slow ...motion.
Everyone and their sister wants out of ossuary so bad its killing us, but there are only two bathroom passes. All the locals look like their gonna slay the two lucky two flockers who were smart enough to nab the "Get out of jail free cards" first and bolt for freedom. This guy is so good at taking control, he's already made us turn on each other like rats trapped in a cage. It's only the first day and we will already do anything to get out of here, including murder. I can already hear the screaming match starting in my head. "Give me that flocking get out pass, before I rat scratch your eyes out!"
I have to fight myself just to stay conscious, as his mesmerizing metronome drone is so soothingly deadly. Two minutes in and I can already feel my mind start to slip sideways to a better place. One girl by the front door makes the mistake of falling asleep in the middle of his stirring rendition of the Authors Introduction to the Fundamental Principles of Governance in Pre-Revolutionary Americana. The sonorous crooning barely slows as he ghosts ethereally down the row and drops a deathly detention on her desk. Where it gently floats down like a feather, next to her peacefully sleeping face.
No warning, no indication of pending doom until it happens and ...BOOM! You're dead at the hands of a silent killer before you've even realized you were asleep. So I immediately name him Drone Strike, or "Striker" for short, because he is literally death-from-above. And the saddest part of all of this is, that I don't think he's even doing it on purpose? I am thinking that this is just who this psychopomp is, fulfilling his deathly duty and seeing the souls off to a better place.
I really have to wonder as to why most Americans don't know how things really work in The Gov't. My theory is that they train an army of Drone Strikes to go out and subconsciously slip the illusion of what democracy used to be into the unsuspecting after lunch nappy time crowd. Oh, and the real kicker is ...it turns out that I'm in the smart kid class.
Yeah, wrap your head around that light pole. They stuck all the slightly smarter, potential revolting types in with Drone Strike for a little after lunch nap. With only two "Get out of jail free" pee pee passes? I swear to the Sea, it's like they want us to turn all Orwellian on each other.
So after droning through History with Striker, I sleepwalk my way to my coloring class with Teacher Art. Art class seems pretty chill on the outset, with the all usual Artiste types. Mixed in with a few aspiring bong makers, who look like they got lost on the way to shop class. Teacher Art introduces himself and tells us all to call him "Art". Then Teacher Art talks a lot about how transformative he felt about some art stuff he saw over the summer while living large in The Big City. I have a very bad feeling that I am going to be hearing a lot about his "feelings" about things over the course of the semester.
After Art is done sharing all his artsy feelings, he encourages all of us to quickly sketch the first thing that comes to mind. Supposedly so he can gauge our spacial awareness skill set. So I draw repetitive lines of perfect overhead waves rolling in from the ocean deep onto the shores of Devil's Island. Art drifts by my desk and looks askance at the waves rolling in off the paper. Then slow smiles at me like a stoner, before moving on to the bong makers corner to score his after-school special Scooby snack.
My almost to last class is Spanish ...and holy guacamole Spicole! Miss Spanish teacher is super new and super muy grande excited about being nevus! ¡Ay, caramba! Miss Spanish is so super psyched and bursting with nervous energy as she tells us all about herself, and her adoptive family of five cats, or El Cinco Gatos. There is Señor Heffe, Señora Heffe, their daughter Señorita Esmeralda, their lazy son El Gordo, and Esmeralda's mijo out of wedlock, the troubled little rapscallion Taco, or Taco el Terrible.
Just one glance around the festively decorated classroom and I can already tell that crazy cat meme's in Spanish is like her big thing. She has several cute cat posters prominently featuring El Gatos Familia at various vacation locales around the world. So naming her is muy simplistica ...La Señorita Loco Gato aka The Crazy Cat Lady. So I think its safe to day that at this point, I can pretty much write Spanish off as an easy A. Although she does make me think about Big Red Stray Cat back home. I have to wonder if Big Red is still sitting on top of our broken air conditioner in the shade, not giving a shit about anything? Or whether he has moved on down the narrows to a better place?
I end my day on a seriously sad note in my last class, Environmental Science. Which basically turns out to be a class in "The End is Nigh", and we are all gonna die. Because our parents have already killed our mother earth with their petroleum plastic consumerist greed. The teacher, Dr. Doomsday, starts off by going around the room to ask what each one of us did this summer to make Gaia a better place for our children's children. Who according to Dr. Doomsday will probably be born in Bio-domes on a dead world without oxygen anyways, cause we are all so selfish and refuse to go green.
The first person to go overboard is that one ninja assassin chick from Or'sirs English class, The Lee's Take Out Girl. Lee's is in the front of the class again at her usual spot, and I can already tell this Apocalypse Now crap is totally her thing. As she is seriously psyched to tell us all about a Saharan Dessert water collector she built in her backyard out of recycled plastic garbage bag liners from her parent's restaurant. Apparently, this contraption catches ambient precipitation in the night air and drips it into a cistern to feed her Eco-friendly bamboo oxygen garden.
When Dr. Doomsday finally gets around to me, I tell him that I started a compost heap over the summer. Which is sadly almost somewhat true in a way? Seeing there is a big pile of leftover leaves and crap in the corner of the backyard from the Irish Antichrist's latest garden project, that I still haven't burned off yet. My rotting crap pile of leftover lawn seems to placate Dr. Doomsday to moving on to the next naysayer.
After The End of Days is over, day one is done and I have officially set a new record in my erratic scholastic career. Not only for making all the way through an entire first day of classes without one fight to be had ...but not one single drop of blood spilled? Truth be told, I am more than a little depressed by this success. Because I would take my old chaotic existence over all this new normal in a heartbeat. I guess when a crazy life is what your accustomed to, sanity starts feels very strange indeed.
I linger a bit by my locker, waiting to see if I can spot Maybe in the long hallway, but to no avail. I opt to not hit the pool after school as I told Aces I might. Instead, I take the long downhill skate back to the House of the Blazing Raisins. After a roll down the Hill from Hell, I stash my skateboard in the guy's garage and head into the house.
As I slip in through the back kitchen door and spot Aces in the living room, half napping on his favorite Barcalounger. Armed with both remotes in hand, and the ESPN classics channel blasting in the background. The nappy old raisin looks so unbelievably happy at the moment, that I almost feel bad disturbing his afternoon naptime by walking into the kitchen. As soon take two steps the nightingale floor the wood creaks and his ancient eyes snap open alert and looking for the enemy of silence.
"Irish?" He slightly shivers.
"Naw not, old bro. It's just me and the kitchen demons." I ease his fears of the afterlife with the Antichrist.
"Oh, it's just you." He bares his ancient fangs at me and relaxes. "So how was your first day at school?"
"Ah ...it was the first of many?" I eye him sideways suspiciously, unsure where the ancient raisin is heading with this unexpected line of inquiry.
This question takes me somewhat by surprise because I don't think anyone has actually ever asked me this before, at least not that I can recall. I know Donna Momma damn well never asked about school, primarily because she never talked directly to me unless it was "Talking Day". And Talking Day only happened once every other month at the most, and by then she had plenty of her own talking things to talk about.
If I am being honest, I think my mother was always surprised that I was still in school at all. So there was always hell to pay when she found out that she was expected to be somewhat sober for a minute on back to school night. The last time Donna Momma encouraged me towards academic success was when she complained, "Why can't you be more like your comrades and just drop out and go surf safari? Or just get a real job selling bunk weed to stupid Tourista's at the Pier parking lots? You know Bro...like do something right with your life for once?"
Unfortunately, I guess my silence has been misinterpreted again, as an invitation for Aces to start sharing some of his old world witty wisdomness.
"I know back when I went to school..." before fire was invented, we had to blah blah blah. Then walking up the hill in the snow both ways ...blah blah blah bullshit. The old warmonger says a bunch more talking words before finally getting to the point. "So what's your favorite class so far?"
"Definitely lunch?" I reply slowly trying to think through this sudden inquisition.
"Well, of course, it is." He sighs resigned to his fate as crypt keeper. "So did you at least try to make any new friends today?"
"Maybe?" I shrug this one off, seeing I wouldn't exactly count Apeshit, Butcher as friends ...but Maybe? Yeah, I think me and May are cool so far.
"So what about you, Aces? You make any cool new warmonger comrades at the Hall of Heroes this fine day?" Another reminder that his good buddy Buzzy and the Plungers screwed me over this summer when they "promoted" me from the Plunge Pool down to the Annex.
"No, I did not make any new friends at the VFW today." He replies dryly.
I wait for him to try to muster up the requisite amount interest in my education for more questions about fighting, sexting, drug dealing. Or what local gang I've chosen to align myself with this year. The West Side Red Raisins, or the dreaded South Side Purple Prunes. But it looks like the old warmonger is all out of twenty questions for the moment.
"Monday Night Football is on in a couple of hours..." He nods back at the blaring TV.
"Oh yeah? Who's winning?" I ask without caring, pulling open the refrigerator and inspecting the non-prune juice drink selection.
"It hasn't started yet, smart guy." Aces retorts wryly. "Thus the whole game starts 'in a couple of hours' comment?"
"Oh okay, sounds great." I drone along as if I care, while trying to think of something to do besides having this conversation. I opt for the most obvious back to school option in my limited academic arsenal. "So I'm gonna go and make some homeworking now or something? So ...yeah."
"Like no problemo bro, I'll call you for dinner." He mocks me dryly on the way out of the conversation.
"Okay old bro, that sounds like a solid plan." I toss over my shoulder on the way to my room.
Personally, I can only take so many "Talking Days" a year. My max with my mother was two talking days a month at the worst. But with the Raisins, it seems like every damn day is Talking Day. Whereas I tend to keep my thoughts to myself and move on, which is why we probably have gotten along so far. Because if the day comes when I start talking back to the Ancients? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they don't want to hear what I have to say about anything. Starting with, I'd much rather live in the Kingdom by the Sea with a burnout pill-popping alcoholic mother on welfare. Then this "Leave it to Beavis" nightmare existence, that I have been made to suffer at the hand of hate and fate.
.o0o.
Truth is I am not about to get a head start on any of my so-called homework, which I will never actually do anyway. Instead I jump online and see what's up at my real home, Sunset. Maybe talk to someone online and find out who died from the other side over summer? Or more importantly who won the first-day fights? While it's probably still too early to catch Gromit, at least one of his girlfriends should be around today. Traditionally the majority of girls from Sunset never go to school on the first day unless they are on probation. Probably because of the potential for the massive yard fights to break out.
Two minutes later I open up the computer channel to home and by some miracle, I am actually able to get Gromit online. As soon as the window pops open, Grom immediately starts laughing his ass off. Then immediately launches in on the horror show that was the first day at Seaside.
"Devil dude! School was so not cool without you here, Bro! And going in down the narrows alone since we were nine and a day was way weirdy." He darkens. "And worse, school with Squidly was a freaking nightmare."
"Prey tell?" I snort back. I'd almost forgotten that this year was the first day of Gromit's little brother Squid's high school career.
"Check it bro, Stupid Squid Shits first day of high school and he couldn't wait to get suspended. We didn't even make ten steps through the hole in the back fence, before he started screaming "Attica! Attica!" at the top of his lungs. Then started swinging on some poor security guard for looking at him wrong."
We both start laughing our ass off, cause I can only imagine what that poor security guard must have thought with Stupid Squid in a skateboard helmet charging him swinging wildly away. Probably what we all think of Grom's kid brother ...one seriously stupid little sociopath.
"After that the rest of the day was pretty much downhill from there." Grom shrugs. "The Swat Swine showed up again to enforce the metal detector lines in full riot gear. And check this shit, this year they even brought a drug-sniffing dog along to root out all the stoners."
We both start laughing at this piece of stupidity on the part of the Sunset Swine Squad. Because all the Setters know better than to bring weed into school. Especially when you can just stash it in someone's car trunk, with the rest of your back to school arsenal. Lots of the Setter's have stacks of old wood bats in the trunks of their old beat up beach cars, just in case skinhead baseball bat season suddenly breaks out again.
Gromit can barely stop laughing long enough to explains how Karma Godspell dumped two pounds of ground Korean chili powder in the hallway before school even started for the first-day prank to get out of photos. So of course, the poor drug-sniffing dog was in pure hell ...with all the cops marching around kicking up Korean chili powder everywhere. After an hour of burning their eyes to tears, apparently the Swine finally gave up and left. Along with the majority of kids that had even bothered to show up to the first day of school to fulfill their mandatory probation requirements.
"So what's what with you and yours in the North?" Gromit blinks back thru his braids. "You got in any decent fights this fine first day?"
"Naw'not." I sigh sadly. "As far as I can tell, the kids in this place don't really seem to engage? So I just talked some trash to one of the Plungers I ran into real fast, but nothing came of it."
"What about new hustles? You got anything new going around?" He asks almost hopefully, because Gromit loves it when anyone comes up with new ideas for a hustle.
Like the time when we locked up half the tourista bikes at the beach, with our own locks. Then gave the master key to the local tow guys for a fifty-fifty split on the call outs to 'pick the locks' at twenty bucks a pop. We laughed our way to about a thousand bucks before the beach cops got wise to the scam and started carrying around bolt cutters in their weapons trunk.
"Nada, it's dead as flats up here." I search for the right words to explain the Valley of Death. "All these San Fall kids are...not really alive like we are?"
"Yeah, kinda picked up the graveyard vibe from our talking times." He bobs his warchild braids along to the sad sea song his girl is singing in the background. "What about La Hinas, bro? Anything worth a bone?"
"Damn dude, seriously? Don't you have enough problems with the Sunnyside Sisters already?" I nod back towards the melancholy melody.
"Not for me dumbass, I'm all good to go to bonetown." Gromit laughs back at me. "Trust, the Sister's Sun have my ass straight on lock down these days. So naw not on that noise, I was asking about you, fool?"
"Naw not." I roll him off that wave. "The coolest chick I've met around here is that wicked funny blind chick from all that birthday bullshit on the bleachers this summer, that I told you about."
"That blind Batgirl chick with the Shaolin whippy stick?" Gromit stops swaying around and blinks back.
"Yeah, but her name's Maybe now." I correct him quick, before May gets stuck with the mal moniker. "I hung out with her today at lunch, and I kinda got the vibe off her that she's not a huge fan of the whole batgirl moniker."
"You can't pick it, but you do have to live with it." Gromit sighs extolling the wisdom of the sea.
"Yeah, I explained all that, but still...ixnay." I shake him off. "Upside I'm thinking she is going to flow with Nyx from now on?"
"Ixnay sounds cool, if she can carry that without blinking." Gromit agrees. "Oh shit dude, did you find out if she like go those crazy white zombie eyes like the Shaolin monk dude on Kung Fu? That would be so wicked sexy cool?"
"Seriously?" I scowl back across the open channel.
"Yeah duh? I mean obviously not the monk dude part. But those creepy zombie eyes looking up lovingly at you like ...your my hero and shit? " Gromit laughs along at his own bullshit for a minute.
"I do not know about that, bro." I counter back evenly. "She always wears the darkest Darth Vader Sith shades you've ever seen."
"Sexy cool. So does she have that super sexy blind masseuse happy ending vibe thing going on, or what?" Gromit is already smirking salaciously.
"Or'what?" I intone coldly.
I don't know why, but it's starting to bother me on some level that Gromit has already gone right into the gutter with May. Even on a good day, there is something seriously wrong with Gromit's idea of what is "sexy cool". So I usually find it's best not to encourage him if I can help it.
"O' shit! look at you, brohiem!" Gromit bursts out laughing harder at me. "Damn, you got all hung up on her already, didn't you? Just like Squidly and that little Outlandish girl he saved from drowning this summer. Stupid Squid Shit is still doing that karmic 'I saved a soul...boohoo now I'm responsible for it forever' thing hardcore."
Gromit eyes me hard over the computer waiting for me to deny the accusation. Which oddly I find tastes like ash in my mouth for some strange reason.
"Naw not, it ain't like that." I shake him off that roll. "It's just... I don't know? She's just cool? And not cool for a blind chick, just coo'cool as is cool. Actually, she's pretty feisty funny. Oh, and calls me on my bullshit pretty fast, for a girl I knew for all of five minutes in the flat."
"Yeah well, I hate to be the one to break it to you Brohiem? But you're not exactly super ninja blend in up there, if you know what I mean? So I'm guessing your brand of bullshit pretty much sticks out like that sharp rock at low tide in the Bottoms."
"This is true truth." Because I most defiantly stick out in Hell as an outsider. "But it's different with Maybe. It's like in some wyrd way she was seeing into my soul ...or something?"
"That's some cool Kung Fu, if it's true." Gromit bobs his braids appreciatively.
One thing about Gromit is that he takes wardings and portents deadly serious. Especially, seeing that the seasongs have saved his life and mine on more than one occasion. One of the few things that Gromit will actually take seriously are portents of death and destuction.
"Agreed." I decide to change the tide of the talk. "Oh, and check this shit out? Ol' Aces actually tried to impart some of his local wisdom on me this morning."
"O' pray tell Devil? I could use a good laugh."
"Cover your tatt's, bro." I snort.
"Damn this sux, dude." But I can't quite tell if he's talking about my situation or his own, or maybe both? "Just so you know, suspension surfing won't be the same without you, bro."
"Speaking of?" I nod back to where I can hear one of his girlfriends talking in the background about the tide is coming up in an hour. So they should probably have sex first, to stretch out before hit the water for their back to school surf session.
"Yeah, I think I gotta get rolling now Bro..." His eyes drift towards the edge of the screen, where I am assuming his girl is already starting stretching out.
"So I heard tell." I shake my head sadly. "Surfs up, you gotta go Bro."
"Oh yeah." He rolls his eyes all exasperated at eveything. But I'm not buying the putout expression coming off him for a second. Contrary to any claim he can fake, I know he loves all the attention the girls languish on him.
"Hey, Devil." I recognize Gudrun's stoney smooth voice off the channel.
"Zup Gudi. How was school?" I smirk already knowing the answer.
"Don't know bro, didn't go." She shrugs. "Karma told us what she was gonna do ahead of time with the spicy Korean chill flakes. So me and mine opted out of all that noise. Besides today was picture day and you know how we feel about that shit?"
Yeah, that was another thing about Gromits weird sister-wife girlfriends..."no photo available" in every yearbook since elementary. A lot of the Setters didn't do school photos. Mostly just to make it a little harder for the police to put together photo lineups of us before our first arrest, with no photos to line up. But Gromit's girls took paranoia to a whole different level. Not that I blamed them in the least, after Koolaide Christmas came early.
"Just so you know Bro, Gromi totally bromanced missed you hard today. So sorry to break up talking time, but we seriously got to go, Devil. Siggy is waiting for us in the water down in Rock Bottoms. But call back Gromi after sunset, he should be here..." She starts snickering. "...probably playing with himself to porn."
"And I already told you both that was stupid Squid's search history on the computer." Gromit is immediately protesting the porn. "Com'on you know me, Gudi? I'm not into the stupid sick shit that passes for porn in that little psycho's world."
"Right Gromi, so you keep saying." She rolls her lizard eyes up at me and I roll mine back in kind. Because we both know Gromit way to well to be buying into any of his denials at this point. So while "stupid sick shit" is pretty much his little brother's middle name ...that doesn't necessarily mean Gromit was completely innocent in this abomination either.
"Well, fare thee well, Dare." She intones seriously.
"Luck to you and yours, Gudi." I reply by rote.
"Ride or die, Devil." Grom smiles, reaching out thru the screen to shut off the connection.
"Ride or die, Gromit." I return the oath into the dead screen.
After the channel home is closed, a wave of longing for the water washes over me. Leaving me feeling bereft, of both Kingdom and the Sea. So I lay back onto my bed on the floor and stare backwards up through the wide window to the lame puff-puff clouds just hanging up in the sky above.
"Even the clouds in San Fall sux..." I sigh and close my eyes.
Which suddenly strikes me as pathetic, because that's exactly what I was bitching about the day I first met May on the Annex bleachers. Maybe, who can't even see the sun, or the sea, let alone the sucky clouds. What's crazier still, I think she is a much happier person than I am. As I am positive she is a way'way better person than I have ever dreamed of being ...or will ever be.