Cemetery Street

A PA announcement instructed everyone to remain in first period until further notice. I snickered when a fire truck pulled into the parking lot. It took the jaws of life to free Nugent's head. Later that day, I felt joy walking past his mangled locker.

After the Nugent affair, my tormentors forgot about me. They were busy looking over their own shoulders. "Round two," Count informed me a week later. We were on our way to the weight room and Count was munching Exlax.

"One stuck in the chamber?" I snickered.

"Something like that."

We walked most of the way to school without a word, our silence broken by an occasional fart. "I love sausage but sausage hates me," he said. During our workout, he told me he wasn't feeling good and he was going to the shitter. "Work your Pec's and Delt's, I'll be right back."

Count never made it back to the weight room, he wasn't at football practice either. Officially he never made it to school that day. Dozens of stories spread through school. Each one claimed to be the definitive version of what happened to Rex Byrne in the first floor Boy's room. Details were sketchy, some rumors said he was beat up by the Jamaican Posse. Other's said the Junior Mafia, but according to Ms. Horne - our section's algebra teacher - this is what happened. "Rex walked into the restroom when someone jumped him, slammed him through the stall's door and dunked his head into the toilet."

The class broke out into a chorus of moans and groans.

"I always knew he was a shit head," quipped Jenny Wade.

"Jenny, I didn't hear that," laughed Ms. Horne.

After practice, I raced up Cemetery Street, through my yard and across Fernwood.

"Hi Flossy, Count home?" I asked winded.

"He's sick as a dog. The boy got himself a good case of the shits."

"Too bad."

"That's what the dumb ass gets confusing Exlax for a Hershey Bar."

"Can I talk to him."

Better not, he's sleeping. He had himself a rough day."

"Okay. Tell him to give me a call. Thanks."

"Can do. Hey, James, what happened at that damned school today?"

"I dunno," I shrugged.

"That gotdamned principle called here asking if Junior was around. He said something about somebody getting beat up and he wanted to Junior about it. I told him Junior was so sick he couldn't beat himself today. Then the good-for-nothing asks me if I'm sure. Imagine that. Those bastards don't even trust a mother. Did I give them a piece of my mind."