Praepostor Tales: Bruce's First Morning

In September of '99, the freshman class at Saint Kenneth's waits to hear which Cardinals they've been assigned. Among them are Bruce Larimore, Janet Sidleby and a few other somewhat-familiar names.

“Take care of yourself, son,” his mother had said as she hugged him.

His father fondly shook Saul's hand.

“We’re sure gonna miss ya, young man.”

“I’m sure you won’t notice we’re gone, Dad.”

The fact that Saul had got so used to calling Bruce’s parents

‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ still irked him. 

As soon as his mother had stopped hugging him, she hugged Saul. Bruce could have sworn she hugged him 5 seconds longer.
But then again, Saul would always need extra attention. Poor little, sickly, adopted Saul. 

Poor Saul: found in a dumpster outside the Larimore’s apartment with a name written on his newly-born tummy in Magic Marker.

Saul Aberdeen.

Bruce was 2 years older than Saul was. He’d not been prepared for the new arrival, even though his parents would openly discuss wanting another child. 

Now his parents’ attention would no longer be his alone. There was a baby in the house now: 2 children to raise. And the youngest was always so sick and weak.

--

“Don’t hit your brother, Bruce.”

“He’s not my brother. He’s got red hair! You don’t have red hair! Dad doesn’t have red hair! Where’d you get that hair from, you b*****d!”

He’d never been spanked until that day. He could still feel the pain of his father’s belt on his backside: a humiliating position to be in, especially at one’s own birthday party with all the other kids pointing and laughing.

“Stop it you guys!” Saul had protested “Stop laughing at my brother or I’ll knock you outta your skins!”

Saul had tussled with another boy who was 2 years older than he was and floored him in one pounce. He had been yanked off the guest and punished: not by spanking. He was still too young to be spanked.

Bruce had been spanked some more for being a bad influence on Saul.

“And this!” His father had yelled “Is for teaching your brother to be a hooligan!”

“He’s not my brother!” Bruce had yelled back.

He had more to say to himself as he was being spanked.

“He’s still not my brother. They found him in the dumpster. He’s trash. Trash, trash, trash.”

--

When Bruce’s accident had happened and he’d been hospitalized, then stuck at home for 2 whole years, he had felt like his life would end. 

Saul kept going to school. He’d been an excellent student: always enthusiastic about everything.

By the time he’d reached 7th Grade, he’d guaranteed himself a scholarship so the family didn’t have to worry about sending 2 kids to boarding school.

Bruce’s accident had happened at the beginning of the school year, so he could still go back to class if he made the effort. He had fed on his parent’s attention by pretending to be weaker than he actually was. 

They’d had him home-schooled.

--

He hadn’t won a scholarship like Saul had. Of course, his parents never found out about that.

“It’s not like there'll be that much of a difference,” Saul had said when he had shown Bruce the fake letters. He'd switched their names to reflect the opposite of the truth.

That had been the first time Bruce had been grateful to Saul. His parents had been very impressed with their eldest son for winning a scholarship.

Everything had happened by mail, which the boys had received before their busy parents did. Saul had done his forging well enough to fool them, while Bruce basked in his parent’s adoration.
Mr. Larimore had opted not to separate the two boys.

Saul would go to Saint Kenneth’s with his brother, even though his education would have to be paid for. Bruce had been made to swear to take care of Saul.

His brother who wasn’t his brother. His excellent brother who was trash.

--

Saul had waved his adoptive parents goodbye and remained extremely excited at his first day of High school. He had devoured the brochures that had arrived with his Acceptance Package, and was spouting St. Kenneth’s jargon in the car on their way there. 
Bruce didn’t even pretend to be interested.

The bell had clanged: the leaves were raining down on them where they stood. Both boys made their way to the gathering crowd. Like all the other freshmen, they were nervous.

The Head-boy had the bell that year; it was he who made the introductory speech.

“Hi,” a nervous female voice had said next to Bruce.

“Hi,” he was disappointed that she wasn’t attractive.

“Isn’t this great?” She added.

He was irritated: was she going to keep talking?

“Guess so.”

“Liar,” Saul had cut in “it’s amazing!”

“It sure is,” she had agreed “isn’t it, Brenda?”

Brenda had been standing next to the girl.

“I don’t think I’ll make it with all the rules,” she had said as she turned to speak.

“Bruce,” he’d said as he made eye contact he was keen to maintain.

“Brenda,” she had replied “Brenda Solomon.”

“Here come the names!” Saul said excitedly “Hey guys: I wanna clap for everyone that gets called. Help me out, will you?”

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and jumped up and down in an attempt to see what was going on at the front.

He was too short.

“9 North,” the Head-boy said as he adjusted the glasses on his nose “Janet Sidleby, Cha-“

Saul had began to clap, just as the girl next to Brenda had started to make her way through the crowd to the front. Everyone else had clapped along, then stopped when they saw the puzzled looks on the prefects’ faces.

“Why are you clapping?” The Head-girl had asked as he looked directly at Saul.

“We made it this far,” the small boy had replied as the crowd turned to look at him “and there’s no rule against congratulating each other, is there?”

The prefects looked at one another, then shrugged.

“Chance Newsome,” the Head-boy had called out and paused for the applause to die down “Maria Lefty…”

“Need help?” A friendly-looking boy standing in the line in front of them asked Saul.

“Can’t see the front,” Saul had admitted “I know it’s no big deal but-“

The boy, who was almost as tall as Bruce was, stepped back and stood next to the red-haired boy.

“Thanks a lot, dude!” Saul had exclaimed, rather louder than he should have “I'm Saul Aberdeen.”

“Jacob Timmons,” the other boy had replied.

The Head-boy stopped reading the names and looked in their direction. Everyone had turned to face them again.

Bruce had never been so embarrassed.

“He’s not my brother. He’s trash. Trash, trash, trash,” he had repeated under his breath as he tried to make himself invisible.

Author's Note

This story is part of a series, which you may view here:
http://www.kestrokez.com/books/the-stray/