Letters From Foxes Chapter 2.

Chapter 2.

 

      It's tomorrow already. I mean, I guess it's today now. I woke up too early. I dunno why. My alarm is always set for 6 am. But when I woke up, I looked and it said 5:15. Too early. I got up anyway, groggily. Hoping maybe my mom was up to make me some food or something. I was starving. F**k. I'm always starving. I'm skinnier than a f****n' street sign, though. I dunno where all the food goes.

      I got dressed for school. It took me days. I swear, the earlier you get up, the slower time travels. Put on pants. One leg. Now… the other leg… Take a break. Put on belt. Put arm in sleeve… now the other. Take another break. It's hard work, man, I'm telling you. Anyway, finally I was dressed. White button up shirt, black slacks, black shoes. Red blazer. Our school colors are red and white. But not bright red. Like… maroon. If you wanna get all technical. So we have to wear them. It's a private school in Brooklyn, so I have to take the subway. Poly Prep Country Day School. Sounds like a f****n' country club, don't it? Rich b*****s.

       I live on Downing Street in Manhatten, so it's kind of a long commute . Thing is, we used to live in Brooklyn and all. Even after my dad left. We lived there til bout 2 years ago. I mean, I didn't much feel like switching schools, and all. My friends go there and stuff. Plus it's just a hassle moving schools. My grandparents were already prepaying for me every year. They never visit or anything. I think they just shovel us money, so we shut up.

      So I just commute. Gives me time to think and stuff. Subway. Not like I don't have time to normally though.

      If I wake up too late, sometimes I have to catch a cab. Depends how tired I am. I almost prefer the rail though. I like to watch the people.

      My mom wasn't up yet. By this point, I was pretty wide awake. Well, sort of. After getting dressed and all. So I decided to just leave early, and maybe find some food in Brooklyn. There's a nice bagel joint over there I like. I always have money in my wallet. I am pretty well off I guess.

       I headed up to 4^th street, to catch the subway. See, to get to school it takes an hour, about. I take the D over to 36^th, then the R rail to 95^th, then it's just a ten minute walk to school. I'm pretty sure my friends think I'm crazy. They all live in Brooklyn. But I don't really mind it, tell you the truth. I spend my days in Brooklyn a lot, though. Or convince Will to come visit me out in the village. He hates me for it. I spend weekends at his place, usually.

      Anyway. As soon as I got off the second rail, I walked coolly up the steps and onto 95^th. The air's pretty damn cold, and I only wore my school jacket. What a dumb idea. I mean, by this time it was 6:38. In the morning. Cold. I pulled my jacket closer and folded my arms, hiding my hands in my armpits. I should have worn my hat.

      The people walking by me don't look at me. No one here really does, usually. In the city everyone's just out for themselves. Unless your homeless.

       I don't give a damn. I'll do what I want even if they do look at me.

      F**k, I forgot my smokes.

      By this point I was craving one. I walked by ten thousand people smoking. Or it seemed like it.

      I never ask people for cigarettes though. I mean I hate when people bum them off me. Buy your own damn smokes. Some people need to learn to do things for themselves. Or something. I guess I'm one to talk.

      I find a little street cart, selling magazines and candy and s**t. They always have smokes. I pulled out my wallet, handed the guy a dollar. He gave me my change. And my cigs. I don't say a word, just keep walking. I took my lighter out of my right pocket. I always keep it there no matter what. The pockets in these jackets are tiny anyway. I lit up. And kept walking.

      My brain is always pretty dead in the morning. I can't really think at all. Like, I passed this guy on the street while I was walking. He asked me if I'd wanna contribute to some cause. Money for poor people or homeless or something. See, I wasn't listening. All I could do was stare at his f****n' hair. It was bright purple. I swear. He had on some bullshit tye-dye and had paint on his hands. Sloppy as hell. F****n' art f**s. If you want people to give you money, clean up first. I'd give him money if he looked less like a dickhead.

      I got to school early. I just sat outside, on the steps. No one else would be here for another hour. Lit up again. I smoke when I'm bored. Which is all the time. If I could smoke in class, you can bet I'd go through 6 packs a day. (6 classes a day. That's how f*****g boring it is.) I dunno, as is I guess I just smoke one box a day. I didn't used to. But I get bored a lot.

      I sat and thought for a bit. Mostly just about stupid stuff. Like whether or not Will had nailed that girl he's been after. Megan Paluchi. He's been trying for months, keeps asking her out but she's stinging him along. She's one of the poorer girls in our school. I think she likes how he buys her s**t. Maybe she won't ever put out, since he keeps buyin' her stuff to get in her pants. It's pretty funny to watch.

      I don't have a girlfriend or anything. Why would I want to? I mean I guess I do. I guess I don't really know.

      Then I thought about how I was going to get bagels. That was stupid, I walked right past a bagel place on the way from the rail. It got me thinkin' about my favorite bagel place, up on 4^th street, where this kid I know works. He doesn't go to Poly Prep or anything, but I used to know him when I was a kid. He was on my tee-ball team, I think. We were sort of best friends, back in the day, till we realized we went to different schools and couldn't really see each other much. But anyway, his dad owns this bagel shop and he works there now, making bagels and everything. He's my age, I'll bet, eighteen. And working in a bagel shop.

      I started wondering about having a job, and made me wonder what it would be like if my family was poor or something. I mean, I guess my mom works real hard as a doctor and all. I don't know what my dad did. Never asked. But damn, I don't know a single kid at Poly Prep who has a job…

      And in all that deep thinking I did, somehow I thought about something completely different.

      I remembered what Bean asked me and Will yesterday. He's this kid we're kinda friends with. That's not his real name, of course, but everyone just calls him that. Bean. I laughed when I thought about him, actually. No one on the street noticed. Don't tell anybody, but I think Bean's in the closet. Pretty sure he's a f*g. But he's cool, so I never asked him or nothing. He irons all his shirts, and I swear I saw him wearing make-up once. Just the way he walks, or talks, or something. He's got super blonde hair too, bleached I think. Rooster bangs. It's pretty funny. But he's pretty bad too. You'd have to meet him.

      Anyway, the other day before class, Will and I were talkin' about how the Violent Femmes are playing in Brooklyn, and he thinks he can get us tickets. His uncle works at the venue, or something. Will was telling me about this new album he had, just came out. Then Bean comes in, hair all feathered up and whatever, smiling like a lunatic. He might be the happiest guy I know. “Hey airheads,” he says, “what you say we go clubbing this weekend.”

      Will and I looked at each other. We couldn't tell if he was being serious. We just stared at his goofy smiling face.

      “Come on, I'm serious!” he said, punching Will's shoulder. Will's like a stone, he didn't move at all. “You live up in the village, right Tophs?” I hated when he called me that. Makes my name sound like some hippy tofu bullshit.

      “Yeah…” I said, hesitantly. “But I'm usually in Brooklyn for the weekends.”

      “There's this place called Berlin on Broadway and Houston,” he said, ignoring me. “I hear the party doesn't even start until 2 in the morning, and you're still hammered til brunch.” Brunch. He and my mom would get along.

      “Yeah, I've passed by there,” I said. “We can't even buy drinks. They card.”

      “Nahhhh,” Beans said, hitting me this time. His movements are so bizarre, he's so small and lanky, I feel like he's either made of rubber, or going to snap in half. “See look,” he pulled out what looked like a license with his photo. Maybe it was just an ID card. No one I know has a license. Who wants to drive in New York? “I know I guy who makes fakes. Thirty bucks each, no problem. Totally legitimate.” He bent it. Plastic. Looked pretty real. I guess.

      “Bean, we're gonna see a show in Brooklyn this weekend.” I knew the concert was only on Saturday night, and definitely over by 2 in the morning, but I really didn't want him to think I wanted to go.

      “Come on guys, I'm serious.” He stopped smiling, giving us a guilt trip face. I could tell he was just putting it on to make us say yes and sign his verbal contract of approval. He was still smiling underneath it all, I know it.

      Will laughed. Loud as hell. He couldn't contain himself. Laughed for ten minutes straight, I swear. I mean it. The teacher came in and started class, and we didn't get to talk about it anymore. But Bean kept looking over at me, with thumbs-ups and his crazy smiles, mouthing “See you this weekend.”

      So that's what I was thinking about on the steps before school. How to get out of Bean's ill plans. Also I wondered if Will had gotten us those tickets. I knew they were sold out, but he's got connections.

      I wanted to stop by the store today to get whatever his new album was, and maybe a f****n' Walkman. I could have used one, sitting on the steps, freezing my a*s off. Then I could listen to the Stone Roses song that was stuck in my head.

      Somehow I didn't think about the fact that if I got to school early I'd have to sit outside. It's in a pretty residential area, not a lot of shops around to go into. And the school's pretty big. Takes up like three blocks on the left side of the street. Well, left from where I walk here from. Then there's a golf course behind us. Sounds even more like a country club, huh? You wouldn't think, I golf course in this part of Brooklyn.

      Then I looked up, and one of the people walking down the street looked familiar.

      Mrs. Yealston. God was I glad to see her. Not just cause she's the youngest, hottest teacher at the school. In fact, I hardly noticed that, my eyes were so red and stinging from the cold. That, and my hair was getting too long and was in my eyes. She could let me inside. Or I was hoping.

      “Christopher? What are you doing here so early?” she asked, walking up the stepped. She looked very concerned. “Is something wrong at home?”

      I gave a stiff laugh through my teeth. “Nah, just woke up too early. 'Ey, can you let me inside ya think?” My hands were still tucked under my armpits, my hair covering the top part of my face. I didn't realize until I stood up that I was shaking.

      “Oh God, yes, come in child!” She rushed toward the door, unlocking it hastily. We stepped inside, and I felt a wave of calm. God. Inside was so nice.

      “Thanks.” I took my hands out of my armpits and started rubbing them together. They were bright red. I cupped them and blew into them, trying to warm them up.

      “There are other teachers here this early, Christopher, I'm sure you could have knocked. Who do you have for your first class today?” Finally my hands retained their natural color. I brushed my hair back, out of my face. Normally it's not so unruly. I need a haircut. I looked up at her, and was able to notice the outfit she was wearing. A tight pants suit. The top, with a white button-up shirt and gray colored jacket, the bottom gray flared slacks. Her hair seemed perfect. Blonde. A little wind-blown, but that made her even sexier. Hers was definitely the only class I paid attention in, but that wasn't until after lunch today.

      “Mr. Rockwell,” I answered her question.

      “Well…” she said, still looking concerned, “he's always late, now isn't he. You can come sit in my classroom until school starts, if you'd like Christopher, though I'll advise you not to come to school this early during the winter. We unlock the door at 7.” She led the way down the hall and to her room, 203. I walked behind her. Her heels made a clip-cloppy sound. Like a horse. But her pants suit looked almost better from behind.

      “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” she spoke again, unlocking room 203 and ushering me in first. Now it felt like school. She was probably going to scold me about the last paper I had written.

      You see, we were supposed to write about someone who inspires us. History class. One of those bullshit papers they assign to see if you've paid attention or give a s**t about writing. A historical figure, preferably. The lazier kids just write about someone from their family. None of the historical people we discussed in class inspired me much, and as much as I love my mom, she doesn't inspire me to do jack s**t. So I wrote about Holden Caulfield. We read Catcher in the Rye in our English class last year, and it was the only book I read past page 5. Most people thought the book wasn't really about anything. But I thought it was about a lot of stuff, you just couldn't see it unless you understand the character.

      So anyway, I picked Holden Caulfield. Of course, I'd never flunk out of school like he does, my family pays too much for me to be here. And it's not like I'm stupid or anything. Hell, I'm real smart, ask anyone. I get science even, I understand all the s**t they teach us in class. I just don't like writing papers, is al.

      And don't tell anyone, but I honestly don't know what I want to do with my life. I mean it. Everyone keeps talking about the colleges they're applying to, and those guest speakers talk in class about it. My mom showed me some pamphlets, and my grandparents send me packets from Harvard and Yale and all those yuppie schools. They must think I'm smarter than I am. Or maybe they just want their only grandchild to be a yuppie just like they are. But I haven't really looked at anything. Whenever people ask where I want to go to school, I just shrug and say I don't know.

      That's why I chose Holden Caulfield. He doesn't know what he wants to do, does he? But he still does all this cool s**t. I guess that's my life plan. Be cool forever. Most adults don't take lightly to this career choice. I get a lot of smack for it. I mean it. So I saw it coming when Mrs. Yealston opened her mouth.

      “Your paper…” she said, and I automatically rolled my eyes as I sat down. I told you. What did I say? She pulled the paper from one of the manila folders on her desk. “Was brilliant.” I looked up, straight into her eyes.

      “Your joking.” I said, in a much more monotone voice than I'd intended. I still wasn't quite awake yet, and figured I was dreaming.

      She smiled.

      “No, I very much enjoyed it.” She handed the paper back to me, with a fat red “A” plastered on the front. She looked genuine. I was lost.

      “Why?”

      “It was honest.” She spoke, looking directly into my eyes. I got nervous under her glare and looked down at my thumbs, which I was inadvertently twiddling. “You're papers are normally very… Well. You don't put much effort into them, do you?” She laughed.

      I looked up at her again, and nodded. She was right. History's a bullshit class.

      “Though I do not approve of your… life goals and future plans…” she said, her eyebrows furrowing in concern, “I could not deny giving you an 'A'. The writing was very good.”

      I couldn't look at her for too long without picturing her topless.

      It's a bad habit. I kinda wish she wasn't married.

      I actually was interested in what she had to say, too, so I had to keep eyeing my thumbs. Still twiddling.

      “Thanks.” I said, simply. I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say. It was like she was hoping this one “A” would suddenly turn me into a brilliant, hard-working student. False.

      I looked up at the clock, hoping I could leave this now very awkward room. It was 6:50. The first bell wouldn't ring for another twenty minutes. I was fucked.

      “So what I wanted to discuss with you,” she continued, “is how we can get you to keep writing like this.” She leaned over the desk, her hands clasped together and placed on the paper in front of her. I could almost see her bra. I looked down again, and closed my eyes.

      “I don't know,” I answered honestly.

      “There must be something,” she said, sounding concerned again. Why was she so worried about my education? She must be the only one here… Most of my teachers hated me.

      “Look,” I said, looking up again, but staring only at her face. “I don't really know what you want from me. Didn't you read the paper? I have no plans. The only reason I'm at this school is because my grandparents are paying for it. They can pay for anything I do for the rest of my life, see? I have no reason to even get a job, or move away. I don't have to do anything. And if I work hard… well it doesn't do much for me. So I might as well just have fun.” Everything I said was true, though it felt odd to say out loud. Almost disturbing. I felt nauseous. I wish I had eaten something.

      She looked very sad, which made me feel awful. But I just said what was true. “Sorry…” I muttered, looking down again. My hair got in my face. God, I need a haircut.

      “Christopher.”

      Silence. Everything but the ticking clock.

      She didn't say anything for a while, instead just took out some ungraded papers and leafed through them. I felt disgusting. My stomach hurt. I wanted to leave and buy a bagel. Or more cigarettes. Or a Walkman. Buy something. Buying things always made me feel better. I watched the clock tick and tick until it said 7:25. 5 more minutes until classes started.

      “Mrs. Yealston?” I spoke up finally. She looked up, hoping for me to say something enlightening. F**k. “I honestly don't know what I'm doing with my life. And I don't think I ever will. I don't think anyone can help me.”

      She frowned.

      I wanted to cry.

      But I don't cry. I dunno why. I just don't.

      “Well,” she spoke again, very softly. “Thank you for your honesty.” She nodded, and the bell rang.