Scratch Your Back

I have heard people say that crying is therapeutic.  Good for your soul.  It releases endorphins or hormones to help your body cope with stress and emotions.  Part of the grieving process.

Those people are morons. 

For a seventh grade young man, like me, to cry in an eighth grade class even for an instant was not therapeutic.  It was not good for my soul.  The only thing it released was loud snickering by the eighth grade boys and, worse, sympathetic eyes from the eighth grade girls.  Part of the humiliation process.

I will need therapy.  I closed my eyes and leaned on Hallie.  I fell asleep.

Hi again. My name is Joshua Carpenter, I made a shoddy deal with a devil to save my school from his nefarious cupcakes. After receiving two detentions, kissing my girlfriend in a janitor's closet, and being banished to Mr. Rattlehammer's class, the demon tricked me into a worse contract. I now have to get twenty signatures by noon or he gets my soul. Forever. From bad to worse to liverwurst (that stuff is so gross).

When I awoke ten minutes later, the teacher made an announcement. 

Mr. Rattlehammer said, “Class.  We will be spending the rest of our time studying mechanical physics on the playground!  Let’s go.”

The class cheered and gathered their bags and followed the teacher.  I was so confused.  Is the Hammer smiling?  How long was I asleep?  Did I wake up in an alternate universe? 

Hallie rubbed my back and smiled. “Come on, let’s go.  This is so much fun.”

I gathered my bag and she extended her hand.  We walked hand and hand to the swings. 

“What is going on?” I whispered to my girlfriend. 

“Every Monday, after we study for 15 minutes, Mr. Rattlehammer takes us to the playground to do science experiments.  They are hilarious.”  Hallie explained while she swung my hand. “You have nice hands.  Strong.”

“Thanks.  This is normal?” Had I been completely wrong about the Hammer? 

“Perks of the eighth grade.” She smiled at me. “How are you feeling?  You crashed really hard.”

“It’s been a rough morning.” I attempt to smile. “What time is it?”

“10:15, I think.” She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from her bag and handed it to me. “I have a surprise for you.” 

Another surprise, great. “Ok, what is it?”

“Open the paper, silly.” Her green eyes sparkled. 

I opened the paper.  It was my anti-cupcake petition.  It had signatures.  Many names.  I counted them up.

“You got fifteen signatures!  This is amazing!  I love… that you did this for me.”

“You’re welcome. You have to exclude ‘Babe-raham Lincoln” and ‘Spongeboob Squarebutt”, but the rest are legit.  The total is eighteen.  Even the Hammer signed.”

I hugged her. “This means the world to me.  You are so amazing.”

“That’s what a girlfriend is for: to be amazing.”  She squeezed my hand harder. 

We were the last to reach the playground equipment, but Mr. Rattlehammer has started without us.  An eighth grade boy sat on an individual spinner, holding a bike rim and tire with some handles connected to the center bolts.  Two other students held the first boy in place.  The Hammer spun the tire around its axis: faster and faster.  The wheel was a blur.  The students released the boy holding the tire.  The momentum of the spinning tire caused the sitting student to start to spin.  As the spinning student moved his arms left and right, he rotated in the direction of the spinning tire. 

Before I could make a comment, the science teacher sprinted off to the swings and yelled, “To the swings!”

Two thirds of the class chased Mr. Rattlehammer to the swings.  Hallie and I followed too.

“I have already set these pendulums.” The educator called, “Each one is increasingly longer.  I need six volunteers of about the same weight.” 

 He pointed to six eager students. “Now sit on the swing, but don’t move.”  After the boys and girls were seated, Mr. Rattlehammer grabbed a thirty foot 2 x 4 stud.  He placed it next to the students on the swings. “Watch what happens when I push them all at the same time.”  

He pushed the children and then got out of the way.  The shortest ones moved the fastest. 

The Hammer called to the students, “To the jungle gym!” 

Most of the students surged to the next playground equipment.  Hallie and I sat on the swings and swayed together.

“I have never seen Mr. Rattlehammer like this.” I observed him starting another experiment. “He is really enjoying the students.”

“I know, we were all shocked…”  Hallie glanced up and froze. “Oh no.”

“What’s wrong?” I turned around and scanned the school building.  I didn’t see anything cosmically weird.

“It’s Nick.  He is coming over here.” She turned and pleaded with me. “Please don’t start anything.  I forgot to tell you.”

“Why would I start anything? Tell me what?”

 When I observed Nick, he didn’t not look like the jovial fun-loving frenemy.  He actually spat in my general direction.

Nick Allister Ward, eighth grader, was my former best friend.  Like Hallie, we grew up together and he also made the kindergarten cutoff by a month.  Nick was a natural sweet talker. He could charm the skin off a snake and the serpent would give its blessing.  Nick always made the teachers laugh.  The educators’ responses to Nick were, “Oh, Nick” or “Good one” or “Where do you come up with this stuff?” Us, mere mortals, would have been scolded, lectured, or given a reprimand, for the same crack.

 “Hallie, why would Nick be angry with me? You broke up with him over two-weeks ago.” 

Her mouth revved up and raced to the finish. “We got back together over the long weekend, but he made a loud stupid crack about you this morning in our homeroom.  When I confronted him, he laughed in my face.  I broke it off again for good.  He probably just heard about our kiss in the closet.”

“What did he say about me?” I asked. 

She whispered in my ear. 

My eyes bulged and my hands formed into fists.  I stood up in a fighting position, just like my father showed me.  I placed my left foot forward and balanced on the balls of my feet.  My eyes glared at my former friend.

About twenty feet away, Nick halted.  He smiled and put his hands in the pocket of his Giants hoodie. 

“Hey Carpenter.  Why all this aggression toward me?  I’m not the one who stole his best friend’s girl.  Is that supposed to intimidate me?” 

Nick had been fun to be around until his mom got in trouble with the law a few years ago; white collar crimes.  She went to prison.  Nick had to move in with his uncle and aunt.  We still had sleepovers and hung out, but I constantly was the butt of almost all his jokes. Then his comments about me and my ‘perfect’ family became harsh, cruel, and false.  I asked him to stop as a friend, but he refused.  So, I stopped trying to be his friend and walked away.  This time he had gone too far. 

“No, Nick.  It’s a warning.” I said,  “If you don’t retract your comment about my parents, then you won’t leave here unscathed.”

“Unscathed? Josh, always the white knight. ” He mocked me.  “Doth thou wanteth to duel over the fair maiden?” He laughed and a crowd started to encircle us. “If she cheated on me, she would cheat on you, bro.” He stepped closer to me.

“Hey.” Hallie called. 

“This is not about Hallie.  You made false statements about my parents.  Is that the truth?”

“Where did you hear this from? Oh, from her.  So you are going to take the word of a cheater and liar over your best friend?”

“Hey!” Hallie yelled.

“Josh, pal, listen. I may have said something borderline, but you know how girls exaggerate everything. Come on, I’ll scratch your back and you scratch mine.” Nick said, “I’ll take back my comment, if you ditch the bimbo.” 

“HEY!” Hallie protested.

I was steamed. “That’s my girlfriend, you ignorant ass.  Best friend?You have constantly insulted me and my family for your amusement since the fifth grade.  No Nick, we are not best friends.  We have not been friends this entire year.  Are you delusional?  This is not about Hallie.  Are you deaf and stupid? This is about your rude comment about me and my folks.”

Fun fact: Nick hated when anyone questioned his intelligence.

“Did you just call me stupid?” Nick’s face scowled. 

“Duh!” I said. “I guess you are deaf.  We all know you’re an idiot.”

The crowd began to chant, “Fight, fight, fight…”

Nick turned red with fury, but somehow managed to smile.

 “Alright Carpenter, you want to fight; I’ll give you a fight.  Or maybe you’ll just run away like your pathetic daddy did to get away from your workaholic mommy.” Nick mimicked drinking a bottle. “I mean, alcoholic.”

I stepped toward my instigator. “Take it back, Nick or…”

“Or what? You’re gonna cry again to mommy, Joshy.”  He laughed at me. 

The crowd laughed with him. 

“No, Nick.  I will call your mother.  In prison.  Wasn’t she in for five to ten years for embezzlement, fraud, and…

Nick screamed and charged me, but I was ready.  I reared back my arm ready to strike. I leapt into the air eager to use gravity to pound this jerk into the ground. 

Suddenly both Nick and I were lifted off the ground by our extended arms. 

Mr. Rattlehammer hoisted us into the air like prize marlins.  His sheer strength was impressive.  

“That’s enough!” His biceps bulged.  “My class, line up by the sidewalk, now!  As for you two, how about a trip to in-school suspension?”

We both rattled our heads. 

“If I let you down, will you let this go?” The Hammer asked. 

 When we did not answer, he raised us higher off the ground.  Our armpits stretched and joints popped.  This guy was a freak.

We both screamed, “Yes sir! We will!”

Without any strain, he dropped us like a bag of onions.  We landed hard on the cold dirt.  Mr. Rattlehammer got in our face, but his calm demeanor chilled us. 

“Mr. Ward, you have a detention, for skipping your class and interfering with my study hall.  Go back to class before I have to call your uncle again.” 

Nick darted from the playground, rubbing his shoulder, and never turned around. 

“Mr. Carpenter, please join my class for a final demonstration.  I need your help.”

“No detention for me?” I winced as I rotated my arm. 

“You can thank Ms. Coleman.  She wisely informed me of the situation.  No, Mr. Carpenter, I have a special plan for you.”  He breathed in my face.  

Onion vapors melted my nose hairs.  I would have preferred detention.  

We joined the rest of class on the sidewalk.  Ten dominoes of various increasing sizes were arranged from smallest to largest: one inch to ten feet tall.  Hallie hugged me and held my hand.       

“Class, this little domino in my hand is only a half inch, but it will knock down that ten foot wall. Little decisions we make each day not only define us, but also create momentum in our lives.  Either good or bad decisions can lead you down a destructive path or inspire you toward a successful one.  Don’t believe me?  Mr. Carpenter, would you do the honors?” 

Mr. Rattlehammer tossed me the minuscule rectangle.  I caught it, stooped down, and placed the domino in front of the first small one.  Everyone was watching me.  I winked at Hallie and then pushed the rectangle.  I stood and watched the rest of the final demonstration.  

One by one, each larger domino pushed down the next one until the second to last one smacked into the tallest one.  The ten foot barrier teetered and then fell back with a glorious smack on the concrete.  The class cheered right before the bell rang.

10:50

The students grabbed their backpacks and dashed back inside.  Hallie and I walked to the doors.  Mr. Rattlehammer stopped me and whispered in my ear.

 “ ‘We wrestle not against flesh and blood’.  Remember, you are the domino.” 

Weird.  I’m the domino.  It just made me think of pizza and I’m starving.  I need a snack. 

“What did he say to you?” Hallie asked. 

“Sounded like Shakespeare and then called me the domino.” I said.  

“OK. Anyway, I gotta go.  I have Algebra, but I’ll see you at the Good Food assembly.  We’ll talk then.”  My crush kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for standing up to Nick.  You were amazing.” She ran down the hall and waved to me.

I waved back in a love daze.  Oh crap!  I have math class too, but it’s by the cafeteria.

I hustled down the hallway and spotted Mr. Scratch and Mr. Cliff/ Demona, inside the food court, vehemently arguing.  I think they sensed my presence.  I ignored them and dashed straight to class.  I opened the rugged oak door to the notorious R.M.7, aka Remedial Math Seven.

Kryptonite has nothing on Mathematics.  The integer crap and order of operations has brought me to my knees.  Mrs. Bogel, math teacher, had the patience of multiple saints to handle the numerically challenged students.  

I rushed into the room just as the bell sounded. 

Poof! 

A thick green mist covered me.  I was transported out of the school, but I didn't know exactly where.  It felt friendly yet not quite safe. 

It was a park: the one on Mulberry Street, New Zion Park.  It was my favorite as a kid.  Why was I here?  I walked over to the sidewalk.  

An ice cream cart, Divine Concoctions, sat underneath an elm tree. A woman with caramel hair in a black pantsuit and dark sunglasses scooped ice cream into waffle cones for her customers.  Half of her hair was braided.  She appeared ancient and young at the same time.  I waited in line.  I was hungry.

The vendor grinned at me. “Hey, I haven’t seen you here in a while.  Where have you been?”

“Mostly school and growing up.” I said.  She reminded me of my cool Aunt Kathy.

“Josh, right?” She placed a finger on her chin.  “Let me remember your favorite.  Butter pecan?” Her voice was sweet, kind, and dreamy; like a lullaby.

“Bingo!  Great memory.”  If you’ve never had this flavor, you don’t know what you’re missing. 

“Here you go.  Enjoy.”  The vendor handed me the dessert. 

“Thanks.  Two scoops!”  Without hesitation, I tasted it. 

 I swore I heard a choir singing.  Weird.

 “Ma’am, do I know you?  Are you a friend of my parents?  You seem vaguely familiar.”

“We haven’t officially met, no.  Yes, I know your parents.  My name is Lyra Seren.  But I’ve been watching over you since birth.  I know all about you.”  She scooped herself some chocolate and hummed a happy tune.  Lyra closed the cart’s lid and moved next to me. 

We strolled together on the sidewalk and enjoyed the refreshing dairy treats.  Mom told me my grandmother watched over me.  I never met her.  Estranged from our family.

“Grandma?” I asked.

Lyra leaned over and whispered, “No, silly, she is in heaven.  I am your keeper.”

“Like a bodyguard?” I take another scrumptious lick. 

Lyra sings, “Not exactly.  I am your soul keeper.”  She sat down on a park bench.

“A what?”  Confusion and ice cream covered my face, but I still licked the cold treat.  I plopped down next to her.  “This butter pecan is the best.  Thanks again Lyra.”

“No problem, Josh.”  The vendor licked her chocolate and handed me a napkin. “I’m your guardian angel.” She smiled and continued to taste the dessert.  

Lyra’s genuine smile and nonchalant comment about being a celestial being unnerved me.

My delicious top scoop plunged from the cone, rolled over my pants, and then splat on the concrete.  

Oh, boy, I will need therapy.