DANCING ON THE TUNDRA by Bert McKenzie
2010
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.
CHAPTER I
Terry sat in the dusty basement and cried softly. The tears ran down his face and mixed with the blood dripping from his nose to make a pink, watery mess which slowly stained the front of his white uniform shirt. His nose hurt and the blood frightened him making him cry all the more. He wanted to relax into his grief and sob his heart out, but he was afraid someone upstairs might hear him. The absolute last thing Terry wanted was to be discovered crying over a bloody nose while he hid out among the broken desks and cobweb covered books that were discolored with mildew. He tried his best to stifle his sobs. They came as quiet gasps which caused his chest and throat to ache and his shoulders to convulse.
The basement was dark and dingy, the only light coming through a grimy little window of frosted glass mounted high on the foundation wall. The dull grey glow barely illuminated the rickety wooden steps which led down to this small, forgotten storage chamber. At one time in the distant past it had been a coal bin for the school. The window was originally an opening to a chute where big trucks could pull up and empty their loads of combustible rock. The room was a square stone box with an old metal door in one wall that led to the rest of the basement. A huge metal furnace had stood close to the door on the other side so it could be easily stoked from the coal in this bin. But as times changed the big metal furnace was converted to gas and long pipes were run into it from outside. The coal bin was converted to storage space and now, in 1963, it was for the most part forgotten.
Terry suddenly jerked his wet face up to look at the overhead beams. Footsteps could be heard in the hallway above. The sound came directly to the door and Terry held his breath as he heard it open. He had forgotten to lock it. He tried to squeeze back further into the corner behind the broken desks. Perhaps whoever it was would go away. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he heard the door creak shut again. Just as his heart began to slow down he heard a footstep on the rickety stairs.
"Terry? Are you down here?" a voice called softly. The boy didn't know what to do. Should he call out in answer or sit tight and hope whoever it was would go away. It might be a trap. The stairs creaked as the searcher came slowly down into his gloomy retreat. "Terry?"
He looked up and saw her standing just a few feet away in the middle of the room. Terry breathed another sigh as he realized it was Paula. Paula Brown had been his next door neighbor and best friend as long as he could remember. They had their fights, but they always made up and got back together. Although the two were the same age, Paula always seemed older, and perhaps she was, if only in temperament. She stood taller than he, an awkward looking little girl, all elbows and knees. Her long, thin face and high cheekbones she inherited from her father. The man always reminded Terry of a horse with his sad brown eyes and long, forward jutting jaw. It was plain to see that Paula took after him.
She suddenly spotted the fugitive crouched down behind the broken desks. "Terry, what are you doing back there?" she asked.
"Nothing," the boy said as he tried to push himself further back into the corner.
"Have you been crying?" Paula asked. She knelt on the dirty floor to examine her friend. His small round face was tear stained, his crystal blue eyes red rimmed, and dried blood caked on his upper lip. "Your mom's gonna kill you," she said as she noticed the red splotches on his white shirt.
"I don't care," he said sullenly as he sniffed.
"Sister Mary Francis is gonna notice you aren't in class."
"Well neither are you," the boy countered.
"I told her I had to go to the bathroom. Now come on and lets go upstairs before you're missed."
Terry could feel his throat tightening again at the thought of going back into the classroom. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying. "I . . . I can't . . ." he managed to say before the tears began to leak out of his eyes again.
"Come on," Paula said and grabbed his hand. She pulled him up.
"No," he protested.
"Come on. Don't be a baby." The words stung. That was what the other boys had called him. Michael Myers had started it but the others were quick to join in. Now Paula was calling him a baby, and he had trusted her.
The girl felt him begin to struggle, but she only grabbed him tighter around the arm. "Come on," she said. "Sister Alice Claire's room is just above us. She might hear you." Paula half pulled and half dragged the boy to the bottom of the steps. He finally quit his struggles and followed her up the creaking stair.
Paula cautiously opened the door and peeked out. The coast was clear, so the two of them slipped back into the hall. Terry had the presence of mind to pull the big skeleton key from his pocket and slip it into the lock to secure the door. He had found the old key in a rusty, tin box in his garage at home and had tried it on every lock he found. As luck would have it, it worked most of the old locks on the doors at school, at least the ones to the janitor's closet and the two basement doors. The classrooms were never locked, and the main entrance doors to the building were much newer, too new to be worked by such an old key. The basement became Terry's own private hide out. He had hidden there through several recesses when he could slip away without being seen. The only other person to know about the basement storage room was Paula. Terry told her about it. He told Paula everything.
"Come on," the girl said and quickly pulled him down the hall. They slipped down the blue-grey painted walls and floor covered with brown linoleum and they passed the rows of empty brass hooks that held coats in winter, finally coming to the bathroom doors. "Go in there and wash your face," Paula ordered. "I'll go back and tell Sister you had an accident."
"Thanks," Terry said before he slipped into the boys' room.
Inside the room was painted pastel green. Four toilets in stalls without doors on them lined one wall. Right next to the door but separated by a wood partition that only went up five feet was a long, porcelain trough. As Terry stepped in, a sixth grader was just zipping up his fly and leaving. Terry stepped over to one of the four sinks opposite the toilets. He looked up at his image in the cracked and spotted mirror. He truly was a mess, his face smudged with black where his dirty hands had tried to wipe away the tears. Even his pale blond hair was streaked with dust from the basement. He turned on the water and began to wash up.
"Terrance Michaelson," an adult voice called. He turned and looked up to see Sister Mary Francis standing in the restroom doorway. She seemed hesitant about coming in. "Are you alone in there?" she asked.
"Yes, Sister," the boy replied.
The nun quickly stepped into the boys' room and crossed to him at the sink. "What did you do?" she asked as she gently lifted his head to look at his nose. She took a brown paper towel and moistened it, then dabbed at the dried blood. "And just look at your shirt. What in heaven's name will your mother say?" Terry didn't answer. He could tell it was a rhetorical question. The nun continued to fuss over him, then dabbed a clean paper towel at the stains on his shirt. "How did this happen?"
"I . . . I fell down at recess," the boy lied.
Sister Mary Francis' oversized rosary beads clattered on the floor as she squatted down beside him so she could look him in the eyes. She was the tallest nun Terry had ever seen, normally towering over her fifth graders. She was even taller than Michael Myers and he was the tallest kid in class having been kept back at least twice. "Paula Brown told me you were in a fight."
"She said she was going to tell you I had an accident," Terry blurted out before thinking. He suddenly realized what he had said and felt very uncomfortable. He wondered if it was a mortal sin to lie to a nun. Now he knew he would have to go to confession on Saturday.
"Did one of the other boys do this to you?" the woman asked. Now Terry was really in a quandary. If he said yes then Michael Myers would get in trouble. He had no sympathy for the boy who beat him up, but he did have a healthy respect for the retaliation that would invariably come to a squealer. Yet if he lied to the nun a second time he knew he might go the hell before he ever had the chance to go to confession. So Terry kept silent. He was really afraid that Sister Mary Francis would force the issue and compel him to name his attackers.
"I'll go call your mother," the nun said as she stood to again tower over the boy. "I'll tell her not to worry, but perhaps you had better go home and have her soak your shirt. You're lucky you didn't scrape yourself on the cement when you fell."
"Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister," the boy said. He wanted to fling out his arms and hug the tall woman in the long, black skirt. He wasn't sure if she believed him, but she pretended she did anyway. She was so nice to him. He wished she was his mother. He would love to have her fold him in her arms, to be hugged by the heavy sleeves of her habit. But instead he stood there quietly until she took his hand and walked with him down the hall to the office. He was going home early on a Friday, and best of all, he wouldn't have to see Michael Myers again until Monday.
"Why didn't you hit him back?" Paula asked as they sat on her porch swing that evening.
"I don't know," Terry replied. But in truth he did know. He was afraid of the bully. He was afraid that if he hit back Michael Myers would only hurt him all that much more.
"Terry, you're going to be a sixth grader next year," Paula explained. "You can't keep acting like a baby."
"I'm not a baby!" he said strongly.
"Well you sure act like one sometimes, or a sissy." The two of them sat in silence for a while. "What were you fighting about anyway?" she asked at last.
"The two team captains were yelling about who had to take me," Terry answered quietly. "Michael Myers said he wasn't going to take me because I was a girl and a baby. Then he hit me in the nose."
"You gotta play with them," Paula said.
"But I don't like baseball," came the answer. "It's boring, and I can't catch and I can't hit the ball and nobody wants me on their team."
"I'd love to play ball," the girl said wistfully. "But Sister Alice Claire won't let us. She watches the girls' playground and she says we have to play hopscotch or some other stupid game."
"But all the other girls seem to like that," Terry replied. He had stood at the edge of the tall, chain link fence and watched the girls playing. They seemed so happy to play their games of hopscotch and tag and jump rope. Terry often wished he could slip onto their playground and join them. There wasn't anything threatening in their innocent games. Terry wished he could play with the girls, but of course Sister Alice Claire stood guard over their playground like the sword wielding angel that guarded Eden from Adam and Eve once they had been ejected.
It wasn't like the games played on the boys' playground. When the boys played things like dodge ball, the object of the game seemed to be how hard you could throw the ball so that it really hurt when it impacted with one of the players. Of course if one let on how badly it hurt then he was immediately branded a baby and teased unmercifully. All of this went on under the watchful eyes of Brother Andrew, the cleric who monitored the playground during lunch and recess. It seemed to Terry that no matter what atrocities were committed, Brother Andrew never got involved. Either he didn't care, or really was as oblivious to the actions as he seemed to be.
The girls never had to play baseball. That game was the worst. Two team captains would choose up sides, and at the end they would almost always argue over who had to take Terry. He wasn't very athletic or coordinated, so he became a handicap to whichever team was unfortunate enough to get him. Whenever it was his turn at bat, it invariably meant a strike out. In the outfield he either missed the balls or got in the way.
"I'm not like all the other girls," Paula said, jerking Terry out of his reverie. "I hate their stupid games. They're always giggling and acting so silly. I just wish Brother Andrew would let me play with the boys. I could show you how to hit a home run."
It was then that Terry realized how he and his friend were alike. Each one had been born into the wrong gender. Maybe God made a mistake. Since they lived right next door, maybe Terry was supposed to have been a girl while Paula was destined to be a boy. But then Sister said God never made mistakes. So why were the two of them so mixed up? "Maybe . . . maybe we could get married," Terry said as a plan slowly revealed itself to him. "We could get married."
"Married?!" Paula pushed back her long black hair. "Don't be so queer."
"But see I could stay home and take care of the house and stuff and you could go to work." It made perfect sense to the boy. He knew Paula would protect him and support him.
"And who's gonna have the babies?" the girl asked.
"Well, I guess I could," Terry answered slowly.
"Gosh, sometimes you really are stupid," Paula said in astonishment. "Don't you know where babies come from?"
"Sure," Terry bluffed, but the more the girl stared at him the more confused he became. "I know it has something to do with kissing."
"Come on," she said and jumped up from the swing. Paula led her friend around the house and through her back yard. They climbed through the thick honeysuckle bushes into a private little area that they had discovered right next to the old white- washed garage. Paula and Terry had used this tiny clearing as a clubhouse and a sanctuary for several years. Now surrounded by the sweet smell of the trumpet shaped blossoms, Terry sat on the ground while Paula took the up-ended concrete block that served as a chair, stool or table as need demanded.
That evening as the two of them sat close together in their private sanctuary Paula explained the facts of life to Terry. She told him about women having periods once a month. She told him that a man must push himself inside a woman to make her pregnant and then how the baby grows inside the woman's stomach. Nine months later the woman goes to the hospital and the baby comes out of the same opening where the man had entered her. Terry sat quietly and stared wide eyed at his friend. He had heard stories about pregnancy and having babies, but to have it graphically explained was a whole different matter. He could not quite grasp the concept of a man and woman joining, or of a baby coming out down there.
"I just can't believe how you don't know this," Paula said as she stood up. She quickly unfastened her jeans and pulled them down to her ankles. As Terry sat in silent shock, she pulled down her panties as well. "Look," she said as she sat on the edge of the concrete block and spread her legs. Terry marveled at seeing the private, secret part of his friend for the first time. "This is where the man goes in and nine months later this is where the baby comes out."
"But it's so small," Terry said as he looked at her vagina. "How does a man get inside there?"
Paula laughed as she stood up and stooped to pull up her clothes. "The guy only lays on top and puts his pee-pee in there. Then he squirts in it and his seeds come out of him and go inside."
"And that's how babies are made?" Terry asked. "But not always. There must be some other way."
"No," the girl corrected him. "That's the only way."
"But my parent's wouldn't do that!" the boy protested. "They wouldn't take their clothes off and do that."
"They had to or you and your brother wouldn't be here."
Terry just couldn't accept it. His parents weren't very affectionate, and his mother was something of a prude. He knew they would never take their clothes off, let alone perform the actions Paula described. "I gotta go home," he said quickly, then stood up.
"Before you go," his friend asked, "can I see it?"
"See what?"
"I showed you mine. I want to see yours." She pointed to his pants. Terry felt himself blushing as his face grew hot. He didn't want to show his friend his body. He had been told by his parents time and time again that his body was 'dirty' and being naked was something to be ashamed of. In church and in school he had been told about the sins of Adam and Eve and how they had been naked. "Come on," the girl coaxed. "No one will know. I won't tell. Don't be a baby."
That final jab did the trick. Terry unfastened his jeans and pulled them down, then stood and gripped the waistband of his Fruit of the Loom undershorts. He hesitated for a moment, then quickly pulled them down before he lost his nerve. His tiny organ was shriveled up close to his body with fear, but Paula seemed to be amazed anyway. "That's neat," she admired. "I saw a picture in a doctor book once but I never saw one in real life. I thought it would be bigger."
"Some . . . sometimes it is," Terry admitted nervously as he looked down at himself.
"I wish I had one," Paula said softly. "I wish I was a boy."
It was starting to grow dark and just then Terry's mother called to him from their porch. He quickly grabbed for his shorts and pants and pulled them up in haste. He was still blushing as he wriggled back out of the bushes and ran for the safety of his house.
That evening, after he had said his prayers and climbed into bed Terry lay back on the clean white sheets. He thought about all that had happened. Sister said that he should examine his conscience every night to think about what he had done during the day and to repent his sins. He thought about recess and Michael Myers hitting him. He thought about Sister Mary Francis and how he wished he could grow up to be a nun. He thought about the strange and frightening things that Paula had told him, and how they had examined each other's bodies. Of all the terrible and frightening experiences and revelations he had had that day, the one thing that Terry kept thinking of was the envy on Paula's face when she looked at his pee-pee, and the disappointment when he pulled his pants back up. Maybe he wasn't such a baby after all.
Just as Terry was about to drift asleep he remembered that tomorrow was Saturday. He had to go to confession and tell the priest that he had lied to Sister Mary Francis. He knew God would forgive him because he really was sorry. He didn't want to lie to the nun, especially to protect Michael Myers. Then he thought about what he and Paula had done. He should tell the priest about looking at her and showing her his privates. That thought made him tremble with fear. Surely this must be a great sin. The priest might not even have a penance big enough to cover exposing one's self. He'd have to say at least a dozen rosaries for that. But the worst part was actually telling Father Heinz. Despite the fact that he would be in a dark, little booth, what if the man recognized his voice? What if Father told his parents what he had done? Terry decided it might be better to go to hell than confess this sin. He would just keep it to himself.
Once he had made his mind up, it was like a great weight was lifted from him. He reached his hand down under the covers and slipped it into the waistband of his underwear. Ever so gently Terry felt himself, running his fingers over the miracle of flesh that made him different and perhaps better than Paula. As he touched it, it seemed to grow bigger in his hand until it was hard. It caused his underwear and the sheet on top of him to stick up like a tent. He looked at the white sheet covering him like snow. It was just like the tundra they had read about in geography. Terry thought about his body being buried in the tundra except for that one part that pushed up out of the snow. In the frozen tundra there wasn't any Michael Myers to bother him or anyone to force him to play baseball when he was bad at it. If it wasn't so cold he could be like Adam in the Garden of Eden. He could take off his clothes and go around naked in the snow. Then everybody would see this hard thing between his legs and everyone would look at him with envy, just like Paula. He continued to rub and caress it until he finally fell asleep.